11: Of Stars and Squid

Humans are contradictory creatures, and some of them, as chef Anika Madsen of Fasangården knows, are afraid of cephalopods

Hi there,

About a decade ago, I was here in Copenhagen doing the reporting for what would become this story. In the course of it,  I asked René Redzepi which he would choose: for Noma to be #1 on the World’s 50 Best List, or for it to earn three Michelin stars. The answer wasn’t necessarily obvious. Michelin was of course the older institution and, by most measures, more prestigious. But 50 Best was decided by a chef’s peers, and that aspect, coupled with its embrace of restaurants that fell outside the staid, white-tablecloth model of fine dining, made it seem more exciting and more receptive to innovation and creativity. At that point in time, Noma was first on the 50 Best list, but it held only two stars, and that disparity was already taken by many not merely as a mistake or a paroxysm of French stubbornness, but as evidence of Michelin’s increasing irrelevance-- proof that it was out of touch. So it was with some sheepishness that Redzepi admitted: if forced to choose, he’d take the three stars. 

To a careful reader, it may be clear that I am, shall we say, somewhat skeptical of restaurant awards. That goes for Michelin as much as anyone: with the pay-to-play publishing strategy it applies to some of its books, the marketing ploy it disguises as environmental activism, and its failure to do much of anything to help the industry during the Covid crisis, the guide has a lot to answer for—even before we get to the more subjective questions of relevance and standards. But watching the Nordic ceremony last night, all I felt was joy. Not only for Noma, which finally got its three stars, but for all the restaurants that were recognized. 

That’s the great thing about being human: you can hold contradictory ideas at the same time. You can be critical of an institution’s bullshit and still recognize its value. You can expose its flaws and still be glad when it acknowledges extraordinary talent and hard work. You can be happy simply because you know how happy it makes people who deserve to be. 

All this to say: congratulations to everyone who got that acknowledgement at the Michelin award ceremony for the Nordic Countries last night. 

Onward. By way of segue into this week’s issue, a small story: a few years ago, The Larses and I were about to tuck into a plate of tentacle at Barabba when the topic came up of what to call the creature that had donated its arm (leg?) to dinner. It was then that I learned that the Danish word for octopus is the same as the word for squid (and cuttlefish, for that matter). Basically, anything that swims in the sea, squirts ink, and has a bunch of legs (arms?) is a blæksprutte. Language has a way of telling you what the people who speak it care about, and the fact that Danes don’t distinguish linguistically between these creatures suggests that they don’t eat a lot of them. 

Anika Madsen, the chef of Fasangården, is on a mission to change that. In this edition of Mise, she explains how her Dashi Celeriac and Squid is designed to make Danes confront their cephalophobia--and get over it. 

If you’ve got any thoughts on stars or squid, please add them to the comments. And thanks, as always, for reading.

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Mise: Fasangården’s Dashi Celeriac and Squid

In almost every way, the restaurant Fasangården is an idyllic place. Tucked into a corner of Frederiksberg Gardens, it’s housed in what was once the royal pheasantry, now elegantly renovated. Outdoors, there’s a lush lawn, a bocce court, and a chicken coop that is home to a set of inordinately attractive hens. Indoors, there’s handpainted wallpaper, light Danish furnishings, and windows that stream light from the park beyond.  But to hear head chef Anika Madsen describe it, for some guests confronted with one particular dish on the menu, it might as well be a horror film. “The squid,” she says. “They’re terrified of it.”

Although Denmark’s seas teem with it, squid is an invasive species here, and beyond some fried calamari they may have sampled while on holiday, Danes have little tradition of eating it. But because she knows that one of the best ways of reducing the threat to native populations from an invasive species is to eat it, Madsen is on something of a mission to change her fellow citizens’ opinion of the cephalopod. Plus, she’s a bit mischievous. “I like messing with Danish people’s minds,” she admits with a sly grin.

The dish is a nice map of Madsen’s own evolution as a chef. It originated with her time at Eldorado, the Kadeau-owned restaurant that embraced flavors from around the world. There, head chef Theis Brydegaard made a celeriac dish seasoned with dashi, the stock that is the backbone of many Japanese dishes.  It always impressed Madsen for its seamless blend of Nordic and Japanese flavors, and when she got her own kitchen at Roxie, the restaurant in Hotel Herman K, she took the concept with her--and made it her own. “I wanted it to have its own [chance to] rise and shine,” she says. 

She got Mads Battefeld, of Sushi Anaba, to teach her his technique for making dashi—it involves using your fingers to turn the flakes in a hot pan before adding the water and kombu—and went on to use it not just to caramelize the celeriac, but also to baste the thin slices of squid that were her main addition to the dish. Her regulars there, she says, were initially freaked out by it, but came to love it so much that, when they heard she was opening Fasangården, wanted to make sure she was including the recipe on her new menu.

She was—with variations. To make the dish now, she starts by baking hay-smoked celeriac low and slow until it’s tender enough to break into pieces, caramelizing the chunks in butter, and cooking them again. “I was roasting it in the pan like I was taught at Kadeau, so when the celeriac comes out of the oven, it already has these soft notes,” she says. “But I really wanted to punch it up.”  She came up with the idea of charring the already cooked root on a yakitori grill. The first time, she recalls, she was “holding this sieve filled with small pieces of celeriac that are starting to smoke and burn, and thinking, ‘this is so weird, no way is it going to taste good.’ But the butter got really caramelized and smoky, and [those flavors] made the dish so interesting.” 

The squid is also a two-step process. The thin, noodle-like slices are simply turned in foaming dashi butter, but larger chunks get grilled, upping the smoke and caramel factor once more. The different incarnations of squid and celeriac are layered on the plate: celeriac puree on the bottom, then dashi butter-drenched squid, then grilled celeriac chunks, and grilled squid atop that. The whole dish is then drizzled in a vinaigrette made from either green tomatoes or green strawberries, depending on season, and dosed with a bit more dashi butter. 

For some of her cooks, working with squid is a new experience, and because the cephalopods are so large now, prepping them involves its own surprises. “Usually the squid have just eaten when they’re caught,” Madsen says. “So when you clean them there will be all these small fish inside--tiny cod and lemon sole. Every shift, I have student [cooks] a little shocked by that.” 

That response is nothing compared with the one she gets from her new guests though. When they see squid listed on the tasting menu, “they’re very afraid, “ she says. “And the waiters will be like, just wait.” Some don’t believe that the squid is Danish. “We have to tell them, yes, they’re from western Denmark. We’re surrounded by them, and they’re not getting any fewer in the sea, so we have to eat them,” Madsen explains. “If that doesn’t help, and the guests are still scared, the waiters just tell them it’s a lot like pasta.” 

Often, that description doesn’t entirely assuage their concerns, and when the dish is brought to the table, the novices will laugh nervously about it being ‘squid time.’ “But then they taste the dish, with its contrasting notes of caramel, smoke, and tart freshness from the vinaigrette. Almost always, Madsen says, “They end up saying it’s the best dish on the menu.”