Koan – Copenhagen, Denmark

After my week in Italy, I boarded a Ryanair flight headed due north over the Alps toward Scandinavia. My destination was Copenhagen, where my sister would finally tie the knot with her German partner of nine years that week. And while I was, of course, thrilled to witness their wedding, the added benefit was spending a week in one of the most important cities for food in the world.

And what a lucky convergence of circumstances that triggered my joyful return to the Danish capital. As my sister and her now-hubby prepared for a massive relocation to Singapore for Jonas' new job, marriage seemed prudent to streamline the immigration process, and Denmark is apparently the easiest and quickest place for expat nuptials with EU citizens. Our side of the family is also of Danish ancestry, so there's a certain romanticism to a wedding in the Motherland.

Oh, and also they love each other!

I couldn't travel thousands of miles to Copenhagen without being unapologetically ravenous. Last time I visited, I hit the jackpot, scoring a last-minute table at the unmitigated monarch of fine dining the world over, Noma, but only had one other night and a much lighter wallet to explore the city's comestible wonders. This time, I had six nights, making a point to arrive a few days earlier than the rest of the wedding guests who might not share my penchant for (or willingness to spend on) fine dining.

Unsurprisingly, I once again faced the frustrating challenge of finding a table for one––I saw availability at Kadeau, for example, one of the restaurants quite high on my list in Copenhagen, for two, but not for one, and when I emailed, they said they could only put me on a waitlist. And so the waitlist game started at Kadeau, Jordnaer, and Koan, with Koan winning the race and securing my business on a chilly Tuesday in November.

Jordnaer, which might be one of the most exciting restaurants on the planet this century, offered me a table the night before I left, but Koan was non-refundable––still, I was very excited to christen my trip to Denmark with any eatery of this caliber. Of the three highest-end restaurants I had my eye on in Copenhagen, I knew the least about Koan, but my pre-visit research delighted me and made me even more excited for my meal.

And y'all know what? It might have ended up being the meal of the decade.

Korean inflections in the highest echelons of fine dining are a relatively new phenomenon but have exploded in the last couple decades, and define some of the most important restaurants in the world these days, including kitchens like Atomix in New York City and Benu in San Francisco. Koan is Copenhagen's example of this trend.

Seoul's Gyeongbokgung Palace

The history of how this restaurant came to be is older than Chef himself. In the wake of the Korean War, hundreds of Danish families adopted orphaned Korean children and raised them in Denmark. Such was the case with Chef Kristian Baumann, who was one of the early adoptees and grew up with Danish parents just outside of Copenhagen. The Korean community in Denmark is small, but mighty and tight-knit, and throughout his childhood, Baumann was routinely exposed to Korean culture and, most of all, food.

"I'm glad I was exposed to these experiences throughout my childhood. I think it was this early curiosity that became the spark that ignited my openness towards having a beginner's mind when I first went back to visit Korea and really accepted being between two cultures."

PC: Roadbook (Santiago de la Vega)

Baumann's training in Copenhagen took place at some temples of the New Nordic movement––an internship at Noma and working alongside Christian Puglisi at Relae––and his longstanding working relationship with Rene Redzepi and the team at Noma defined his early career. In many ways, this immersion into a food universe so distinctly Danish mirrors Baumann's own adoptive upbringing.

But for Baumann, there was always something missing. He says, "Many adoptive people I meet struggle with identity and to this day it’s one of the things I also think about ... The way for me to move forward and find more peace has, of course, been accepting the fact I’m in the middle and realizing that it’s actually my strength."

In 2017, while working in his own one-star kitchen in Copenhagen, Restaurant 108, he made his first research trip to Korea to study the foodways of his birth country. He'd been thinking of incorporating some of his heritage into his cooking at 108, but this visit held deeper meaning––it would finally allow him to explore, discover, and understand his birth country and identity more profoundly.

"Each encounter Baumann’s had in South Korea has inspired his cooking. In South Jeolla Province, for example, he spent time with a nun at Baekyangsa temple, accompanying her as she foraged and cooked for guests staying at the holy site. In Seoul, he met local artists and picked up Korean specialities at street food markets." - National Geographic

Multiple years, research trips, and a pandemic later, Koan became the fruiting body of Baumann's exploration of his personal and culinary identity and opened as a popup. In Korean Buddhism, a "koan" is a riddle or puzzle, posed to make one cast off preconceptions and think more deeply. In 2023, the restaurant settled into a permanent space in a former harbor warehouse on the Langelinieskuret Pier. Within just 70 days of opening, the restaurant held two Michelin stars.

"We create flavors that both our Danish and Korean guests will say they don’t know. For me, that means we’re creating something that really is unique."

