Mathias Dahlgren, Stockholm
It wasn’t the actual weather that got to me in London, although emerging from a suburban supermarket into a mini tornado was a little discomfiting, and the irony of attempting a dry “wettest January on record” wasn’t lost on me (miserable abstinence: less than a week).
No, it was the relentless grind of the tabloid headline, growling every morning that no matter how bad it appeared to be today, it was going to be a lot worse tomorrow. By the end of January I was Krusty the Snowman. That’s several levels down from Frosty.
I needed out, but not to more of the same. I wanted winter to be embraced, rather than the annual surprise that halts our public transport. And fantastic food would be nice….
Stockholm’s Hotel Diplomat sits by the water, the boats facing it will take you to most of the city’s thousands of islands but more importantly it’s in Ostermalm, a most elegant district where there may be a 17 year wait list for residential rentals in smart properties, but for visitors it’s a concentration of beautiful shops and celebrated restaurants within walking distance.
The Diplomat may look serious – Scandinavian art-deco, imposing facade, it once housed embassies, thus the name – but as the doors slide silently back to reveal a blast of hot air, cool music and a cocktail bar, you get the picture pretty quickly. Meals are taken early hereabouts, lunch as early as half eleven, dinner at five, so by 6pm their glass fronted T/BAR was packed and noisy.
The interior is cute – an iron-frame Parisian style central elevator cranks its way up and down, carrying skimpily dressed gym bunnies alongside Nanooks in thick, deep furs. The rooms which overlook the water are best, the flotilla of passenger boats bob about all day, and needless to say beds are comfortable and warm. Fans of The Bridge will be pleased to know that doubles have two single duvets. Just like Mette and Martin. Before they split.
Our arrival in Stockholm coincided with the rollout of Brand Jamie Oliver. (The Naked Chef translates well to “den nakne kocken”)
Our arrival in Stockholm coincided with the rollout of Brand Jamie Oliver. (The Naked Chef translates well to “den nakne kocken”). Oliver was closing his Union Jacks in London, but opening a Jamie’s Italian in Stockholm. We weren’t going to the latter, we were walking to Matsalen, a celebration of New Nordic cuisine where, unfortunately, two Michelin stars mean you can’t get in. It’s full. Every night. However the chef, Swedish wunderkind Mathias Dahlgren, had the good sense to extend his kitchen operation into the bar next door and earn himself another Michelin star with Matbaren, a less formal room but with a menu of equally luxe ingredients .
Our effervescent Australian waitress summed it up perfectly. “There’s really brilliant food in Sydney” she declared, “but it’s all someone else’s. Here in Sweden, the traditions go back hundreds of years and they keep reinventing it.” Sure enough, the menu reads like a modern Viking feast – fallow deer tartare, seared reindeer’s heart and rare Berkshire pig, all gussied up with stuff straight out the 21st century book of accompaniments – salt-baked celeriac, crispy kale, blood bread, lardo and yuzu. There are only “Courses” – think large starters or small mains – so any two dishes are fine. There’s a heavy emphasis on fresh vegetables too, initially a novelty in a country with such a short growing season. But of course fish dominates, from soft shell crab through the softest, sweetest scallops to sashimi grade arctic char and Finnish caviar.
Mathias Dahlgren’s Matbaren, Stockholm
It was the langoustines that convinced me we‘d come to the right place. Large, plump and soft, they were from the wild waters of Bohuslan off the West Coast, poached in sea water for a salty contrast to the sweet flesh, and served in their own sauce with a side of thick dill mayo that was surplus to requirements. I can’t remember eating such succulent shellfish in a restaurant before, they tasted quite divine. Once, a long, long time ago, a fisherman pal on a Scottish island used to bring me buckets of live shellfish – crab, lobster, langoustine – which we’d boil for a few minutes then tear apart with our bare hands to gorge, cave man style. I found my inner savage again for a moment, ripping and sucking langoustine claws in a Michelin star restaurant. Get me.
Wine is expensive anywhere in Stockholm so Matbaren’s are best sipped by the glass, the list being short but of outstanding quality. An Alsace riesling from Binner, an old established family vineyard near Colmar, whose older vines at Katzenthal produce a full on zesty/dry mouthful, was the perfect foil for those langoustines. Dessert wines are more eclectic, the best-with-chocolate prize going to a Rhone Vin Doux from Domaine de Trapadis, the most eccentric-mad-as-a-hatter to Kijoshu Sake, which managed to offer up notes of tobacco, leather and chocolate.
