Onboard an HX Expeditions cruise, Tamara Hinson meets the Inuit chef putting Greenland’s indigenous cuisine on the map
It’s a cold, sunny day when I sail into Qeqertarsuaq aboard the HX Expeditions ship; a tiny community wedged into Greenland’s Disko Bay, on Greenland Day. The celebrations began at first light, when fishermen headed out into the frigid waters, skirting glaciers and competing to catch the first seal.
A proud Inuit fisherman drags a plump, shiny seal onto the harbour, gutting it in front of cheering locals and some passengers from my ship – most of whom suddenly look like they’re craving the familiarity of the onboard buffet. Seconds later, villagers scramble to take a bite of its liver – a tradition believed to bring strength. One local pops an eyeball in his mouth.
Welcome to Greenland in its raw, unfiltered glory – and perhaps that’s how it should be. Inunnguaq Hegelund, the ship’s Inuit head chef, knows first-hand about the dangers of misrepresenting his country, whether it’s by portraying Inuits as bloodthirsty whale-haters or seals as doe-eyed cartoon characters. The latter have few predators, eat ridiculous amounts of fish and breed like rabbits.
Inunnguaq spends much of his time spreading the word about the benefits of an Inuit diet, and correcting misconceptions. And there’s one which bugs him more than most. “Seals are not cute,” he announces during a fishing trip off the craggy coastline of Ilulissat, 250km into the Arctic Circle. “But that’s the problem. People see them as cute little cartoon characters, but they’re pests.” He points to a distant islet. “There are millions of seals on that lump of rock alone.”
In the 1960s, Greenpeace and Sea Shepherd embarked on anti-sealing campaigns which devastated Inuit communities. Hunting quotas were slashed and countless Inuit, already struggling with climate change-related food insecurity, committed suicide, unable to feed their families or use seal pelts for warmth, and faced with decimated fish stocks (seals, it turns out, are also very greedy). Greenpeace later apologised for failing to differentiate between commercial hunting and sustenance hunting.
Later, during dinner at a local’s house in Ilulissat, I’m trying desperately to chew a chunk of narwhal skin (a local delicacy) when Inunnguaq appears with the spoils from his fishing trip – a chunk of narwhal. “Polar bear is tougher,” he says, spotting me gnawing away. “You need to boil it for a long time, but boil it too much and you’ll lose the flavour.” Something I’ll bear in mind next time I’m hunting for polar bear steaks at Pak’n’Save.
Inunnguaq explains Inuits hunt narwhals in kayaks because these highly sensitive animals become stressed when they hear engines, and using kayaks also allows Inuits to take only what they need (typically one narwhal) without distressing the rest of the pod.
Inunnguaq honed his craft as a chef on a military base in north Greenland, before bagging a job at a west Greenland fine dining restaurant with numerous awards for its culinary offerings – few of which had any connection to Greenland.
“We’d serve caviar from Russia and beef from Argentina,” recalls Inunnguaq during a chat on our ship’s top deck (despite the fact it’s 11.30pm, the midnight sun, which only sinks beneath the horizon in August, still bathes the vessel in bright, golden light). “I just thought, why? Back then a lot of people were telling me I should leave Greenland to further my career. But I felt like the rest of the world didn’t know about my food and our culture, and it was my job to promote it.”
Inunnguaq clearly isn’t going anywhere. Yes, life is tough. This is someone who grew up risking life and limb by clambering under icebergs in search of mussels, who’s harpooned whales and taken down musk ox. I know about the latter feat because he tells me in graphic detail how hard they are to gut, and how, because of their weight, this must be done in situ, before the meat is carried to kayaks.
Every Inuit I speak to references a deep respect for the animals they eat, and their efforts to protect this fragile ecosystem. “People outside Greenland are realising we don’t just kill randomly – we don’t overkill,” says Inunnguaq. “They realise we need food – and they’re beginning to question why they get their own food from the other side of the world.”
The next day, we take to our kayaks and paddle along a chunk of the 75km Evighedsfjorden (or “fjord of eternity”), navigating chunks of ice. Every so often there’s a rumble as a glacier calves. Inunnguaq points to the sheer cliffs, explaining how he regularly scales them, foraging for ingredients.
“I love arctic thyme and angelica,” he says. “Angelica can be fermented and pickled, and you can use it in sweet or salty dishes.”
Sure enough, the arctic char with thyme he prepares later is delicious. No, I’m not quite ready for a starter of seals’ eyeballs, although I never imagined I’d find myself chewing a chunk of narwhal skin. And I have it on good authority that eyeballs are significantly easier to digest.
The writer was a guest of HX Expeditions.