travel: københavn…

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If you stitch together all of the days and weeks of my last eight trips to Copenhagen, the ledger will show that I’ve spent over two of the last 22 months in Denmark.  And I’ll be spending another week there on my upcoming trip to Europe, which will mark my twelfth trip to the Danish capital.

Although I’ve left a trail of Danish crumbs strewn across this blog recently, it’s been a regrettably disorganized one: here’s one post, for example, and here’s another, among many others in which I’ve dropped references and thoughts about eating in Denmark.  Sadly, I haven’t had enough time to gather these travel and dining experiences together in a comprehensive report.  And, it’s unlikely that I ever will.

However, it has become increasingly apparent that I need to contribute some of what I’ve learned from my time in Denmark to cyberspace, less for my own record, and more to relieve the growing number of requests I’ve been receiving for advice on Danish dining.  Coming from strangers and friends alike, they’ve been arriving at an overwhelming rate recently.

As I’ve written before, I’m averse to issuing shorthand recommendations or declarations about restaurants in the form of lists, rankings, and the like. That sort of laziness makes caricatures of chefs and restaurants, creates undeserved hype, and degrades the consumer base.  I won’t do it.

At the same time, I recognize that blogs like this one are sources of information and opinion. And, to the extent that I am able, I eagerly share both.  So, given the unusual density of contact that I’ve had with the Danish restaurant scene and culture recently, I submit, here, some of my favorite places to eat and drink in Copenhagen, many of which I have visited repeatedly and appreciate for the quality and consistency of the cooking.  To be clear, the following is not merely a laundry list of all of the places I’ve eaten in Denmark, thoughtlessly vomited out more for my sake than yours – you’ll find that relatively irrelevant accounting on my restaurant log, which is, perhaps, only useful as a reference for the number of times I’ve been to a restaurant, and the recency of my visits.

Rather, this post will highlight the restaurants, coffee shops, and eateries where I choose to spend my time and money, and where I feel confident sending you to do the same.  I hope it helps.

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Before I attempt to show you around, let me first herd the elephants out of the room.

There are a handful of usual suspects that will surely crowd the radar of anyone visiting Copenhagen: Christian Puglisi’s relæ; Rasmus Kofoed’s Geranium (currently, the only restaurant in Denmark with three Michelin stars); and Rene Redzepi’s noma are considered by many as required eating.  Some might also add to that starry host Matt Orlando’s amass; Nicolai Nørregaard’s kadeau; and Torsten Vildegaard at Studio at the Standard.

I’ve been to all of them, and others of that ilk, like the two Michelin-starred a|o|c.  And they’re all very good, collectively quilting a lovely, if not slightly fetishized and redundant patchwork of Scandinavia’s pastoral and littoral. I’ve shared my thoughts on this topic quite extensively before, and I’m loathed to tax it further here. Plenty of ink has been spilled over these restaurants, and you don’t need me to tell you about them.  If they interest you, I commend them to you without reserve.

Instead, I prefer to focus on the many, terrific places – some of them perfectly ordinary and everyday, others extraordinary and unique – that I deem more expressive of this city, and its culture, which I have come to love.  For these reasons, and many more as you shall see, they have become a part of my routine when I’m there.

As I expressed in an earlier post, I have an evolving relationship with Denmark.  Once a tourist with a checklist, I have since made somewhat of a second home there with wonderful and, hopefully, lasting relationships. Together, they’ve altered my perspective of the Danish dining scene, putting into context and, indeed, normalizing much of what is distorted in the foreign press.

Although there are places all over Denmark I’d like to tell you about, in the interest of time, I will focus here on the city of Copenhagen.  But as you read the following, I will be preparing to take you afield in my next post.

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The scarcity of places in Copenhagen that offer what most would consider a proper breakfast suggests that locals aren’t accustomed to eating out in the mornings (in fact, although their culture is changing, the Danes aren’t accustomed to eating out regularly at all).  Most breakfast options are cold, or portable – morning pastries and croissants, for example.  But it’s certainly not for a lack of options that I start my day in Copenhagen, almost without exception, at Atelier September on Gothersgade near Kongens Nytorv.   Inheriting its name from the antique store that lived in this space before Frederik Bille-Brahe took it over, this café offers a short, chalkboard menu of espresso drinks, tea, and simple but thoughtfully composed plates. I’ve been to Atelier September so many times that the staff often starts pulling the shot for my noisette (akin to a macchiato) as soon as I walk in.  Invariably, I’ll have the granola bowl, with grapefruit, blueberries, and mint. But I’ve had practically everything on the menu, and there’s really no wrong choice.

