B is for Best
and balance
When I first started this newsletter, back in 2022, back when the structure was alphabetical and orderly. The goal was, by the time I reached the letter S, to have successfully made a reservation at Septime and written up the corresponding epistle accordingly. Three years later and I’ve finally made it (tip to get a reservation: know someone on the inside) but it plays into a question, or general pondering, that I’ve been having recently about the best restaurants. Septime has, for a long while, been very highly renowned, the word best (meilleur) being thrown around in conjunction, but what does it mean to be the best ?
This messy introduction does have a point, I promise. A few weeks ago, I flew to Copenhagen for 36 hours after having been offered the chance to go and eat at Noma. René Redzepi’s kingdom in the Northern quarter of Copenhagen is a truly stunning setup. Greenhouses overflowing with plants, views over the canal, and a genuinely happy looking staff (!) Since opening in 2003, Noma (meaning “Nordic Food”) has existed in various iterations, has won the world’s best restaurant title five times and has three Michelin stars. The 20 course tasting menu costs €600, without drinks, and the only seating of the day starts at 17h. I didn’t have too much time to overthink this price tag before embarking on the spontaneous trip but as the day loomed closer I began to get weirdly nervous. Ever since I’ve had the slightest interest in food, which my Mum will tell you has been 20 plus years, I have adored going to restaurants. This love of eating out has been deeply engrained for as long as I can remember. I have vivid memories of driving past Aroma in Northampton town centre, next to the Vue cinema complex, and begging my parents to stop the car so that we could go to the “All you can eat” Chinese buffet, I had an addiction to their crispy seaweed.
The joy of reading menus, ordering, being served. Every important stage of my life has significant restaurants attached to it, meals like memory banks, that mark occasions and feelings. The Frankie & Benny’s where many a youthful birthday party was spent, or the DIY salad bar in Pizza Hut. When we lived in Abu Dhabi, there was a black lentil daal at a curry house that still holds place in conversation with my family. During my five years at boarding school, Domino’s pizza was a crutch, as was India Cottage, where Georgia and I would frequently order a box of chips with all of the sauces. My first few years in Paris are coloured by the memory of spaghetti aglio et olio at Vitelloni’s with my sister. All this to say, restaurants are extremely valuable currency to me and this realisation made the prospect of eating at the world’s best restaurant quite terrifying. I tried to keep my expectations average to low, for fear of being let down.
Needless to say, it did not disappoint. From start to finish, Noma was a crazy revelation, a dreamscape that still feels fuzzy when I try to draw pictures of it in my mind. During the nearly six hours tableside, we were regaled with treats from under the sea; the Ocean menu follows 20 stages of various seafood concoctions with the Redzepi twist of fermentation. From a standpoint of extreme and very aware privilege, the meal (if you can call it that), the experience, for me, was worth every centime.
Thanks to my chef, we had an extremely warm welcome from the team, the head Sommelier Ava Mees used to hold the same position at Sven’s restaurant in Paris, assuring that we were taken care of beyond wildest expectations. A royal welcome and a treatment that followed suit, a tour of the kitchen, cave, and fermentation labs, and off-menu dishes sent especially for us. (Again – aware of the situational privilege), but if you’re going to go to the best restaurant in the world, this is the way to do it. I will most likely never again go to Noma, but it will be an experience that sticks like toffee in my greedy brain.
But…the best? I am not so sure. Prone to a hyperbolic missile, I throw the word around a lot. Only today, I’ve told three people that I ate the best meal of the year yesterday, the best riz de veau I’ve ever tried, the best sparkling water even. When I say the best, I am conscious that it is grammatically incorrect since I use it so generously. But nevertheless, I like to use it as a marker to myself, my mental “best of” list helps me categorise the restaurants I eat in. The culinary juxtaposition of Noma and Lille Bakery (where I ate the following morning) further highlights my superlative issue. I needed to be brought back down to reality after the wild ride of Noma and so I went for a long, nature-filled walk to arrive at Lille bakery, where I sat in the sun and had a filter coffee (the only choice) and a cheese pastry. This was also one of the best moments of the trip.
I flit between two mindsets, even more so with my current Work from Perche setup, one of extravagance and ostentatiousness and the other of simplicity and mud. One side of my brain wants to eschew the city smog and move permanently into a forgotten village with just some goats and a vegetable garden to keep me company, hands in the dirt and no knowledge of the latest restaurant opening. Alternately, I feel a sense of pride, maybe even smug, about being up to date with who is cooking where and what is new and where to eat. It’s my favourite game when someone asks me where to go on a Friday night, an oracle of eateries. This filters into my work choices as well, for a long time I was convinced that I just wanted to find an unknown bistro where I could cut my teeth without worrying that the novelty would wear off, but there is a devil on my shoulder telling me to aim higher, find the best of the best and learn from them.
Alas, there is a trade-off to be found at every step and for now I can bunny-hop between these two worlds without having to make any difficult choices and I will continue to do so as the long summer months stretch out ahead of me.
Fab Tori xx