The sun set in Copenhagen a few minutes before 4pm, a daily occurrence this far north as winter approaches. I'd normally walk pretty much everywhere in a city this size, but given my bum ankle, I had to ask a very confused taxi driver to find his way to the dark reaches of the old waterside fortifications adjacent to the Kastellet fortress.

It didn't take me long to find the wrong door, to the kitchen, and consequently startle a dish washer, but took me much longer to find the front door, which was built in to the other side of the rampart. A juxtaposition to the centuries-old structure, the dining room was modern, minimalist, lofty, and almost theatrical, with tables posed facing the open kitchen and service stations, most of which were hidden behind luminous sliding panels meant to resemble paper walls found in traditional Korean buildings, and dappled spots lighting the tables from the ceiling. Just like the cuisine, the aesthetic is Scandinavian and Korean at once. I was sat at a two-top just meters from the pass and left with a warm welcome and a beverage menu by the sommelier.

Beverage options include a wine pairing, a Champagne-only pairing, and a "Prestige" wine pairing, the most expensive of which sets each diner back the breathtaking equivalent of $800. A spirit-free pairing was also an option, but the Sool pairing, featuring Korean-style rice-based beverages like wines and soju, is by far the most interesting, and a truly unique stamp.

Both my loyal readers may remember that since becoming a somm and getting a look behind the curtain at the business of pairings, I have tended to bring wine or buy glasses or bottles off the list rather that go for pairings. That's especially true in a city that can't get enough of natural wine, which can be great but is far too often an excuse for poor winemaking––my last pairing slate in Copenhagen was almost obnoxiously natty, and it was hard for me to feel like I'd gotten my Kroners' worth.

Instead, I had hauled from California an exceptionally rare and fascinating bottle of Austrian Riesling from Nikolaihof, one of the most storied producers of biodynamic wines from the Wachau. Their "Vinothek" series explores extended aging of the varietal, and this bottling from 1997 spent 17 years undisturbed in a large neutral barrel before being bottled. The resulting wine showed vivid beams of Riesling acidity in a cradle of ripe, oxidated orchard fruit, with seemingly endless layers of complexity. Dry Riesling is immensely food-friendly, and a wonderful pairing with all manner of Asian-inflected dishes, and would prove a worthy companion for the entire meal.

But first, Champagne! There's been a healthy amount of online criticism of Koan for their initial beverage offering, three Champagnes brought to your table and presented as hand-selected pairings that are perfect with the first bites of the meal. Grumpy reviewers have said they felt strong-armed to purchase a very expensive glass, with some alleging sommeliers actively discouraged selecting anything else, and that prices weren't disclosed––one critic called it a "closed option offer," likening it to how you might present toddlers with two options to get them to go to bed to give them the illusion of choice, but with the result being the same––the toddler goes to bed, or in this case the guest adds $80 to their tab.

Perhaps because I was prepared for it, the presentation didn't make me feel uncomfortable by any means, and although the price of even the cheapest Champagne was eye-watering (and you don't want to know what the Selosse costs) I was happy to settle in with just that––a beautiful, fine-boned expression from Elise Dechannes, one of the most exciting women making wine in the Côte des Bar. The sommelier was happy to top off generously as I enjoyed the opening bites, which took much of the sting out of the price tag.

Chef Baumann himself delivered my first bites, dedicating several minutes of his precious time to introduce himself and engage in a refreshingly unhurried, genuine chat. The first set of bites represented utter artistry on a plate, and I was instructed to approach the bites from the most delicate to the most flavorful.

As I get older (and ingest more marijuana), my attention span is no longer good enough to take notes on presentations of multiple little bites, and I find that lengthy note-taking to detract from the experience of actually enjoying them. Each picture-perfect bite used seasonal ingredients with a particular emphasis on seafood; a highlight was a kimchi of calamansi, an Asian citrus.

The next course featured the "heart" of a regionally-sourced oyster, which was stewed and served atop a Danish flatfish in a pool of buttery Champagne sauce. The garnish resembled dill but was in fact a particular type of Korean seaweed that Chef discovered during his travels that they claimed mimicked the flavor of truffle. Not quite sure about that, but the dried seaweed certainly lended an unctuous earthy umami to the dish.

The next bite explored the wonders of the oak tree, prolific in both Korea and Denmark, through what the tree produces itself and the lifeforms it supports. Acorn was the focus, with a tart made of acorn flour housing acorn gelée. Alongside was a small cup of consommé of the sorts of mushrooms you might find growing in the tree's shadow. Fried white seaweed and a smattering of dreamy acorn "flowers" garnished. I would later learn that this dish is a play on a traditional Korean gelled dish made from acorns and acorn flour called dotorimuk.