In the neighborhood of Nørrebro, you’ll find Mirabelle, which is part of Christian Puglisi’s expanding family of restaurants.  Although it’s primarily a bakery, and although it only served breakfast when I first visited, it now serves food all day (I’ve been once at night, when its dinner menu is dominated by pasta). Here, you’ll find the classic Scandinavian breakfast of rye bread, cheese, ham, and a soft-boiled egg, in addition to a selection of viennoiserie.

My friend Kim Dolva first introduced me to Grød, which has since opened multiple locations around the city, including one on Guldsbergsgade, just a few blocks from Mirabelle. The name, pronounced in Danish, is suggestive of its fare: “gruel,” or, what we in English might more properly call “porridge.”  Everything here is grain-based, from it’s morning menu of oat, quinoa, and chia porridges, to its more expansive lunch and evening menu, which includes risotto, congee, and daal-based porridges.  You’ll even find risalamande, a Danish rice pudding which, as its francophone name suggests, includes chopped blanched almonds, and, traditionally, a warm cherry sauce.*

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My consumption of bread, butter, and coffee skyrockets when I’m in Europe, and especially so in Scandinavia, where all of it is particularly good.

On my most recent trip, I spent three mornings, nearly back-to-back-to-back, eating my way through the viennoiserie at the corner café at 108.  They’re terrific: flakey, buttery, and dark.  (I don’t know why people are afraid of a little color on their morning buns – who wants blonde, doughy croissants?)  The ones I had were glazed – with sour apple, for example, and another with aronia berries.  The one that seems to draw the most attention – perhaps for novelty, or perhaps because it is actually very good – is a danish glazed with fermented beef (the emphasis is on the beef, not the fermented).  The café also serves a hot, plated lunch, which I hope to try on a future trip.

Some claim the croissants at Democratic Coffee to be byens bedste (“the city’s best”).  While they are very good, and the coffee here is very good as well, truth be told, I first made a habit of this place because it offers free wifi (it’s attached to the Copenhagen Main Library). And that is primarily why you’ll find me here occasionally, working on my laptop.

Niels H.C. Nielsen shrugged off the corporate suit to open Foloren Espresso, a small café on Store Kongensgade where I’ve been spending more of my time lately.  For a while, Nielsen was a one-man operation, plying his craft alone, very much with the ethos of the small coffee shops of Japan from which he draws inspiration.  More recently, I’ve noticed him adding a few faces behind the counter.

Coffee Collective gets a lot of attention. While its roasts tend to be too light and acidic for me, I cannot deny its place among the very best coffee that Copenhagen has to offer right now.  The original café is on Jaegersborggade. But due to its more central location, the Coffee Collective counter at the Torvehallerne food hall near Nørreport sees me far more often.  If you don’t want coffee, I recommend the hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream, of course.

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Danes don’t really eat out at lunch either.

There are a few high-end restaurants – particularly the ones that rely heavily on international diners – that use lunch service to help relieve an overwhelming demand for reservations (you’ll find most of those restaurants listed at the top of this post). Otherwise, they probably wouldn’t bother opening during the day.  But, setting aside those restaurants, and others that cater mostly to tourists, lunch options in Copenhagen are generally limited to something quick and portable – like the bánh mì I often pick up to-go from District Tonkin – or something more traditionally Danish. I almost always opt for the latter.

The Lumskebugten of today is very different from the Lumskebugten of yesteryear.  Dating well beyond the 19th century, when this seaside tavern catered mostly to sailors, the restaurant is now a rather charming relic amidst the modern, corporate-looking headquarters of the Danish shipping giant Maersk, which threaten to swallow it from all sides.  Lumskebugten’s colorful history – including the origins of it’s rather strange name, an ominous reference to the dangerous, sandy banks that once lay just beyond the restaurant’s doors – can be found in a tiny, Janus-faced book available at the restaurant (they give them out for free) – the cover on one side is in English, the other in Danish; with the story told from the two covers inward in a bilingual mirror.

