Restaurant: Madsen
Location: South Kensington
By Boeing: 393 miles
By Boris Bike: 3.2 miles
It wasn’t until after my visit to Denmark that I learnt of their Marmite moratorium. I must say the decision has left a bitter taste in my mouth. It seems a cynical form of protectionism to deprive a Dane who yearns for yeast merely to compel him to add a layer of Lurpak in compensation. For a nation known for its flamboyant toasts, this embargo of the extract is nothing short of spiteful. It must be treated as a diplomatic incident, and if a jar is not in Jutland by the end of the month it is an affront that is tantamount to a declaration of culinary war.
Of course this is far from an isolated incident. Over a thousand years ago the Danish nation was forged on the belief that meddling in English matters was far more entertaining than staying at home on their peninsula of pasture. The Viking found no sport more to his liking that raiding a coastal village for an afternoon of pillage and plunder. Presumably they took what they wanted, which evidently didn’t include any thick, viscous breakfast ingredients. In the 11th century they decided to stay, providing England with a Cnut the Great to rule the land of Danelaw after Ethelred the Unready.
The Viking legacy in England can be seen in placenames, such as Aislby in North Yorkshire and Lowesoft in Suffolk. And also, perhaps, in a man’s innate liking for beards and bacon. But when the Viking age came to an end Denmark shrunk from the map, the rampaging warriors settling down to farm the fields. It seems the Vikings quenched their national thirst for adventure, leaving their modern descendents happier with the humble life at home. This homespun idyll is embraced in Hygge, the concept of a calm and comfortable time that is the very definition of Danish domestic bliss.
Walking through the door of Madsen, London’s sole Danish restaurant, I realised that Hygge is easier to experience than to define. The soft, inviting lighting, the warm tones of stripped pine and red leather benches provided a refuge from the frenetic pace of rush hour London. It is only after sitting down at the table and sipping a beer that you appreciate the subdued style, carefully cosseting ambience and effortlessly cool Danish design. North Europeans are modest and introvert compared to their latin spirited Southern cousins, but this should not be misconstrued as a lack of confidence or a muted assertion of national pride. Theirs is a subtle expression. The Danish don’t extort your wonder or crave your adulation. They make you comfortable and leave you to discover Hygge in the details.
The Danes are much happier playing the role of the humble hen rather than the prancing peacock. And yet the restaurant recently crowned the best in the world is not in the cosmopolitan capitals of Milan, New York or Paris but Copenhagen. Noma achieved this accolade not by being flash but by foraging fresh ingredients from local forests and serving simple, stylish, nourishing food. Denmark reached the summit but didn’t feel the need to leave the flag.
Danish cuisine is marked by simple, fresh ingredients and carefully complimenting flavours. For starter I tried the national speciality, sild, better known to us as herring. It is served pickled, with a crisp salad, adding tart acidity to the dish. Though unassuming on the plate it is surprisingly flavoursome. The same can be said of Frikadeller, fried pork meatballs served with cabbage in a white sauce.
But it is human nature to express and excite. Copenhagen is a clean, smart, stylish and ordered city, content to offer visitors a warm welcome rather dazzle them with the wow factor. Yet at its heart lies the incomparable Tivoli Gardens, one of the most magical, captivating square miles in Europe. This theme-park cum fantasy world suspends belief and reminds you that Denmark is the fairy tale land of Hans Christian Anderson. When Alice spied through the looking glass this is where she spied.
Tivoli reveals what is generally hidden, the fun and flair behind the cool, phlegmatic demeanour. This expression, the unexpected explosion of colours and flavours, was seen in the deserts. The beetroot and Anis ice-cream looked enticing and tasted spectacular, like a firework display of rockets, flares and cascading candles erupting on the tongue. I looked at the bowl it was served in; modest, understated, functional. Then i tried another spoonful; complex, surprising, delicious.
They say you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Denmark is not a country or a cuisine that will demand your attention or flaunt its virtues. It may not have a dust jacket splashed with colour or a ringing endorsement quoted on the spine. But if you sit, relax and savour its story you may just find it is a thriller afterall.
