I “I’m dying of hunger,” sighed my dining companion, two courses into the eighteen served at Greenland’s first and only Michelin-approved restaurant. “Don’t they serve any bread?” “No,” said a fellow guest, beaming at us from a table across the room. “But don’t worry; you won’t miss it.” Thus began an intimate, late-summer evening at KOKS Greenland, a seasonal pop-up slated for two years of service while the original, double-starred KOKS is under construction in the Faroe Islands. Open during the summer only in a remote, southwestern village, KOKS in Greenland is reached exclusively by a shuttle boat that weaves through towering mountains of ice in the shimmering Disko Bay, a Unesco World Heritage Site. Visitors must be comfortable with a more informal environment than is expected for cuisine of this quality – small, low-ceilinged dining rooms afford no privacy but give the place a warm, rustic charm – and are required to literally straddle the space between dock and boat upon arrival, a foreshadowing of the culinary adventure to come. “The boat ride to Ilimanaq is a crazy, beautiful sort of cleanse that puts our diners in a certain mindset, inhaling all that fresh air in surreal surroundings,” says executive chef Poul Andrias Ziska, who spent months developing the menu from a suitcase full of Greenlandic ingredients before the restaurant opened in June. “I think people arrive here in a calm but excited state, and that prepares them perfectly for our food.” Awarded his second Michelin star in 2019, Ziska has distinguished KOKS through his creative use of Faroese proteins and produce, which he assembles into concoctions such as razorbill Wellington and a salted-gannet-and-cod-skin sandwich. In its Greenlandic home, the renovated 18thcentury abode of Danish missionary Paul PHOTOS FROM LEFT: CLAES BECH - POULSEN. SIMON BAJADA; PREVIOUS SPREAD: SIMON BAJADA 70 CENTURION-MAGAZINE.COM
PHOTO LISA BURNS Egede – now part of the luxurious Ilimanaq Lodge – the restaurant has embraced the native bounty of its host country. On a landmass dominated by ice, with an impossibly short growing season and a terrain inhospitable to most vegetables, this is a challenge. But Ziska has managed to illuminate ingredients that the majority of Greenlandic restaurants either can’t or don’t dare to utilise. Fine dining here is a complex affair. Before our plane touched ground on arrival, I was warned of this by our trip’s hostess, my mother-in-law, a Danish doctor who has spent numerous periods throughout her career working in Greenlandic hospitals. “I hope you don’t expect much, food-wise,” she said, with an anxious smile. “You don’t come to Greenland for the food.” As a visiting doctor, she explained, she was accustomed to eating modestly at home by herself – a slice of bread and canned fish, usually – and I should be prepared for limited options. “You can sometimes find frozen lamb or muskox at the store,” she added, “and fishermen occasionally sell their catch by the harbour.” But experience is always the best teacher. Since almost all products are imported, I soon realised, weather and logistics have a stunning impact on what’s at hand – and while bigger, more accessible cities are adequately supplied, small towns are shockingly deprived. The produce section at our market on the island of Uummannaq was stocked with fruit leathers, juices from concentrate, potatoes, and onions, nary any other vegetable in sight. Lactose intolerance is common, and fresh dairy is not available anywhere; the only milk in Greenland is of the ultra-pasteurised variety. Those seeking yogurt will be lucky to find some in the freezer, and when an occasional cabbage or bell pepper makes it to the shelf, it is gone within minutes. Commercial dining is no different. Most restaurants serve frozen or imported beef and chicken rather than the fresh meat they can find locally, and menus are oriented towards a bland, globalised palette. My request in an Ilulissat cafe for some butter led to a heated debate in the kitchen and visits by a disgruntled cook to four different closets. When it comes to gastronomy, four-star hotels own the field, specifically the Arctic and Icefiord in Ilulissat, and Hotel Hans Egede in Nuuk – Above: the 18th-century Ilimanaq Lodge, which now houses KOKS; from far left: the Faroe Island’s only Michelin-starred chef, Poul Andrias Ziska; reindeer tartar with fermented mushroom glace and ramson but even in the best establishments, “quality” is not guaranteed. Prices for local ingredients are steep and availability is low, largely because procuring them is such a chore; eight months of the year, temperatures drop below freezing, and the land is transformed into a barren white desert. “In Greenland, you cannot pretend to have fresh berries and fresh meat every day, because it’s impossible to get,” Hotel Icefjord’s head chef Ignazio Gnocchi told me when I stopped in for a visit. “You need to plan for your proteins and build up a frozen stock. Hunting season is only twice a year and most fish is sold on the global market, so you’d better make good relationships with hunters and fisherman – and then buy big.” At KOKS Greenland, however, these challenges are overcome with all the resources of a world-renowned institution, and the results are delectable. Fresh ingredients are the star, and they have been culled primarily from nearby ecosystems and obtained through local suppliers. But while each course is a stunning work of modern culinary technique, CENTURION-MAGAZINE.COM 71