My favorite of the first procession of bites was also the last––a stunning white kimchi beautifully crafted as a flower and garnished with the kimchi porridge made into an icy granita for textural and temperature contrast. White kimchi is a style that doesn't use the classic gochugaru pepper and often includes fruit (in this instance, apple) and so it shows a subtlety and sweetness without any heat. The ethereal delicacy of this dish cannot be understated.

Just as special, the bowl in which it was served comes from Chinese pottery shards from the Song Dynasty unearthed in Korea and reassembled with modern ceramics. I seem to recall being told that Chef found these shards himself and commissioned a ceramicist to form dishware out of them. Another example of how thoughtful and personal every detail is at Koan.

The staff had figured out, probably through fragments of conversations between myself and different members of the front-of-house and kitchen staff, that I was a sommelier, and the lead somm was particularly generous in offering up complimentary particularly compelling selections from their various pairing slates.

From the Sool pairing was a carafe of takju, a Korean rice wine called takju, a cloudy, unflitered rice wine resplendent with creamy tropical flavors crafted by a Korean brewer living in Denmark operating under the label "Yunguna Brewery" and using Korean rice and yeast. Exceptionally cool, and I was very happy to get a taste of their unique rice wine pairing.

A caviar presentation was on deck, with a sphere of house-made pine nut tofu atop goji berry generously rolled in roe. A small, but mighty course––the sumptuous salinity of the roe playing brilliantly with the earthy, slightly sweet tofu, all punctuated by the tang of goji berry. The takju, which had a lovely nutty quality not unlike pine nuts, was a glorious accompaniment.

The next course was described simply as "chilled lobster noodles," with a broth made from the heads of the crustacean housing lobster and Norwegian king crab meat. Fried leeks provided the crispy essence of umami, while the caviar-like fruit of finger lime provided small, palate-cleansing bursts of acidity.

A signature for Chef, the next course played on a ubiquitous Korean street food, a sweet fried donut dressed in sugar called kkwabaegi. Baumann's savory version was dusted with pine nut salt and served with a beguilingly rich double-whipped cream. This thoughtful dish sits at the intersection of so many currents––a mid-menu bread course with the heavier dishes, a play on Korean street food, and a distinctly Nordic ingredient in pine nuts.

This was a kitchen firing on all cylinders, and I found myself rather blown away by what I'd experienced so far. While refilling my glass with the Nikolaihof, the somm mentioned that he prefers red wine with the next set of courses, and he had two wines in mind that would pair brilliantly with each. Rather than choose, I requested a half glass of each, which made the sommelier grin––"I was thinking the same thing."

He returned with both bottles and poured what was closer to a full glass of each. Both spectacular examples of French wine, the first was a delicate but structured red Burgundy from the Santenots 1er cru in Volnay made by historic Côte de Beaune family producer Rebourgeon-Mure, which showed the velvet of Volnay with just enough muscle to stand up to the fattier components of the meat-based dishes that would follow. The second was a classic from a legendary vineyard in Côte-Rôtie in the northern Rhône, La Landonne, from one of the great producers of the region, René Rostaing, and a spectacular vintage in 2009 to boot. The Rostaing showed more maturity, darker fruit, and savory quality characteristic of northern Rhône syrah, but still with beautiful finesse and vibrance.

Another of Chef's signatures came next, a dish he calls "flavors of sundae." My dumb white American ass thought at first this referred to a sundae, as in one made with ice cream and bananas and such, which would have been an odd choice midway through savory courses. Instead, the course refers to a Korean blood sausage by the same name (pronounced SOON-die).

Sundae is another street food staple that Chef Baumann found himself enjoying countless times on this voyages to Korea and Chef had been working for years to capture the essence of the sausage on his menu at Koan. The resulting sausage made from local pork and aromatic rice was garnished with a coulis of fermented black currants and a halo of thinly-sliced winter truffle. Absolutely sublime.

Next would be the most beautiful thing I ate all night, if not all year––a Norwegian langoustine tail was laid on the plate and painstakingly garnished by scales of tiny red glistening oxalis leaves. Beneath, however, was another surprise––intermingled with the lobster meat was ribeye cured in kimchi, brought together by preserved caramelized apple and aromatic pepper, with a lobster butter and beef sauce alongside. The most exquisite surf-and-turf imaginable.

Though still nursing the hefty pours of the Volnay and Côte-Rôtie, as well as continuing to make a dent in the Nikolaihof, another selection from Yunguna from the Sool pairing would be offered, gratis, by my new sommelier friend. This time Yunguna's take on yakju, a clear rice wine with a lovely nutty character, was poured. Again, I have a strong appreciation for the singularity of the Sool pairing experience and was endlessly grateful to be offered another sneak peek.

