I will never forget where I was when I learned of the death, earlier this year, of Shigeichi Negishi, the inventor of the karaoke machine, aged 100. I was in the Shamrock karaoke bar in Tallinn, Estonia, rounding out a good few days of eating and drinking my way around the historic capital of one of Europe’s most beautiful nations by belting out some Johnny Cash and drinking Fishshot, a vodka shot made to taste like Fisherman’s Friends lozenges. 

There is much of Tallinn that is reminiscent of the British Isles: the weather is often dreary and wet, and the streets are often cobbled, a match made in hell for anyone who likes wearing leather-soled shoes. The historic walled town centre dates largely from the thirteenth century and comprises beautiful municipal buildings and churches, narrow walkways and public squares where Gothic, Renaissance and Baroque styles converge. 

One large difference occurs, however, upon that change from the Baltic Sea to the North Sea, and that is in cuisine. While the majority of ingredients of Estonian cuisine also widely populate the British Isles, it is what they do with these foodstuffs that we British and Irish should take inspiration from. Meat, potatoes, fish, bread, and dairy constitute a large portion of meals across all these coastal nations, with seafood chowders forming a common link, but the Baltoscandian gastronomic influence provides a certain restorative buff against the harsh coldness that we are yet to find for ourselves. 

I met up with a friend whose family runs several well-known eating and drinking establishments in Tallinn to avail of a locals’ guide to what the culinary scene has to offer. Our first stop was Hell Hunt (“The Gentle Wolf”), a popular bar run by the family which opened in 1993, the first of its kind to do so after its independence from the Soviet Union at the end of 1991. We snacked on garlic rye bread with cucumber sauce and drank wheat beer brewed especially for the bar, giving us a great taste of cuisine to come. 

A short Uber ride away is the Põhjala Brewery & Tap Room, with a rotating selection of 24 locally brewed beers, and an impressive Texas-style BBQ which is smoked on-site. This is paired with a wide selection of cakes, breads, sauces and pickles which are all made in the brewery. We shared small plates of beef tartare with rye bread and pickles, kimchi pancakes, Nashville-hot-style cauliflower, and kettle-cooked chips made in-house. 

Our stomachs lined and our humours in balance, we headed back into the Old Town to check out Valli Baar, a Soviet-era bar complete with, well, nothing in particular. Cigarette-smoke-stained walls and counters, sparse decoration, and a distinct lack of English speaking staff or customers made this one of the more endearing venues of the trip, a place only existing for drinking and conversation, both of which we enjoyed largely due to having some friends to act as translators. We endured the hellish misfortune of the millimallikas (“jellyfish”), a shot consisting of vodka, sambuca, and Tabasco sauce, the pain of which was fortunately tempered by a portion of kiluvõileib, an open sandwich consisting of a sprat fillet atop rye bread (yet again), with a boiled egg and roughly chopped scallions. Thoroughly restorative. 

There are few meals in Estonia that one could not make with ease in the average coastal city in England or Ireland

Among many tourist traps in Tallinn’s Old Town is Olde Hansa, a parody-Medieval style restaurant replete with wait staff in peasant garb serving by candlelight while a band plays traditional music from up on the rafters (yes, really). I ate what the menu describes only as “Mystical Haggis — Gently spiced lamb dish from Scotland in the honour of brave Robert the Bruce, The King of Scotland”; the two countries have had relations for centuries, and food from Estonia helped to keep Scots alive during the Battle of Bannockburn after Scottish crops had been razed. This mystery meat was served with a deliciously large serving of mulgi kapsad (sauerkraut with barley and bacon) and boiled potatoes, and washed down with an earthenware tankard of “Dark strong beer with herbs”. 

There are few meals in Estonia that one could not make with ease in the average coastal city in England or Ireland; herring and rye bread are commonly available, potatoes are integral to the fabric of our nation, and pickles (albeit different kinds) are pub snacks sans frontiers. Those in the edgier “eat local” establishments, therefore, might benefit from a research trip to Tallinn for some sprat sandwiches — just hold off on the jellyfish shots.