I’ve been to Kol Restaurant before, so when a group of friends suggested it for a night out, I didn’t hesitate. It sits in downtown Reykjavik, about a two-minute walk from Hallgrimskirkja church, and it’s been going strong for ten years now — which, in a city where new restaurants open almost weekly, says something real about the place.
This time I was curious to see how the seasonal menu had shifted and, honestly, to work through a few of their cocktails.
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An Elegant Mood for Food
Walking into Kol, the first thing you notice is the light — or rather the quality of it. The hanging lamps are by the renowned British designer Tom Dixon, and they cast a warm, directed glow across the room. Wooden panels pick up that warmth, and the overall effect is intimate without feeling cramped.
The dim lighting is great for atmosphere, less great if you’re trying to photograph your food. We got lucky with a table by the window, which gave us just enough natural light to see what we were eating — and to appreciate how good it looked.
The interior mixes concrete, wood, and leather in a way that feels considered rather than assembled from a mood board. It’s consistent with the food — nothing is accidental here.
Our bartender was fast. Almost too fast — every time I tried to get a photo he’d already moved on. The cocktail menu lists twenty drinks across four categories: Accessible, Professional, Dessert, and Seasonal. That structure actually helps. You’re not staring at a wall of names trying to figure out what fits your mood.
I went with the “Laugh and Grow Fat,” which is their take on an Old Fashioned — bacon-washed bourbon, date syrup, chocolate bitters, and a dried date on top. It’s indulgent in the best way, and the name turned out to be accurate on both counts.
Elsewhere around the table: the “Old Mexican Sour,” Kol’s version of a Whiskey Sour, and the “Penicillin” — Scotch whiskey, lemon, ginger, honey. That one had a real backbone to it.
Crispy, Crackly & Crumbly
For food, we split across menus. I went seasonal — October’s offerings. Two friends chose the Icelandic set menu, one went vegan. There’s also a French set menu I haven’t tried yet, which gives me a reason to go back.
My first course was birch-smoked salmon. Smoked salmon is everywhere in Iceland, so it takes something to make it feel fresh. Kol’s version had almond praline, cranberry purée, and cashew nuts, with Parmesan crisps alongside. The sweet-smoky balance was better than expected, and the crunch from the crisps lifted the whole thing.
Then came a tiger prawn taco, though calling it a taco undersells it. The shell was closer to laufabrauð than any corn tortilla — thin, fried, and properly crisp. Inside: pickled chili, lime aioli, cashew purée. Every bite had an audible crackle. It was good.
At the other end of the table, the saffron langoustine soup arrived as a bit of theatre. The server poured hot broth — lightly cocoa-flavoured — into a bowl already set with basil cream cheese, pickled mustard seeds, croutons, and shallots. It looked as good as it apparently tasted.
The wines through the meal were well-chosen. I can’t give you a breakdown of tannins and oak profiles, but I can tell you nothing felt out of place, and each glass worked with whatever was on the plate.
A Satisfying End to the Evening
The main I’d been waiting for: miso beef tenderloin. Nobody asked how I wanted it cooked, which briefly gave me pause — but it arrived rare, which is exactly right. It was plated with pickled pearl onions and a Madagascar pepper sauce. A hazelnut and celeriac crumble added crunch, along with crispy kataifi pastry. Texture had been a theme all evening; the main course didn’t break it.
On the side, a wild mushroom risotto with Parmesan cheese and sunchokes. Crispy oyster mushrooms on top kept it from being too heavy. It held its own alongside the tenderloin rather than just filling space.
We kept ordering cocktails. I had a “Donkey” from the Accessible menu. Someone else got an espresso martini. The talking point, though, was the “Papaya on Fire” — rum, cinnamon, pepper, cocoa, and a presentation dramatic enough that the table next to us looked over.
Dessert: basil-pistachio tiramisu served in a martini glass with a violet pansy on top. After a meal that long and that rich, it hit the right note — sweet but not overwhelming, with brownie bites, toffee gelato, and a pistachio crumble that kept the textural theme going right to the end.
The vegan in our group had the golden banana split with coconut ice cream and a mix of berries. It was a big dessert and, by all accounts, worth it.
By the time we left — around 10 p.m. — we’d been there a while and didn’t particularly want to go. The table had been loud with laughter most of the night. Outside, Reykjavik was doing its crisp autumn thing, and Kol was still filling up behind us.
The service deserves a mention. Attentive throughout, never hovering. That balance is harder to get right than people think.
Kol was busy when we arrived and busy when we left — ten years in, and it clearly hasn’t coasted on its reputation. If anything, the kitchen seems sharper for it.
Conclusion: Kol offers an elegant dining experience, perfect for a romantic evening or a gathering with friends. The exquisite cuisine impressively blends unexpected sweet notes with an emphasis on texture, turning every course into a delightful adventure for the senses.