I first arrived at Lumskebugten on a sunny afternoon.  I sat outside alone on the patio and ordered a smørrebrød of sliced corned veal tongue served with pickles and creamy horseradish.  Despite my attempts to relive that rather perfect lunch, I’ve only managed to return on rainy days, forcing me inside. Despite the restaurant’s raucous maritime origins, its interior is now as elegantly dressed as the restaurant’s plates – the simple look of a generation or two ago.  At lunch, it’s usually smørrebrød: buttered bread draped with smoked salmon under a cloud of scrambled eggs wearing a feathery cap of dill, or a rosy veil of roast beef and tarragon cream mounded with fried onions.  All of it – even those chocolate-covered marshmallows the Danes call flødeboller (if you’ve had the French, German, or Belgian versions, you’ll know it has a regrettably pejorative nomenclature and past) – is served on those lacy, hand-painted porcelain plates by the Royal Copenhagen china company.

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You’ll find Royal Copenhagen crowding the tables at Schønnemann too, where tradition is kept alive with its “classical Danish lunch.”  Like Lumskebugten, this old tavern dating to 1877, now sunken below street level, offers an Old World charm, preserved in its seemingly endless menu of smørrebrød and convivial atmosphere, no doubt lubricated by its list of over 140 labels of snaps.

Make sure you’re hungry; the food is hearty.  I can barely make it through two plates of smørrebrød. And if you attempt an order of “tartlets,” you might think twice before ordering more.  They come two to a plate, the flakey, fluted shells mounded with shrimp, or mushrooms, or chicken; all of it swimming in Hollandaise.  Your server might arrive with an extra pot of sauce, as did mine, and, against your protest, proceed to drown the lot in more Hollandaise.

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Although I’ve always had a great experience at Schønnemann, I should note that there has been a change in personnel, and I haven’t had a chance to return since. Until I do, I cannot recommend it without reserve.  Last year, I was made aware that a number of longstanding members of the staff – both front and back of the house – left Schønnemann.  Teaming up with the restaurateurs of the Michelin-starred restaurant Formel B, they opened Palægade, located on the street of the same name.

So, it was unsurprising to see quite a few familiar faces when I visited Palægade.  It was also unsurprising to see a similar menu.  At lunch, you’ll find the same classic smørrebrød you’d have at Schønnemann or Lumskebugten – fried plaice with shrimp; rullepølse – a rolled pork sausage sliced thinly; or pickled herring topped with a “smile” (an appropriate way of describing an open, drooling soft-boiled egg).  And it seems to have earned the trust of locals rather quickly – I’ve tried walking in twice since, and both times, the restaurant was fully committed.  Because I visited so soon after its opening, I will reserve judgment on Palægade until I have more opportunities to prove its worth.  But for now, I will only say that, despite its comparatively modern interior – a marked departure from its tavern type – after all, it was built in 2016 and not the 1800s – I do hope the restaurant remains true to the form of its fare, the kind of hearty, no-nonsense deliciousness that is the very bread and butter of Danish cookery.

[A worthy aside: Speaking of hearty, Danish cuisine, I turn briefly to Restaurant Gammel Mønt.  Apparently, the prodigious-sized portions of this prodigious-sized chef are legendary. (I made the mistake of standing in the doorway to his kitchen, saved only by a server, who yanked me out of the way just as chef Claus Christiansen steamrolled through. I was assured, after-the-fact, that he would not have stopped.)  I have only had one dish there, and therefore have little to report at this time.  But, based on that one dish, I know this man can cook. It was eel, cut into two-inch segments, panfried on a stovetop in the dining room.  They came mounded on a serving platter and, as with Danish tradition, were portioned onto our plates, the server ringing the outer rim with the segments until they completed the circle. They were terrific. I didn’t study the menu, but from the brief glance I took, I know I’ll be back for more.  Note: this restaurant is only open for lunch, private arrangements at night.]

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Despite the name, I don’t think I’ve ever had ice cream at La Glace, an old-school conditori that has operated at Skoubogade 3 since 1870.  Here, you’ll find the prissy, frilly cakes of a bygone era lining the café’s refrigerated cases, and more whimsical versions of them in its window displays.

Although the cakes here are very good (and its morning vienoisserie as well), it’s not the main reason I like La Glace.  I like it because it dares to preserve something of the past, including a slower space in which to while away an afternoon with a book or a friend.  I’ve actually never sat inside the café – it’s almost always full, and there’s usually a wait to get in, thanks to the tourists who flock here for obvious reasons (although the crowds seem to have been alleviated by the café’s recent expansion into the space next door).  I’ve always lucked out on the sidewalk with great weather and an empty table.

