Jatak – Copenhagen, Denmark

Night three in Copenhagen added one member of the wedding party to my dinner plans––the best lady in all the land no matter which continent she inhabits, my Mama! Fresh off an A350 from Chicago, she rolled into town a day before my sister and the soon-to-be in-laws would join us, giving us a day and, ultimately, a dinner to enjoy together, just us.

One or both of the loyalists of The Maestro Eats may recall that in the couple years following the pandemic, I made half a dozen pilgrimages to the Hudson Valley just north of New York City for Stone Barns' Chef in Residence series. Blue Hill at Stone Barns' space in the old Rockefeller barn, the bounty of Stone Barns' ingredients and farming research, and the battalion of staff for the restaurant and farm were at each chef's disposal during monthlong residencies.

I was lucky enough to experience the work of six superlative chefs at these BHSB residencies, and Jonathan Tam's was among my favorites. Canadian-born Tam, a child of Chinese and Vietnamese immigrants, grew up in Edmonton and managed to land a coveted internship at Noma in Copenhagen. In Denmark, he fell in love with Nordic ingredients and the broader ethos of the New Nordic movement, eventually abandoning his dream of working at molecular gastronomy temple El Bulli in Spain to take a job working at the renowned Relae, where he'd eventually take the helm as head chef.

The Stone Barns residency occurred at an auspicious time for Tam, as it served as a workshop for what would become Jatak, his new project in Copenhagen that opened just shortly after the conclusion of his residency. Additionally, Tam's mandate at BHSB was to explore the Cantonese cuisine of his heritage as part of the (sort of trite) "What Americans Eat When They Go Out" phase of the BHSB residencies, which allowed him to tap back in to his upbringing and explore Cantonese and other Asian flavors, marrying them with the New Nordic techniques he learned and practiced in Denmark.

Given how taken I was with the meal I experienced under Tam's direction at BHSB, I had my eye on Jatak from the day Chef Tam and his partner in life and business Sarah Frilund announced it. And so on this visit to Copenhagen, my excitement for dinner at Jatak was unparalleled.

The name "Jatak" comes from "Yes, please" in Danish, and from my understanding is often used as a reply to instructions in kitchens in Denmark, much like "Oui, Chef" in France. Chef Tam's menu follows the 24 "solar seasons" of the Chinese calendar––two per month, which delineate seasonal weather, wildlife, and agriculture. Indeed, when I visited his residency in New York, at my table was one such solar calendar designed for the meal, demonstrating what was in season in the Hudson Valley, Guangzhou, and Copenhagen in each of the seasons. As with much of what became Jatak, Tam seems to have borrowed directly from what he developed at Stone Barns.

In just the three years since I visited, the highest echelon of fine dining in Copenhagen has increased dramatically in price, and places like Noma now will set you back well above $600 a head before beverages. I was happy to see the menu at Jatak priced at less than half of that, and figured it to be a perfect place for Mama and I to share a fabulous meal.

Mama and I shared a lovely day in Copenhagen mostly seated, as both of us were recovering from lower limb surgery. Instead of strolling about the city, we had a blast sharing bottles of wine at Pompette and enjoying happy hour cocktails and riveting, high-stakes games of Jenga at neighborhood bar Gensyn (pronounced, incidentally, exactly the same way as my mother's Danish family name).

Jatak was a mere few steps from Gensyn, so after our last game of Jenga (in which I was victorious) and the last drops of our happy hour cocktails, we made our way to our early dinner. We were sat by the window in a small dining room, where every seat had a view of the open kitchen, and started with some wine.

I'd brought a chardonnay from one of my favorite producers in California, Marine Layer, knowing its coastal sensibilities would match well with the Asian-inflected elements of Chef Jonathan's menu. From the Durell Vineyard in the southern reaches of Sonoma Valley, it's always one of my favorite single-vineyard chardonnays they make, and the 2023 vintage was absolutely stellar for white wine.

We'd be enjoying the "solar" menu, again inspired by the 24 micro-seasons of the Chinese celestial calendar.

A play on a single slice of maki sushi came first––the nori enclosed cured napa cabbage and turnip, with a petite Norwegian fjord shrimp atop wearing a glazed reduction of apple and sambal. Intensely flavorful, layered, and fascinating.