I would next be presented with a gamasot––a traditional cast-iron cooking vessel from Korea––housing three types of rice––"one for flavor, one for aroma, and one for texture." In a gamasot, the rice on the top is gently steamed while the rice on the bottom becomes caramelized against the heavy cast-iron. The rice from the gamasot would be deployed into two courses, the first using the delicate steamed rice atop and the second the sticky caramelized rice, called nurungji, in the bottom of the vessel.

The more delicate gamasot rice was combined with cured Danish squid, toasted beech nuts and preserved citrus, and then crowned with Norwegian brown crab and truffle "flowers," The rice itself was sublime, but somehow played second fiddle to a breathtaking assortment of banchan served alongside. In traditional Korean cooking, banchan are the interminable sides that come with the meal, often including things like kimchi, seasoned veg, seaweed salads, potatoes, egg-based dishes... you name it. Chef Baumann places his eleven tiny banchan on a single square tile, with a folded map to guide you.

I didn't open the paper to look at the key until I'd finished, instead allowing each magnificent, tiny bite to speak on its own. The purity and intensity of flavor would prove to be a perfect foil to the more subdued flavors of the rice and seafood alongside. A masterpiece.

Midway through conquering the banchan and gamasot rice, without a bottle, the sommelier brought me a glass of white wine, quipping "tell me what it is!" before breezing back to the beverage station. I love it when I get to blind taste something at a meal like this, and I quickly pegged it as chardonnay, though I missed the geography. Instead of a young Meursault, this chard was from Santa Barbara County, a selection from possibly my favorite producer on the central coast, Gavin Chanin. I beamed as he brought the bottle to the table, recognizing instantly one of Gavin's artistic front labels. A testament to the ability of some California terroirs and producers to craft chardonnays resembling the elegance and grace of excellent white Burgundy.

As you might expect, the next dish featured the caramelized layer of rice on the bottom of the gamasot, though this time my notes and a photo seem to be missing for this dish. Combined with still more glorious Scandinavian seafood wrapped in the smoky and crispy nurungji rice, it was a perfect companion to the Chanin chardonnay.

Transitioning into dessert, I was brought a lovely and deeply aromatic sorbet made of roses. Wild roses are found everywhere in Denmark in the fall––there is, fittingly, a sprawling rose garden on the grounds of Rosenborg castle in the center of town, which still had plenty of healthy blooms in late November last time I visited.

But my friends, the best was yet to come. I had seen sneak peeks of this dessert when perusing reviews of Koan online, but I could not have been prepared for how absurdly delicious it was, and is one of the few times that the "bite of the night" was a dessert course.

But first, wine––the somm dropped off another blind tasting, this time a dessert wine, before the dessert was presented. "This is an easy one," he remarked, yet I found myself puzzling over what it might be. Turns out it was a fortified vin de liqueur from the Jura, a combination of about 2/3 chardonnay and 1/3 marc de Jura, a distilled grape spirit not unlike brandy.

But the pièce de résistance was the dessert. An oolong soufflé was held together by a wish, with the most incredible, milky texture and cascades of green tea aromatics. That was great, but what was transcendental was a simple dollop of seaweed ice cream in a pool of hazelnut oil topped with caviar. Sweet and savory desserts are the bee's knees, and I never wanted this one to end.

Alas, all good things must end, and the unstacking of the mignardises boxes signaled the end of one of the most wildly successful dinner experiences to date.

Koan is special. The deep entwining of Chef's personal journey and identity is palpable in nearly every bite of food. It's thoughtful, inventive, at once subtle and surprising, and without a single miss. I found the service to not just be excellent, but also immensely friendly, unfussy, unobtrusive, and profoundly generous. I might have been initially bummed that I couldn't get my butt in a seat at Kadeau or Jordnaer, but after leaving Koan I could not have been happier that I opened my trip to Copenhagen in Chef Baumann's care.

Atomix, a Korean-inflected fine dining spot in New York City which might be the hardest reservation to score in North America (hence why I've never eaten there), was recently awarded #1 on the 50 Best Restaurants list for North America. Jungsik, often compared to Atomix, is New York's "other" ultra-high-end tasting menu spot rooted in Korean foodways, and it holds three Michelin stars (I'll be there next month!). And now, Copenhagen has its entry into the Korean fine dining space. An understated review I saw on Reddit said pithily: "Atomix is the best restaurant in the States, and Koan is better than Atomix."

I'd go further. I'd say Koan is better than even Baumann's old gig––the vaunted Noma itself.

Korean culinary traditions, once in the shadows of those of their neighbor Japan, are having a moment, and it seems the sky is the limit. And why shouldn't one of the most spectacular of this new wave of Korean fine dining restaurants be in Copenhagen, still a legendary city for food since its climb to the highest echelons of the fine dining scene some 20 years ago?

Don't hesitate to put Koan high on your bucket list, especially when visiting Copenhagen. I've eaten a lot of very, very good food over the years, and Koan is unquestionably in the sigma tier.