The walk back to The Diplomat by the twinkling lights of the harbour was silent, cold, and blissfully atmospheric. The buses, trams and trains seemed to be running fine, and nobody on the late night news was complaining about cold snaps or “wrong kind of leaves”. Then Trinny and Susannah Makeover Mission: Norway came on the TV. Bedtime.
Bright sunshine cut through the morning cold as we went in search of Swedish design. Virtually next door to the Diplomat is Malmstenbutiken, home store for 40 years to Carl Malmsten whose bespoke furniture in light blonde wood embodies the Swedish style. The next block has Nybrogatan, a wide street lined with design and furniture stores that leads to Ostermalms Salushall, Europe’s swishest food market. Think Borough Market inside Harrods Food Hall.
Mathias Dahlgren’s Matsalen, Stockholm
En route to the Museum of Modern Art we stopped off at B.A.R., a modern bistro converted from a garage where filament light bulbs, white tiled walls and aircon ducts channel Portland’s Pearl District. The Swedish contribution is the spanking freshness: a lobster tank for live selection and a wet fish bar about 15 feet long. Pick your creature off the ice and have it cooked anywhichway to order with all manner of accompaniments, sauces, salsas, spices and drinks. In the week, young financial types end their lunches promptly at 2pm – the place is empty by ten past the hour – but is packed again by 5pm. Weekend brunches are more relaxed. Part of a modern, affordable mini chain with bilingual menus and tattooed staff – sister establishments are LUX and EAT.
Tourist Stockholm is The Royal Palace and the Old Town, an island of Viking helmets and tee shirts, but things do improve at the Museum of Modern Art – Moderna Museet – which has a box ticking inventory of 20th century masters mixed in with Scandinavian names. All of which, (as well as the new Abba Museum!) can be accessed using The Stockholm Card, the cost of which includes public transport too.
By the time you read this Hugh Fearnley Whittingshall’s new Channel Four TV series, Scandimania will be on air and Niklas Ekstedt may well be a household name in the UK. His eponymous restaurant (another short walk from The Diplomat) is unique: everything is cooked over woodsmoke. But it’s not quite as simple as that, the black cast iron range is certainly ablaze with logs and black chimneys lead to hot and cold smokers – “that’s our stone age microwave” the manager laughed, pointing at a black box above the flames – subtlety is brought to bear as the smoky ingredients are used sparingly on the plate.
Furniture at Malmstenbutiken, Stockholm
The kitchen, thankfully, is encased in glass, so even with ringside seats at the pass, you get to watch hades in action without the searing heat or your eyes watering, but a starter of “sea cucumber, oysters, avocado, almonds and parsley” only had one smoked ingredient – the avocado no less – and was a deliciously light, nuttily crunchy taste of the sea. The menus are fixed, four courses for 890 Kroner or six for 990, you can nearly double that with matching wines, and the cooking is sharp, despite an absence of temperature controls, timers, and modern technology. It’s all done by know how, experience, and a colourful display of arm tattoos.
A main of beautifully tender beef had been smoked over pear wood, with tomatoes smoked in the chimney, but was finished with frozen foie gras grated like parmesan – a rich luxurious flourish to a dish of strong flavours; a smoked array of bacon and sausage with Brussels sprouts was showered with truffle shavings to similar effect.
The wines are selected to match, an opening glass of quite startlingly fresh champagne, rich and pleasant, was from a small grower in the Aube, Marie Courtain, while the beef was partnered with Domaine de l’Éléphant, a Catalan red produced by El Bulli’s former sommelier. A dessert, which included cloudberry jam, was outshone by a magnificent Montbazillac, Château Tirecul la Gravière, bursting with apricots and honey and, subtly, of all things, more Swedish cloudberries.
The next afternoon, during our descent through the clouds back into City Airport, London seemed a little brighter: the stretch of the Thames from The Eye to Canary Wharf was lit up and sparkly. Rediscovering my inner Neanderthal and avoiding the Daily Express for two days had obviously been worthwhile. C
Derek Guthrie flew to Stockholm with British Airways from London City Airport and stayed at the Hotel Diplomat, Strandvagen 7, Stockholm. British Airways operate 16 flights a week from London City Airport to Stockholm