Over the Mountain, Through the Snow, To a Brewery at the Edge of the World We Go

My hands grip the wheel of our Suzuki Vitara a little tighter. Grey clouds that at first appeared drab and harmless, and puffed themselves up a bit. Like a bloated belly, they now belch out a steady stream of droplets. And what has for the last hour been a completely straight road now reaches a towering mountain. In my head, a refrain from a popular kids’ song, “We’re Going on a Bear Hunt,” plays on a loop, with my own twist. Can’t go around it, can’t go under it, can’t go through it, have to go over it!

As the Vatnsskarð eystra pass curves higher and higher up the peak, the rain turns to snow. Does this car have snow tires? I ask myself silently. Probably not. As we crest the top—1,400 feet (~430 m) above sea level—and loop our way downwards, I reduce my speed. My brain starts to question the brakes. Do they work? Sanity has fled me as my foot feels like a leaden anchor on the pedal. Today, I’m no Super Mario Kart star.

When we reached the bottom, I let out what must have been an audible sigh. “Well, the good news,” deadpans the wily man in my passenger seat, “When we head back, you’ll have already survived the road once.”

There’s only one road in and out of Borgarfjörður eystri, a small oceanside village in the Northeast corner of Iceland, and one big mountain range in the way.

I’m in the car with renowned author Tim Webb, known for his books, Good Beer Guide Belgium and World Atlas of Beer, which my friends gifted me on my birthday years ago when I first started working in beer. In the back, Michael Collard, a CAMRA (Campaign for Real Ale) member, completes our beer-drinking posse.

God, please don’t let me kill us all by hydroplaning off the side of a mountain turns to God, please don’t let me kill us all by hydroplaning into the Atlantic Ocean as our tires hug the Icelandic coast during the last few-mile drive into town.

We’re on a nine-day epic adventure, visiting every single brewery on Iceland’s Ring Road. On day four, we’ve bravely come all this way, to a small hamlet of one hundred people, about 420 miles (675 km) from Iceland’s largest city, to visit one brewery.

Here, in the middle of nowhere, we pull up to KHB Brugghús, a brewery on the coast whose roots stretch all the way across the Atlantic to Czechia.

Preserving a Legacy in Every Layer of Paint

As I close the car door, I take a look around. Behind me, snowcapped mountain ranges (a pretty common natural feature throughout our time in Iceland). In front of me, the Atlantic Ocean, whose view is blocked only by a peeling cream and pink facade.

According to KHB Brugghús Co-Founder Helgi Sigurdsson, they’re not legally allowed to update the front of the old community store, preserving the over one-hundred-year-old building.

“This is the original roof,” Helgi says proudly. “We tried to keep that old feeling.”

The flaking layers tell a story.

KHB stands for Kaupfélag Héraðsbúa, a local cooperative that originally operated in the building where the brewery now stands. Built in 1897, the building is one of the oldest in the village. But the grocery store and community co-op eventually went bankrupt.

When Helgi and his partner Auður Vala Gunnarsdóttir purchased the building in 2016 with the idea of opening a brewery, he petitioned the town’s three-person council to use the original name and logo. The couple wanted to preserve the co-op’s legacy.

Although Helgi and Auður live 43.5 miles (70 km) away in Egilsstaðir, Audur’s parents had a house near the current brewery, so they’d visit Borgarfjörður eystri almost every weekend.

“The building was so deeply rooted in local memory,” says Helgi. “We’ve been proud to carry the heritage forward.”

In addition to the brewery, the duo also owns the Blábjörg resort next door, which has a beer spa, restaurant, and accommodations.

If the old co-op, affectionately nicknamed Kaupfélagið (the store in English), served as a hub for the community with food, KHB is doing the same with beer and liquor (yes, they have a distillery on premise, too).

While the rain rages on outside, stepping inside KHB’s taproom immediately feels warm. Like coming home.

Walking inside, a little foyer greets us with framed landscape paintings, Beautyand the Beast-esque candelabras, and, somewhat mysteriously, an old black rotary dial telephone.

Photography courtesy of Grace Lee-Weitz | Hop Culture

Photography courtesy of Grace Lee-Weitz | Hop Culture

Ascending a curling, polished wooden staircase takes us to the taproom. A timber roof slants upward where Edison-style lightbulbs hang off the ends of thick ropes attached to the rafters, curling casually around the crossbeams. In one corner, a stuffed red armchair beckons one’s butt to sit down and never get up.

