By Layla
As Roz always takes control of our getting-together anniversaries, with surprise trips and little notebooks to tell me what we’re doing each step of the way, I foolishly agreed to take responsibility for our first wedding anniversary. By the time of our departure, I had already accidentally revealed to Roz that we were going to Copenhagen, got into an indecisive tizz, and ended up with her booking the hotel. I had already failed on the surprise front. I had to make things special – but how?
The trip started salubriously after work on Friday, when we headed to Stansted Airport to get an Easyjet flight to Copehnhagen. As we soared Denmark-wards, we tucked into Pret a Manger vegetarian bento boxes and by the time we landed, already felt rather festive. An eye wateringly expensive taxi conveyed us to our hotel, with the taxi driver sweetly giving us a guided tour of Copenhagen (and warning us how expensive it was compared to London).
We arrived at the Admiral Hotel, on the waterfront in a cool old wharf building, and with much relief I found that the hotel had followed my instructions to have champagne cooling in our bedroom. The first time I’ve ever ordered this before – and I was most pleased to see that it came complete with some very delicious chocolate on a stylish slate. Curious that it was pink and tasted a bit like juice... We drank and munched with glee, before deciding we still felt rather perky, so we headed out into the chilly Copenhagen night.
It had been my vague plan to find a nice bar in the stretch of restaurants lining Nyhavn, the old harbour. This was very picturesque, with colourful buildings and water lapping, but the bars were not very tempting. Not even the Scottish gastropub.. I resolved to take Roz to one of the world’s best bars, Ruby, that had been recommended to me. Alas I couldn’t remember exactly where it was, but after a 15 minute walk through the Friday night streets of central Copenhagen, including along a street full of wedding dresses, we found it. Mainly alerted by the long queue outside, seemingly to the Georgian Embassy, that made us rather sad at 11:30pm but we decided to persist, and by midnight we were mounting the steps to the bar (intriguingly in the building’s hallway, Ruby on the right, Georgian Embassy straight ahead). The top floor was unpleasantly mobbed, but we fought our way to the bar and ordered a couple of superlative cocktails (Roz had French 75, I had Halo) and retired to a more sedate lower floor to bag a couple of seats and sip appreciatively. My seat was next to a man who started to chat me up, much to my smugness and Roz’s indignation! After we polished off these cocktails, we retrieved the menu, to find it was a different one – we were now in the room of ‘forgotten cocktails’. We embarked on a cocktail exploration of Colonial days, and had a very pleasant evening, til the tiredness overtook us and we walked home to our hotel, through pretty Copenhagen streets.
On Saturday we exhaustedly slept very late, and by the time we eventually woke up, it was almost lunchtime. Which I didn’t really notice or think about, and when Roz announced a desire for breakfast, all I could think of was how to find some for her, rather than the far more appropriate thought that she should save her appetite. I hadn’t managed much in the way of surprises, but I had a really good one up my sleeve... The best restaurant in the world, Noma, is located in Copenhagen. In fact this was the inspiration for me booking the tickets. Alas when I’d tried to book I’d found out how silly I was to imagine that was all it took – it was almost impossible to get a table at Noma! There were absolutely no tables for months into the future. The reservations person pretty much laughed out loud at my request. Frustratedly, I had put my name on a waiting list and contacted them obsessively, in the unlikely hope of a mad person cancelling. After all, who would cancel lunch at Noma?
I’d given up all hope by Friday afternoon when I got the phone call. ‘Would you still be interested in a table at Noma for lunch?’ I practically did a jig in the street. And had somehow managed to conceal the excitement from Roz. So much so that we were halfway through ordering a large breakfast when with horror I realised my error. The eggs we’d ordered came with non-vegetarian accompaniment and I sent it back, refusing a new plate. Roz was somewhat bemused until I produced my version of her cool surprise notebook and bade her turn the page. When she read that we were going to Noma, she practically exploded with excitement. And I felt very smug indeed.
Noma is located at the deserted end of an island in Christianhavn, in an old wharf building. We walked there from Nyhavn, along the water, and then – embarrassingly early – we practically pressed our noses up against the windows until the hour approached, and we stepped over the threshold of the best restaurant in the world.
There is always the fear, when going somewhere with such a reputation, that disappointment is nigh. I am delighted to report that Noma fulfilled all our foodie dreams. We were shown to our table, overlooking the harbour and brightly coloured buildings of Nyhavn across the water, in a very cool, contemporary, fancy, warehousey building with exposed wood and brick, a contemporary vibe, and a full room of very happy-looking diners. We accepted the suggestion of champagne, and then a waiter marched up to us to confirm our food requirements Yes, we were vegetarians. No, we had no other allergies. He then marched off without any suggestion of a menu, and we realised: at Noma you don’t choose what sounds good. The chef knowa what you want to eat!
And so began a series of seven ‘snacks’, each one more beautiful, quirky, elaborate and intriguingly delicious than the last. Deep fried lichen on a bed of moss. Some bright red seaweed with pickled rose petals that tasted of penny sweets. Some creamed broadbeans on impossibly thin rye toast. Two tiny marinated quail eggs with liquid yolk, served on a bed of straw inside a large ceramic egg, from which inexplicable steam billowed. Deep fried leek bulbs. Wafer-thin ciabatta with nine herb topping. And most impressively, a plantpot with plants growing from it – you pulled the plants out to find they were beautifully prepared vegetables buried in edible soil (smoked hazelnut and beer). With each course came a waiter who described it in depth.
