There are some meals that you are certain you will never forget – and, from now on, the mere mention of the word “celeriac” will transport me back to Chef Bo Bech’s restaurant Geist.
Another of the New Nordic culinary wizards, Bech was formerly with Paustian, which he left in 2010 to open Geist. Meaning “ghost” or “spirit,” Geist is located beneath a blackened archway in an interior courtyard, thereby creating the sense of arriving at a private residence whose owner might be a composite of Dorian Gray and Beetlejuice.
Heavy teak doors give way to marble counters and dove-gray upholstered booths. The ceilings in the dimly-lit bathrooms are completely covered by mirrors, which, when complemented by an eerie soundtrack of creaking and squeaking, fosters the sense that one is not entirely alone.
Turbot, Fennel (Source: Geist Restaurant)
The food at Geist is as imaginative as it is timeless, somewhat akin to a precocious gourmand hanging about his grandmother’s kitchen and following his own instincts while also learning at her side. The menu includes such satisfying fare as Jerusalem artichoke with poached egg and barley, or potatoes with mussels and chestnuts.
Mashed potatoes, made with brown stone crab and salted butter, is precisely the kind of dish that one might consider as a last meal – and given that the comely server informed us, “It’s fifty percent butter,” it might well be. Oh, but what a way to go.
Black lobster with mustard seed and pickled baby tomatoes was as resonant as a painting by Rothko – and redolent of late summer’s bounty. Desserts include caramelized pear with sorrel and yogurt, and the Danish classic “risalamande,” a kind of rice pudding, which, in Bech’s hands includes pomelo and tonka bean. Ambrosial is the word that comes to mind.
Celeriac, Condensed Buttermilk (Source: Geist Restaurant)
As for the celeriac, it’s baked with condensed buttermilk and arrives on a plate, looking somewhat like an oversized baked potato on a sea of ochre paint. Again, the somewhat monochromatic appearance brings Rothko to mind. Biting into this celeriac, which almost floats on your palate, is equivalent to understanding the inherent philosophy of the New Nordic cuisine: the elevation of the earthly into food fit for the gods.
Hauntingly delicious, a meal at Geist lingers in your spirit long after you’ve left Copenhagen.
LINK: Geist