At 11 a.m. on a Saturday, there’s only one other group inside—visitors from a Lindblad Expedition cruise ship that’s currently anchored in the harbor.

Summer is tourist season for KHB, which, along with the Blábjörg resort, is the biggest employer in town.

Located next to a large puffin colony, which travels to the nearby Hafnarhólmi (aka “Puffin Island,” as Helgi calls it) starting in mid-April, Borgarfjörður eystri can attract more than 67,000 people over four-and-a-half months. All just to see these migrational (and very cute) birds.

The crowds bring business for KHB, which often reduces hours in the winter months when the visitors and puffins disappear.

Today in June, the group of three women huddle together around a long wooden table that appears carved from a tree. Laughing and giggling, they reach for tastes from their flight and shed more layers as they settle in.

We follow Helgi to the bar where he pours us a shot’s worth of something golden and clear.

Shivering slightly and shaking a few droplets off our anoraks, we tip the tipple back eagerly. We’re not sure what we were expecting, but it wasn’t one of the best pilsners we drank during our entire time in Iceland.

All Other Icelandic Pilsners Pale in Comparison

Photography courtesy of Grace Lee-Weitz | Hop Culture

Photography courtesy of Grace Lee-Weitz | Hop Culture

Photography courtesy of Grace Lee-Weitz | Hop Culture

“That’s really good,” exclaims Webb as he sets down his glass of KHB’s Czech pilsner, Borghildur. Webb, who has judged beer competitions in close to twenty different countries, adds, “If you put that into a beer competition in Czechia, then that could do very well.”

Curious about this Czech pale lager that has impressed our seasoned drinker, I quiz Helgi.

“Did you teach yourself to brew, then?”

The brewery owner, with a degree in dentistry, gives his head a quick shake. “We got in contact with a brewer in Czechia,” he says before adding, “a former head brewer for Pilsner Urquell.”

Josef Krýsl started brewing in 1975, graduating in the field of fermentation chemistry from the University of Chemical Technology in Prague. After receiving a scholarship from Pilsner Urquell, he worked there full-time until 2005, when he set out on his own to build setups for breweries around the world.

Helgi connected with Krýsl through a couple from Czechia who worked in the town. “The father was a best friend to Josef,” explains Helgi.

Traveling all the way to Plzeň, Helgi showed Krýsl plans for his upcoming brewery, asking if he could come to Iceland to help build it.

He agreed, landing in Borgarfjörður eystri per special entry and under strict regulations during the summer of 2021—what Helgi calls the “COVID summer.”

Stuck in the little Icelandic town, Krýsl couldn’t leave for a few months.

“So he taught us how to brew,” laughs Helgi.

Can you imagine a better scenario for a new brewery than a former Pilsner Urquell brewmaster unable to leave your town for several months with nothing better to do than write recipes and show you the ropes?

KHB Head Brewer Þorsteinn Brandsson (aka Steini), who lives in a yellow house we passed on the way in, worked side by side with Krýsl, gaining invaluable knowledge and experience.

For Borghildur, which won a silver medal at the London Beer Competition in March 2024, Steini starts with a Pilsen malt from Sladovna Bruntál. He does a single decoction, “but with a recipe and guidance from my Czech brewmaster,” he wrote to Hop Culture after our visit. For hops, Steini notes that he adds Premiant for bittering and Saaz for aroma and flavor.

To this day, Steini still calls Krýsl with questions.

“It was truly fantastic to have Josef as our mentor,” says Helgi. “We were incredibly fortunate to have him join us.”

One Pint, Endless Folk Stories

Photography courtesy of Grace Lee-Weitz | Hop Culture

Borghildur may be a Czech-style pilsner, but the story it tells is uniquely Icelandic.

“Each beer has its own story,” Helgi says to us as he points out a series of cans lined up on the bar.

He touches the top of Borghildur’s light green exterior, showing us the label’s matron, a veiled apparition whose slightly raised left hand makes her seem like she’s sweeping into a room and commanding attention. “This is the Elf Queen,” he says with a slight gleam in his eye. “She lives just on the hill over there.”

According to Helgi, when you finish a tasting flight from KHB (which includes four beers and two shots of homemade liquor), “You can see the light shining from the elf!”

As we work our way through our own tasting flight, it’s a good reminder that KHB doesn’t make only one beer. And doesn’t just make beer, period.

