An envelope-pushing dessert of stone bramble and blood merinigue PHOTO SIMON BAJADA 96 CENTURION-MAGAZINE.COM
you won’t find esoteric dusts or obscure gelées; instead, you’ll be invited on a visceral journey through Greenland’s sea, land and sky. The raw presence of the surrounding natural world is felt in every detail, from the structure itself to the decor. The house, a wooden A-frame tarred black, has ceilings made from old whaling-ship sails and painted-canvas walls; perched high on rocky cliffs overlooking the sea, diners can watch icebergs float by and the sun as it sets. Tables are minimally appointed with a single candle and a bowl of crowberries in moss; the chairs are draped in sheepskin, dishes are plated simply on beds of seaweed or stone, and the ceramics are stained with earthy glazes that evoke fire and iron. The meal begins with a warm towel presented in a wooden box, an aptly sensory touch. And then comes the food: a mini bouquet of local herbs, sprayed with a lemony burst of garden-sorrel juice, is served alongside a black-and-white chequered bite of mattak, the country’s signature snack. Made of raw whale blubber and skin, mattak is traditionally dipped in soy sauce and chewed, like savoury gum. At KOKS, umami is achieved through a light brushing of currant-leaf oil and soy, and plating on a stone cube ten times its size creates a visual effect both graphic and surreal. The courses that follow are just as surprising. There is a seal-blood tartlet with woven strips of seaweed and blue mussel; frozen, paper-thin rings of Greenlandic halibut in a fermented almond sauce; raw deep-sea shrimp and chamomile buds, bathed in a wild-coriander emulsion. Capelin, or ammassat, a small local fish with a pleasantly bitter taste, comes with grilled cucumber and sake, while a luscious course of snow crab, a Greenlandic delicacy, arrives in a foamy puddle of fermented butter, mushroom and sherry, anchored by the nuttiness of roasted sunflower seeds. At this point in the meal, I’ll note, nobody at my table was complaining of hunger – and we were invited to bring our drinks outside for a short intermission. There, drenched in falling sunlight, we were offered a hearty prelude to the meatier stage of the meal, a broth of charred muskox sipped from a bowl. It was the perfect introduction to the sumptuous We want people to feel at home here, even though they’re at the end of the world courses that followed, each of which emphasised a native protein: reindeer tartare with lingonberry; braised muskox in juniper, so delicate it melts in the mouth; slices of bowhead whale – Greenlandic filet mignon – in a rich reduction of black garlic and beetroot; and an exquisite rock ptarmigan, aqisseq, a local game bird, served like a kebab on the spear of its own snow-white wing. Finally, in true New Nordic style, KOKS desserts are otherworldly. The numerous cakes, mousses and petits fours include strangely satisfying combinations of kombu, cabbage, stone bramble, blood meringue and fermented garlic. An onion caramel, presented as a layered collage of flat, jellied rounds, each a subtly modulated burnt-ochre, was the most complex and delicious morsel I’ve ever put in my mouth: a sweet, salty umami bomb. And the coffee, needless to say, is excellent. A meal at KOKS is designed to take three and a half hours, and indeed it does – but time passes unnoticed. On my way out, I overheard a server tell his colleague that the lady at table four was from Italy, and they immediately agreed to send Nino, a head chef and a fellow countryman, to serve her. “We want people to feel at home here, even though they’re at the end of the world,” Nino explained. Greenland is on the brink of change, in more ways than one. The ice cap is melting, with often devastating consequences felt locally and across the planet. And within the next three years, new international landing strips are scheduled to open in Nuuk, Ilulissat and South Greenland, fundamentally transforming the country’s relationship with global tourism. Nobody can predict what effects these developments will have on the culinary landscape — perhaps unearthing native produce will become increasingly possible as the ground is exposed by retreating ice — but it’s hard to deny that change is afoot. The local chefs I’ve spoken with are generally optimistic, and look brightly upon the arrival of KOKS in their country as a sign of positive changes to come: an inspiration rather than an intrusion. “I think we attract the best kind of guests: open-minded, interested in food culture, who aren’t afraid to spend a bit of money to see what Greenland is about,” Ziska concludes. “It’s difficult to say what we can achieve in only two years – but my hope is to show the Greenlanders that this is something that is possible.” koks.fo CENTURION-MAGAZINE.COM 97
