Dill, Iceland’s pioneering Michelin-starred restaurant, has long been a beacon of New Nordic cuisine and culinary innovation in Reykjavík. Opened in 2009 by Gunnar Karl Gíslason, Dill was the first Icelandic restaurant to earn a Michelin star-a distinction it first received in 2017 and has since reclaimed after a brief lapse. Today, it stands on Laugavegur 59, in the heart of the city, its rustic, minimalist interior evoking both the stark beauty of Icelandic landscapes and the warmth of a fisherman’s cottage. The space is intimate, with only a handful of tables and counter seats overlooking a tiny open kitchen, making reservations highly coveted.
Chef Gunnar Karl Gíslason remains the creative force behind Dill, though the kitchen has also seen the influence of chefs like Kári Þorsteinsson, who brought experience from Noma and Grillið. The restaurant is owned and operated by Gíslason, whose vision has always centered on local, seasonal ingredients and a deep respect for Icelandic culinary heritage. Dill’s menu is a reflection of this ethos: dried and smoked ingredients, pickled vegetables, and foraged herbs are staples, and the restaurant is renowned for its inventive, sometimes daring, approach to flavor and presentation.
Yet, beneath this sterling reputation, a growing chorus of critical voices suggests that Dill may be losing some of its original charm. Recent reviews reveal a pattern of guest dissatisfaction that cannot be ignored.
One recurring theme is the repetitiveness and imbalance of flavors. A December 2024 review lamented, “Yes, they serve lots of small courses, but they literally all tasted the same. There is a strange dill pickled fish flavor to everything, even the ice cream. It was one of the least favorable restaurants of any we have ever been to (and the most expensive).” The same guest found the atmosphere and service only “mediocre at best,” and was dismayed by the slow, four-and-a-half-hour dinner pace, with a waiter seen drinking wine on the job.
Another diner, writing in January 2025, described the experience as “confusing,” noting that “nearly every dish shared a dominant fermented, vinegary taste that became repetitive and overpowering, making it hard to enjoy or distinguish between courses.” Despite praise for the creativity and the team’s passion, the reviewer concluded, “For our group of four experienced diners, the food was simply not enjoyable, leaving us puzzled by the restaurant’s widespread acclaim.”
Service, too, has come under fire. One guest recounted a negative encounter with a “bespectacled head server in a black jacket,” who responded rudely to questions about Dill’s sustainability practices. The same review noted that while the ambience was pleasant, “the noise level” detracted from the experience, and the overall impression was that Dill “has potential, but some aspects of the experience need improvement.”
Perhaps most damning are the complaints about the rigid time slots and rushed service. A guest who planned their entire trip around dinner at Dill was shocked to be told, “the table was booked again at 9pm,” and that the kitchen could not slow the pace of the 18-course meal. “We never ever dined at a Michelin star restaurant that worked with time slots,” they wrote, concluding, “The restaurant simply does not deserve the Michelin star, since this is a total concept experience, and not only measured by the quality of the food.”
Wine pairings, once a highlight, now divide opinion. Some diners have found the exclusive use of sour, natural wines off-putting. One guest wrote, “The €100 wine pairing only consists [of] sour ‘natural’ wines. Very very sour. Asked if I could buy a glass of dessert wine for our chocolate dessert, our table was told in an incredibly arrogant way by the sommelier that they don’t carry dessert wines, because ‘I don’t like it’ and the paired wine is sour ‘because that’s how it’s supposed to be.’” Such inflexibility and lack of hospitality have left a “sour taste” for more than one visitor.
Despite these criticisms, Dill’s defenders remain. Some guests still describe their meals as “magical,” praising the innovation and the way the restaurant “utilized sour and acid in a way we have never had before.” Yet, the polarization is striking, with as many guests leaving disappointed as delighted.
Dill’s legacy as Iceland’s culinary trailblazer is secure, but as it stands at the crossroads of tradition and innovation, the restaurant risks alienating diners who seek not just novelty, but balance, comfort, and hospitality. In the words of one reviewer, “If you are a foodie, you need to eat at this place before you die.” Increasingly, however, others are asking whether the experience is still worth the price of admission.