Thin sheets of Danish squid flesh were layered between equally lean slices of celery root poached in oil (to match the texture of the squid) and quince, all sat in a pool of quince and woodruff broth. Sublime, delicate, and spellbinding––Chef had us hooked already.

Next we'd enjoy the tentacles of the squid grilled over the fire dressed simply with lemon juice and salt. I love grilled squid, and despite the simplicity of the preparation, the combination of smoke, citrus, sea salt, and toothsome tentacles might have been my favorite thing I ate all night.

Next was sea bass two ways––the tail cut was served with a dollop of a traditional Cantonese fragrant sauce made with rose hip, and a slice of the fillet topped with a beguiling salsa made of leeks, gooseberries, coriander seeds, and serrano chili pepper. A little slice of calamansi was alongside to squeeze over the top of the fish for acidity.

Lion's Mane mushroom is having a moment, and Chef Tam breads and fries the crunchy fungus to form the centerpiece of a rich dish not unlike fried chicken. A fermented kosho condiment made with nasturtium flavored the mushroom, and rich ginkgo nuts accompanied. A particular hit with the Marine Layer chardonnay.

Jian dui is usually a sweet pastry, a fried ball of glutinous rice filled with a sweet paste and crusted in sesame seeds. Tam makes a savory version, filling the fritter with sunchoke and topping it with Norwegian brown crab and serving it with an egg yolk sauce made with woodruff-cured shoyu. Magnificent.

With the jian dui was served a healthy portion of local brassicas dressed with crab roe and, if I recall correctly, some manner of crispy, fatty pork like guanciale.

Our server advised that it might be wise to switch to red wine, and I'd brought a bottle from my week in Piemonte that I thought might be perfect. From Massolino, this expression of the Parussi cru is from Castiglione Falletto, the "middle ground" both in terms of geography and body of the wine between La Morra and Serralunga d'Alba. Twenty-twenty is a particularly approachable vintage for Barolo, and after about 90 minutes of decanting, the nebbiolo in our glasses was absolutely singing.

Chef's rabbit dumplings are a play on both wonton soup and Italian tortellini in brodo––rabbit-stuffed pasta in a Cantonese-style "superior" consommé flavored with rabbit, chicken, shrimp, and scallop. Warm, comforting, and perfect on a chilly Scandinavian evening.

Multiple cuts of lamb from local farm Varde Ådal were the centerpiece of the main course. The lamb was served alongside cubes of chilacayota squash seasoned with cumin and topped with pine nuts and raisins, dressed in black vinegar and a hint of chili oil. Mushrooms were the other side dish in a broth dotted with rose hip oil. Rice helped sop up all the glorious broths and sauces. A masterpiece, especially with the Barolo!

We'd made friends with the folks next to us, who happened to be fellow Yankees, and did a little wine exchange with them. I was surprised by a cocktail from them before dinner, the contents of which I cannot recall, but I mention because I am constantly reminded how good food, wine, and cocktails can bring strangers together in mutual joy.

Though my notes seem to have petered out for the dessert courses, likely as a result of the wine bars, happy hours, and bottles of wine that preceded, poached pear was the first dessert, served with some permutation of sweet potato and sesame.

Lima verde is a small, intensely tart citrus, and the Jatak team fashions it into a mille feuille–style crêpe tart layered with meringue for a delicate final bite. The sommelier was kind enough to pour us a Danish amaro made with marigolds, a delightful way to end the meal.

As if we hadn't had enough booze, we made a stop at Bird, a mainstay of the cocktail scene in Copenhagen, and had a wonderful nightcap.

The food coming out of the kitchen Jatak is often just as excellent as its far more expensive cohorts in Copenhagen. The atmosphere, too, is more relaxed and convivial. It's a perfect place to enjoy a leisurely, expertly crafted, and special dinner. For those looking for a premium meal in Copenhagen without paying Noma, Jordnaer, or Kadeau prices, it's hard to beat the menu at Jatak.

So completes a hat trick of Asian-inflected Nordic tasting menus in the Danish capital! I had one last major culinary stop on my way back stateside, which I'll report on next, before giving a peek into what I've experienced so far of the food scene in my new home, Atlanta.