[Incidentally, if you are looking for ice cream, Jakob de Neergaard – former chef of the celebrated Søllerød Kro, and whom I first encountered in 2011 photographing the Bocuse d’Or in Lyon, where he served as the Danish judge – has teamed up with Jacob Marsing-Rossini to create Jacob og Jokob Ice Cream. I particularly love their licorice and vanilla ice creams; the former wonderfully subtle, the latter immensely fragrant.  I always hope to chance upon one of their ice cream carts parked at the northern gate of Rosenborg Slot, near the castle’s ticket office.  But recently, I discovered an entire freezer case full of their ice cream in the basement “mad og vin” market at the Magasin du Nord department store at Kongens Nytorv. The pint-ish-sized cartons are insulated in their own styrofoam case.]

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You won’t find as many tourists at A.C. Perchs Thehandel. But the doily set will be out in full force at this teashop (thehandel), which claims to be the oldest in Europe, and has a royal warrant from the Court of Denmark as the official purveyor of tea to Her Majesty, Queen Margrethe II.

The teashop proper is on the ground level, a crowded cubbyhole that spills its overflow onto the narrow Kronprinsensgade. But upstairs, you’ll find a surprisingly capacious tea room, where you can sit and order from the shop’s menu of over 140 different teas.  Here, you can also have a proper, British afternoon tea service, with a tree of scones, finger sandwiches, and sweets. The Ritz it is not. But pomp is not the Danish way. And neither is that its purpose or place in Copenhagen society. Rather, like La Glace, A.C. Perchs Thehandel offers a comforting reassurance that Danish society still values the traditions of its past, and preserves them for tomorrow.

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There is no wine list at Vedstranden 10, a wine bar that favors “natural” labels.  You tell your server your preferences, and they bring you a taste of something they think you’ll like.

When the weather’s nice, I prefer to sit outside at the tables lining the canal across the street.  Otherwise, the interior is a series of what I describe as living room vignettes, cozy corners meant for sharing.  There is a food menu here, which isn’t widely advertised.  You have to ask for it.  It’s so short, in fact, your server might just recite it for you. In particular, Vedstranden 10’s version of the croque monsieur, a crusty, burnished wonder, is worth ordering.  It doubles as dinner for one, or a hearty snack for two.

Before you leave, look up.  Vedstranden 10 – which is also the wine bar’s address – has a magnificently preserved milk glass ceiling.  Prohibitively expensive to reproduce, these opaque, glass tiles, which are shockingly common in Copenhagen, are becoming increasingly rare elsewhere.  (You’ll also find a beautiful milk glass canopy at Atelier September.)

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The field in Copenhagen widens considerably at dinnertime.

Bæst and its sister restaurant Manfreds og Vin, both under Christian Puglisi’s umbrella, are usually at the top of my list – especially so on Sundays and Mondays, when they’re both blessedly open on nights when the city offers few options otherwise.

Based on proximity alone, Bæst is usually a far easier reach for me.  As its name suggests – it means “beast” in Danish – you’ll find a rather impressive selection of cured meat on the menu.  There’s also fantastic housemade burrata and about a dozen wood-fired pizzas with knobby, blistered rims and a terrifically elastic crust (my favorite one is generously threaded with Lolin anchovies).  If you want to sample widely, consider the “Big Bæst,” an almost indiscriminately generous tasting menu, served family-style. Bring your friends and strap on your appetites – it’s a lot of food.

“Manfreds – (probably) the world’s only veggie-focused restaurant famous for its raw meat”: this irony is proudly declared on the restaurant’s website, along with its claim of serving almost entirely certified organic products.  Indeed, the beef tartare here, creamy with egg yolk and crunchy with breadcrumbs, is very good.  But so is everything else, which strikes me as a markedly masculine version of the daintier, prettier food served at Puglisi’s relæ across the street.  Like Bæst, the food here is simple, hot, and tasty.  (But unlike Bæst, Manfreds is also open for lunch.)

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As with most of the world, French cuisine dominated the Danish fine dining scene for the better half of the 20th century. It wasn’t until fairly recently that chefs, worldwide, untethered themselves from les sauces mères and started looking to their own cultures and foodways for a new definition of refinement.  Nowhere has this been more prominent than in Denmark, where a new generation of chefs have inspired a nearly universal reevaluation of cultural identity in the culinary world.+

But you’ll still find undercurrents of classic, French cooking alive in Copenhagen, running more true at places like Bistro Pastis, or the more upmarket le Sommelier, and, to a lesser degree at Bistro Bohême, where Per Thøstesen convincingly blurs cultural borders with a successful, revisionist – here, a specifically Danish – approach to French cooking.  All three are terrific options, especially the latter.