We had rather assumed that these dishes were the meal, so when the last one came, and the waiter explained that this was the end of the snacks, and thus of the service of his part of the kitchen, we were intrigued. Soon a new waiter appeared and advised us of our one choice: we could choose seven courses or twelve. He warned us that twelve courses would have to be eaten rather speedily as they closed at 4. Roz and I looked at each other. Twelve courses sounded mighty decadent… on the other hand, how could we live with missing out on five glorious courses at the best restaurant in the world? We took a deep breath and asked for twelve. Which Roz accompanied with matching wine flights.
And so the dishes commenced. I can’t remember them all. There was a glorious mushroom dish. A bizarre and delicious cucumber dish with frozen cucumber balls wrapped in burnt cucumber skin. One of onion and tapioca. A special egg dish that one fried oneself at the table (alone of all the diners, I failed to break the egg properly, then burned myself with the oil, much to the distress/disgust of the waiter who clearly thought my priorities were deeply wrong when I chose running my hand under cold water over eating the glorious food at the moment it tasted best), a cabbage plate… hazelnuts… oh goodness, I couldn’t possibly do the dishes justice with my descriptions. Each was intriguing, innovative, amazing… and mostly delicious. There were three desserts. The poached pear with raw pear sliced on top was delicious, but its accompanying freeze-dried pear soufflé was absolutely astounding. The artichoke icecream was fascinating. Malt and compressed apple discs. Freezedried beetroot crumbs surrounding caramelised brown cheese. As we retired to the coffee table to eat our chocolate treats at the end, we realised I had eaten 21 courses (Roz had eaten 19 – I had pilfered some of hers!) When the bill came I had to clutch the table to keep from fainting, but my goodness – if a meal was ever priceless, it was Noma. What an amazing, intriguing, innovative, and altogether spectacular experience. We staggered out of the restaurant and literally rolled back to the hotel. And had a nap.
We woke up to the alarming realisation that I had booked a fancy dinner at a very cool, brand new, up-and-coming restaurant tipped to be in the Top 50 next year, Relae. We couldn’t possibly eat another morsel… could we? On the other hand, it sounded intriguing. It would be such a shame to miss it… before we knew what had happened, we were in a taxi. When we asked the driver to take us to Relae, he was hesitant: ‘Are you sure? That’s the most dangerous street in Denmark! Drug dealers, shootings…’ Luckily I’d already read that this was indeed the case, so told him to go right ahead. Of course the street didn’t seem a patch on Camberwell, and the restaurant looked very cool. Not as glamorous as Relae, but a sophisticated crowd and clearly a cool place to be. We had the four course vegetarian menu. We particularly enjoyed the course which was clearly a reinterpretation of Noma’s onion and tapioca. I was convinced Noma’s was better; Roz favoured Relae’s… we had baby broccoli. We had spirals of squashed strips of beetroot. And a frozen apple crumb dessert with fennel. Intriguing. As I gasped down my 25th course of the day, I wondered whether I might have been a trifle greedy… All in all, Relae wasn’t amazing. We doubted it would indeed get into the top 50. But it was pretty good!
We got a taxi and zoomed on to the Danish Film Institute, home to the Copenhagen 25th Lesbian and Gay Film Festival. Which didn’t seem very popular, but the venue was cool, and we settled down, along with a small crowd of gays, to watch Spork, a brilliant, quirky American movie about a hermaphrodite teenager and her struggle to fit in. Sweet, funny, touching, fantastic. We left the cinema with tears and grins, and walked through the Saturday night streets to bed.
We had set our alarm clock to wake up early on Sunday morning, so that we could march 30 minutes through the streets to Mike’s Bikes, for a 3 hour bike tour round Copenhagen. We ended up running late and dashing along til we got there in the nick of time to be told by Mike – rather smugly – that he had decided to cancel the cycle that day. We were furious: we’d really been looking forward to it, and his attitude was infuriating. We marched out with wrath and couldn’t quite decide what to do next… We wandered back to Kongens Have park where we wandered amongst the pretty autumn trees to check out my proposed lunch venue, Orangeriet. Alas we soon realised (a) they had no vegetarian options, and (b) we were still a bit full from yesterday. So we returned to MJ Coffee to have some overpriced coffee/smoothie and mull over our options…
I was supposed to be the girl with the plans, but Roz soon took control of a deteriorating suggestion and suggested following the Time Out guidebook guided walk around the city. Genius! We set off, through pretty squares and shopping streets, to the museum of post and telecommunications. Which was hi-tech and brilliant, albeit a tad niche… After playing with the various communication devices and admiring postal uniforms of old, we had a nice lunch of goat cheese sandwiches in their rooftop café.
Onwards, through the centre of town, and we came to Tivoli, Copenhagen’s famed amusement park. I’d read everywhere it was closed, and it looked closed, so we didn’t go (I was rather bitter when a taxi driver later that day told me it was open – I’m still doubtful). We stopped off at the Danish Design Center for a quick design browse and a very large pot of tea, before continuing over the bridge to the island where the parliament sits, and then over another bridge to Christianshavn, and on to Christiania, a strange little hippy enclave which for various historical reasons is not subject to the laws of Copenhagen and sits as a its own little tie-dyed, cannabis-smoking republic. Odd but interesting.
We walked back to Nyhavn and settled in McJoy’s gastropub, in fact a nice little pub on the port, and sipped drinks and watched the boats over beer til it was time to reluctantly return to the hotel, pick up our bags, jump in a taxi and… yes, have more food! The destination was Famo, a lovely little Italian restaurant where we gorged on delicious food. Again, there were multiple courses. This is an excellent feature of Copenhagen. We washed it down with prosecco, toasted our anniversary, and grabbed a taxi to the airport. Just in time to find out our plane was delayed. We finally staggered into our own flat just after 1am, cursing Easyjet, but having had a very nice anniversary trip indeed.
