Nowhere is this idiosyncratic method of keeping time more apparent than in Henningsvær, a quaint village clustered on the northeast side of the archipelago. Not unlike the Venetian lagoons, it's a port for seafarers who keep time by the tides. For years, Henningsvær's population ebbed and flowed with the annual running of the cod. In the winter of 1947, the town swelled with 12,500 fishermen. Of the 148,000 tons of cod caught in Norway that year, 48,000 came through the tiny town. "There were three cafés and a hat shop back then," says Mentzen one July afternoon, as he peels open a swollen sac of cod kaviar and swabs a shimmering orange stroke onto a cracker. The influx of sailors slept in the islands' countless crimson cabins called rorbuers, the first of which were built in the 12th century, and now cater to hikers, rock climbers, and tourists. Today, only a couple hundred fishermen come to the town. The industry remains stable—50,000 tons of cod came through Henningsvær in 2016—but is increasingly mechanized, resulting in fewer vocational fishermen. "But it's still so much a part of our tradition," he says, munching on a bite of smoked roe, which he bills as a luxury product akin to sturgeon roe.