But n’est plus ultra in this arena is Kong Hans Kælder.  It is not only the height of Franco-Danish culinary hybridity, but the pinnacle of refinement, peerless in almost every way.

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Now, before proceeding further, I must throw caution to my enthusiasm for this restaurant. I have become very good friends with a number of the staff members, especially the head chef, Mark Lundgaard Nielsen, and Peter Pepke, who is, in every sense of the title, maître d’.  Treated very much like family, I have paid embarrassingly little for my excesses there.  So, you have every reason to be skeptical of my praise.

But, having made these disclosures, and having been hounded for my opinion on Copenhagen dining – to the point of feeling the need to write this post – I will tell you, without hesitation, that Kong Hans Kælder earns my highest commendation.  I have dined there no fewer than eight times – at least once on each of my last eight trips to Copenhagen.  And at each turn, Nielsen, Pepke, and the Kong Hans Kælder team have defied expectations, improving with each successive meal.

Strip away its storied setting – an ancient cellar in the oldest building in the city – its liveries, and its fineries, and the restaurant’s most significant virtue remains: an uncompromising dedication to quality and consistency that is becoming increasingly rare, even among the very best restaurants I visit. In his craft of cooking, Nielsen goes beyond just knowing.  What comes out of his kitchen demonstrates true understanding.  And for that uncommon achievement, Kong Hans Kælder ranks among a precious handful of restaurants worldwide – no more than the number of fingers on two hands – that, according to my standards, merits a special journey.

What does that mean?  I’ve written about Kong Hans Kælder on this blog before: once, shortly after my first meal there, and again when I included the restaurant among my favorite meals of 2015.  Please read those posts and know that my verdict does not waver. Rather I reiterate it here: at Kong Hans Kælder, cooking is back.

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The same disclosures I made about Kong Hans Kælder apply to Marchal, without which I would consider myself irresponsible for proceeding further.

Here, the apple has not fallen far from the tree: just a couple of blocks away from that ancient cellar is the stately Hôtel d’Angleterre, where Andreas Bagh has recently donned the top toque at its Michelin-starred restaurant (a title formerly worn by Ronny Emborg, now chef at Atera in New York City).  Bagh is largely responsible for introducing me to Nielsen, for whom he helped reopen Kong Hans Kælder in 2014, and under whom he served as assistant chef for two years (he also did his chef apprenticeship at Kong Hans Kælder under Thomas Røde, before going on to work for Thomas Herman at Nimb, for Rasmus Kofoed at Geranium, and returning to Kong Hans Kælder with Nielsen).

I’ve had the pleasure of two meals at Marchal under Bagh’s nascent charge (he started in June of 2016). And his pedigree is clear. He not only demonstrates a respect for classical, French technique, but, more significantly, has a steady command of it.  Reminiscent of the hearty and hot à la minute cuisine I’ve enjoyed at Kong Hans Kælder, Bagh’s cooking is confident and precise. And his plates – all large-format, à la carte; no tasting menu here – are clean, if not also stunning; Bagh has a noticeable flare for presentation. But let that not distract you from the flawlessness of what is served on them: silky squid, juicy duck, and, perhaps my favorite thus far, a beautiful bowl of wild mushrooms with chestnut agnolotti.

Although he seems to be off to an impressive start, from thoughtful conversations we’ve had, I know that Bagh demands more of himself.  He is young, ambitious, earnest, and almost blindingly dedicated to his craft.  I look forward to watching him reach.  And so should you.

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Quite a few years ago, Daniel Boulud urged me to go to Mielcke & Hurtigkarl.  I forgot about his recommendation until earlier this year, when I met Jakob Mielcke.

How would I describe Mielcke’s food?  Boulud couldn’t really do it when I asked.  And I’m not sure I can either.