Photography courtesy of Grace Lee-Weitz | Hop Culture

Photography courtesy of Grace Lee-Weitz | Hop Culture

A sour named Stúlka Surbjór (or girl) refers to, as Helgi explains to us, all the unnamed girls in adventures. The rhubarb-strawberry sour has become one of KHB’s most popular beers.

Using local fruits, Helgi says it took them a while to fine-tune the recipe, but they eventually nailed it.

“The sour beer is nice for summer,” he adds. “It’s selling a lot now.”

Helgi believes it’s the sour’s balance that sits well with folks.

“You don’t get any feeling in your cheeks when you drink it,” he adds, referring to that puckering zing you can sometimes get in the back of your mouth when drinking this style. “It’s just a refreshing, soda-like feeling.”

Four cans down from Borghildur, Helgi points to a matte black one with what looks like a werewolf on the front.

A classic dark lager, Naddi represents the monster who lives in the caves before you reach Borgarfjörður eystri. Despite its darkness, Naddi picked up a gold medal at the London Beer Competition, receiving a score of ninety-five for quality.

KHB describes this beer as having “a good body, a good ‘head,” and a nice caramel, deep malt flavor.

To complement its award-winning dark lager, KHB also brews a Christmas seasonal called Jólanaddi, which picked up a silver at the London Beer Competition. A touch stronger and more holiday-like, Jóla Naddi is one of KHB’s most popular seasonal beers.

But as we’re starting to learn here at KHB, things aren’t always as they appear.

And beer isn’t always just beer.

Moonshine, Memory, and a Moonlighting Distiller

Photography courtesy of Grace Lee-Weitz | Hop Culture

Helgi reaches behind the bar to grab a bottle with a glowing amberish liquid inside.

During COVID, Helgi had one thousand liters of leftover Christmas beer. “What can we do?” he asked himself.

They distilled the seasonal beer and put it in an oak barrel for one year.

“Now, always if we have leftovers of the Christmas beer, we just distill it,” He beams proudly, “This is the spirit of last Christmas.”

Helgi beckons us downstairs to show us the distillery, which seems more like Santa’s home workshop. But don’t be fooled by this small room off the side of the brewery.

Photography courtesy of Grace Lee-Weitz | Hop Culture

KHB makes award-winning spirits, with its original Icelandic Moonshine, Landi, earning a bronze at the London Spirits Competition in 2023.

The only brewery in Iceland to make Landi, a sort of homemade vodka, KHB describes the homegrown spirit as “our homage to the original Icelandic moonshine, distilled according to a closely guarded recipe passed down through the generations.”

According to Helgi, the recipe comes from an old town brewer and distiller who passed away. “He was famous here in the village,” he explains, divulging only that the recipe has sugar, water, yeast, and grain.

Today, KHB’s Landi is guarded over by Helgi’s sister-in-law, Esther Kjartansdóttir, who works as an elementary school teacher during the week, moonlighting as KHB’s distiller on the weekends.

In addition to the Landi, she also distills a signature gin with eight different herbs, botanicals, and spices.

Like KHB itself, there are surprises and lore at every turn.

Where the Puffins, Elves, and Great Pilsners Roam

As we walk out, Helgi loads us up with cans and mentions off-handedly, “You have to go to Puffin Island before you leave,” he insists, pointing a ways off in the distance. “Just drive the main road all the way to them.”

He pauses before launching into a story. Something about a cross we’ll see on the way out there, and a farmer who chased someone off a cliff. I don’t entirely catch it all as I head back out in the galing winds, but here in the village of elves and folk tales, where an Icelandic brewery can make one of the best pilsners around, I’ll believe almost anything.

—

Later in the car, as we bump along towards the puffins, our trio dissects our visit—still mystified that we could find such a gem in such a remote place.

“I thought that was going to be somebody doing a little bit of homebrewing out on the edge of the world,” dithers Webb. “But to come up with a seriously competent pilsner in the middle of nowhere…”

As Webb trails off, we all look around. In the stark landscape, we see the ocean meeting green coastal land meeting rising mountain peaks. We squint a little, keeping our eyes open for any elves. He pipes up again, bringing us out of our reverie. “They were genuinely good.”

We all shake our heads vigorously in agreement.

“But I guess if you had a former brewmaster of Pilsner Urquell stranded for four months,” he continues, “you’re going to learn something, aren’t you?”

After just a few hours at KHB, we sure did.