It's Sunday morning, and Rene Redzepi is gliding around the kitchen in his socks while obscure Aboriginal music drifts through his bright, cavernous, just-moved-into Copenhagen apartment. His wife, Nadine, smiles and hands the couple's 13-week-old daughter to her mother so she can make everyone a second cappuccino. New York chef David Chang, whose photo hangs in the kitchen next to family portraits, is in town and has called to say he'll be by in an hour. It's the type of scene--kind, calm, lovely people in a spare yet creatively furnished space--that makes you wonder why we don't all live in Scandinavia.
As the chef at Copenhagen's esteemed Noma, Redzepi has inspired cooks around the world to find their ingredients as close to home as possible. So what does that mean when the man behind what many consider the world's best restaurant--a place where fried reindeer moss and coastal flowers have appeared on the menu--is actually cooking at home?
Today's menu is, of course, seasonal and local. But it's also quick. Nothing takes more than 90 minutes to cook. Reindeer-horn-handled knife at the ready, Redzepi takes a parsley plant off the windowsill and cuts off a handful, leaving the stems. "There's so much flavor in the stems!" says the man who has made foraging the ultimate in locavorism. "In the winter we saute them--incredible." Next, he slices small biodynamic fennel bulbs so that the open V's resemble the slender mussels that were gathered in a fjord: "I'm imagining that if a mussel slides out of its shell, maybe it will slide in here." So this is how his restaurant dishes come to mimic nature--a gnarled breadstick mistaken for a twig, a snail replacing a nasturtium stamen.
Redzepi's talent for reconnecting natural flavors runs through the rest of the dish: The mussels will be steamed open in gooseberry juice, pressed from the sour berries that grow wild in Scandinavia. "Berries are so underestimated in savory cooking," he says. "They're so versatile, and they're not all sweet--you just associate them with pies." White wine balances the acidity. "People cook savory dishes with wine, and that's fruit juice, so what's so strange about this?"
Mussel prep finished, he starts work on the appetizer, a toast inspired by the bo ssam (pork shoulder served with a dozen raw oysters) served at Chang's Momofuku Ssam Bar in New York's East Village. Wild chanterelles are sauteed over high heat on the induction cooktop (below which is a clever ventilated IKEA drawer that keeps butter and other ingredients cool and close at hand; cue Scandi lifestyle envy). The mushrooms get a few tablespoons of cream, some minced shallots, parsley, and roughly chopped oysters. After several brisk shakes of the pan, the rich mixture is spooned onto sourdough toast that has practically been caramelized in butter. Translucent sheets of paper-thin Speck fat are laid atop a layer of sliced raw chanterelles just as Chang arrives.
The Momofuku chef loves the expansive, earth-forest-sea flavors of the toast, even though it's not yet breakfast time in New York, where he was just 36 hours prior. The toasts are even better with the spicy Noma beer brewed from birch sap by Skovlyst. Then the mussels are cooked for five minutes and served in mismatched bowls made by Noma's ceramist. "Samples," explains Nadine.
For the entree, there's a pot roast. But this one is celery root, not beef. At Noma, Redzepi has been treating vegetables like meat: braising them, basting them, flavoring them with lots of herbs and butter (preferably that made from sweet, rich goat's milk). He'll even throw in a handful of coffee beans from the excellent local roaster Coffee Collective to see what happens. Earthy celery root takes extremely well to the treatment, browned and tender with herbal undertones. A quick sauce of warm buttermilk and olive oil--"basically a vinaigrette"--adds a complex tanginess. Garnished with black olives heated through in the herb butter, it's deeply, shockingly satisfying.
"This is a very good example of how we eat at home," Redzepi says: "It's vegetable based, there's a little twist to it, and it's very, very simple."
Seated at the sprawling dining table is an easy crowd. There's Alessandro Porcelli, himself an important tastemaker in the international food scene. He's a co-founder of the Cook It Raw chefs' adventure series, as well as closely involved in the inau-gural MAD Foodcamp symposium, which is what has brought Chang to town. Noma sous-chef Trevor Moran, an Irishman with the most fantastic hair, is tucking into his day off. Nadine's mother holds a very sleepy infant, while toddler Arwen works on her princess drawing. And then there is the serene young Nadine, a reservationist at Noma, where the 12 tables are booked three months ahead. If people knew how beautiful she is, an Ingres portrait come to life with a smile as quietly sure, they wouldn't be upset when she tells them that the dining room is full. Possibly forever.
Maybe Nadine could send them some of her walnut cake to alleviate the sting. It's made with over a pound of nuts and a half pound of butter. "This is one of the best desserts I've had," Moran says a little sheepishly as he glances at his boss. But Redzepi isn't slighted; the British food critic Jay Rayner is coming over for dinner tomorrow, and Redzepi asks Nadine to please make another one. Everyone nods imploringly.
After coffee, Redzepi buckles Arwen into the front carriage of his dad bike and everyone walks alongside them to the King's Gardens. "This is where the king used to grow his vegetables. You can still get food here!" he says. While locals laze in the late-afternoon sun or play petanque, he heads straight for the trees. In the middle of the city--just blocks from his home--is a mulberry tree jeweled with untouched fruit. A few dish ideas are batted around by the chefs as they stare up into the leaves. "I know where we can find walnuts, too," Redzepi says and bikes ahead. Soon he and Chang are cracking open the green orbs and picking at the jellied flesh, running it between their fingers. "Trevor," he says decisively, "it's time for walnuts." Noma might be closed Sundays, but a true forager knows no bounds.