Yellow beets and pineapple under a veil of compressed daikon dusted with coffee; shiitake mushrooms with caviar and elderflower cream; and seaweed cereal – as a dessert: Many of Mielcke’s combinations defied comprehension or logic.  Indeed, some of them sounded downright gross.   But they weren’t.  His food was unexpectedly lovely.  There was an element of escapism and a fairytale fantasy about Mielcke’s cooking, and the place – a lone-standing jewel box, quietly tucked away in the royal gardens of Frederiksberg.  But despite its whimsy, at the core of his cooking is solid technique.  And it is for this – even though I’ve only been to Mielcke & Hurtigkarl once – that I mention it here.

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My first stop in Copenhagen after dropping my bags off is usually at VeloBarista, where my friend Henrik Storland makes classically styled bicycles, the most common mode of transportation in the city.  And, as the name of his small workshop suggests, he also serves coffee out of an attached, walk-up window.

Henrik will be the first to tell you that his espresso drinks are inexact: the amount of milk he pours is directly correlated to how engaged he is in conversation.  But that’s okay, because the more we talk, the more milk he adds to his strong pulls, which prevents me from completely rocketing out of his shop on one of his beautiful bikes, which he always generously lends me for my time in the city.  (Note: his bikes are for sale, and not for rent.)   I’ll usually linger a bit while Henrik makes a few adjustments to my ride; perhaps poke my head in next door at the Københavns Mobelsnedkeri, where my friend Kim Dolva designs beautiful furniture and fixtures.  Sometimes, if I’m there when Dolva’s woodworkers ring the lunch bell hanging outside, I’ll join his crew, who stop their work daily for a midday meal together – I love that.

VeloBarista isn’t just my first stop in the city; it’s usually my last stop as well.  And I have so enjoyed bookending my time in Copenhagen with that quiet bike ride along the water, down that wide esplanade to Islands Brygge, the city’s warehouse district, to return my bike to Henrik.

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Am I lucky to have happened upon Copenhagen at the right time?

An exciting momentum seems to be propelling the city forward right now, least of which is the constant talk of new restaurants, which always gives me a reason to return.

Noma, of course, is closing and moving.

Bille-Brahe, who I look forward to seeing regularly outside Atelier September with his dog Skat, has recently opened Havfruen (“The Mermaid”), a sit-down restaurant in Nyhavn. [Note: This restaurant closed in 2017.]

And my friend Will King-Smith, the erstwhile assistant head chef of Geranium, has announced plans to open his own restaurant in the city center soon.  I can’t wait.

Ironically, just as the very culinary movement that arguably jump-started this Danish renaissance shows signs of waning, Copenhagen’s horizon shimmers.  If you don’t go now, go soon.  And when you do, please report back.  I’d love to hear about what you’ve discovered.

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*  Traditionally, risalamande is served at Christmastime. One whole blanched almond is mixed in, and, similar to the fève in the French galette du roi, the person who finds it in their portion wins a small prize.

+ Notwithstanding the fact that I am an editor for Ambrosia, a magazine about food culture, I urge you to find a copy of vol. 2, which focuses on Denmark. It includes a number of conversations with chefs – particularly, the interviews with Frederik Bille-Brahe, Bo Bech, John Kofod, and Per Hallundbæk – in which this deep-rooted French bias in Danish fine dining is discussed.

Photos: The colorful rowhouses of Nyhavn; the builder king Christian IV’s magnificent Børsen – stock exchange – at night; breakfast at Atelier September; morning pastry and coffee at 108 Corner Café; hot chocolate and coffee outside of the Coffee Collective at Torvehallerne; the lovely interior of Lumskebugten; smoked salmon smørrebrød with scrambled eggs at Lumskebugten; the interior of Schønnemann; veal tongue with horseradish cream at Schønnemann; pouring cream into the Danish “red porridge” – rødgrød med fløde – at Palægade; ringing the plate with eel at Restaurant Gammel Mønt; the window display at La Glace; the tea station in the tea room at A.C. Perchs Thehandel; a “living room vignette” at Vedstranden 10; the interior of Manfreds og Vin; pizza with Lolin anchovies at Bæst; oysters with lobster roe at Bistro Bohême; the cellar interior of Kong Hans Kælder; chef Mark Lundgaard Nielsen carving fowl at Kong Hans Kælder; white truffles shaved over warm potato purée and egg yolk at Marchal at the Hôtel d’Angleterre; chef Andreas Bagh carving duck at Marchal at the Hôtel d’Angleterre; the dining room at Mielcke & Hurtigkarl; Henrik Storland at his bike shop VeloBarista in Islands Brygge; a shimmering sunset on the canal at Islands Brygge; the dining room at Kadeau Copenhagen.