What to Eat in Greenland

Greenland’s kitchen is shaped by an immense ice sheet, a jagged coastline, and short summers. Hunters and fishers rely on seal, whale, seabirds, and cold-water fish, with preservation a necessity. Fermentation, drying, and freezing evolved as practical responses to climate and travel.

Meals are built around sharing and seasonality; a successful hunt feeds the community through feasts and everyday soups. Kaffemik gatherings pair coffee with savory and sweet bites, while modern stores add imports to a still distinctly local diet. In remote settlements, traditional techniques remain central.

Kiviak is Greenland’s most emblematic fermented dish, prepared by stuffing hundreds of small auks (often little auks) into an intact sealskin. Air is pressed out, the skin is stitched tight and sealed with fat, then the bundle is cached under rocks or tundra to ferment for several months. The result is intensely aromatic, with a savory, cheese-like fragrance and tender, dark meat that separates easily from skin and bones. Kiviak is closely associated with East and North Greenland, and it is traditionally served at winter feasts, birthdays, and around Christmas. In places like Tasiilaq, Qaanaaq, and Siorapaluk, it marks abundance in a landscape where fresh produce is scarce in midwinter. Locals typically remove feathers before eating and slice or squeeze the softened flesh from the bird. Because of its potency, kiviak is shared carefully and often outdoors or in well-ventilated spaces, reinforcing its role as a communal food rather than an everyday meal.

Igunaq refers to fermented meat and fat—commonly walrus or seal—prepared by Inuit across the High Arctic, including the Inughuit communities of Northwest Greenland. Freshly harvested cuts are packed into animal skins or tight containers, sometimes cached in cool ground or stone-lined pits, and left to age for weeks to months. Controlled by low temperatures and exclusion of air, the process yields meat that is deep red, supple, and powerfully umami, with a pronounced marine aroma and a buttery mouthfeel from matured fat. Igunaq has deep cultural significance as a technique that secures nutrient-dense food for the dark season and for long travel. In the Qaanaaq area, families share it during late autumn and winter, often in small portions alongside broth or raw slices of other catch. Preparation demands experience to assess fat quality, weather, and storage safety, reflecting knowledge passed through generations of hunters adapted to Arctic constraints.

Mattak is whale skin with an attached layer of blubber, typically from species such as narwhal or beluga in northern and eastern coasts under regulated subsistence hunts. It is eaten raw, freshly sliced, or slightly frozen; the skin offers a crisp bite while the blubber is chewy and releases clean, oceanic juices. The flavor is mild, faintly nutty, and rich without being overtly fishy, and the skin is valued as a traditional source of vitamin C in a land with limited greens. Mattak is commonly shared at community events following successful hunts and at home gatherings, including kaffemik. In coastal towns like Nuuk and Ilulissat, it appears in local markets when hunting seasons permit, reinforcing its role in both celebration and everyday nourishment. Preparation is minimal—careful trimming and cubing—so freshness and provenance matter, and many people prefer it unseasoned to taste the animal and sea directly.

Suaasat is a straightforward, sustaining soup long considered Greenland’s national dish. It is commonly made with seal, but reindeer, muskox, whale, or seabird can also be used, simmered with onions, potatoes, and often rice or barley, then seasoned simply with salt and occasionally bay leaf. The broth turns silky from collagen, the meat tender and deeply savory; when seal is used, it gains a distinct marine note balanced by root vegetables. Suaasat carries practical and ceremonial weight: it feeds families daily in cold months, appears at community gatherings, and is served at official events and national holidays. In Nuuk and smaller towns alike, cooks adapt ingredients to what is available, but the technique stays consistent—slow simmering and no thickening. Served steaming in generous bowls, it is eaten year-round yet feels essential in winter, when a ladle of hot broth and lean protein is both comfort and fuel for Arctic life.

Drying is a core preservation method in Greenland, making portable foods prized on hunting trips and at home. Fillets of Arctic char, Greenland halibut, or cod are split and hung on outdoor racks, where cold, dry winds and low insect activity promote safe dehydration; strips of reindeer or muskox are treated similarly. Over several weeks, flesh concentrates in flavor and firms to a pleasantly chewy texture, sometimes slightly glossy from residual oils. The taste is clean and sweet-salty, markedly different from smoked products, and is often eaten plain, dipped in rendered seal fat, or paired with a hot drink. Drying reflects climate wisdom: minimal fuel use and low temperatures that deter spoilage. In Ilulissat and Tasiilaq, racks appear in late summer and early autumn, filling with catch during brief abundance. These foods are carried on sled journeys, used in quick meals, and shared at kaffemik tables alongside fresh and fermented specialties.

Greenlandic cuisine balances subsistence ethics with ingenuity: fermentation, drying, and raw preparations protect nutrients and flavor through long winters. Modern kitchens blend store-bought goods with local fish, seal, reindeer, and seasonal berries, but sharing remains central. Explore more Arctic food guides and weather-smart planning tools on Sunheron.com.