Barely three months ago, AA Gill rang me to arrange a lunch. He wanted us to meet up with Lucas Hollweg again. Lucas, Adrian and I worked together for many years on Style before Lucas left to spend more time with his stove and knock out a cookery book, Good Things to Eat. The three of us used to trot out from the Sunday Times office for lunch on an irregular but always hilarious basis. Lucas was one of the few people to whom Adrian would occasionally defer on culinary matters, but definitely over cheese, about which Lucas knows a distressing amount. To Adrian’s delight, Lucas once corrected a French waiter over the precise village in Normandy that was home to some particularly fetid cheese. Lucas, being Lucas, was then mournfully remorseful for the remainder of the lunch, worrying that he had ruined the man’s day, which delighted Adrian even more.
The three of us enjoyed the arcane: Adrian knew more about eating rituals than anyone since the ethnographer Claude Lévi-Strauss. If you were going to break bread with the bushmen of the Kalahari, Adrian was your man — though he would probably tell you that they don’t eat leavened bread. Lucas was always enthusing about some seasonal ingredient peculiar to a region, while I would chuck in the odd literary reference to justify my presence — then be trumped by Adrian, who would quote at greater length from the work in question.
Just before we were due to meet, Adrian emailed: “I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it, speak later.” After more than 20 years of phone conversations, that was the first email I had ever had from him. It was also the last. So, Lucas and I were left on our own to explore the “contemporary Nordic dining” promised by Aquavit.
“It’s watered-down art deco with a splash of classicism — think polite fascism meets 1932 provincial airport
The original Aquavit is in New York, where it began life in 1987. Having gained two Michelin stars there, it has opened a slightly more informal establishment in London, between Haymarket and Regent Street. All very smart and clean, it’s watered-down art deco with a splash of classicism — think polite fascism meets provincial airport in 1932. The airport theme continues inside, with a high-ceilinged room and full-length windowed frontage.
It is beautifully appointed in the restrained Scandinavian manner, with smooth wood panelling and marble floors, although the low-hanging chandeliers seem a touch Dubai. Naturally, the cutlery is of some contemporary Scandi design that smugly draws attention to itself as ergonomically shaped, but it works, so that’s all right.
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We immediately felt Adrian’s absence, as neither of us knew exactly how Scandinavian cuisine works. Adrian would, of course, have known and had an opinion about it. The menu presents you with a smorgasbord, including such dishes as blood pudding with lingonberries, bacon and lardo, followed by starters, such as crab with rye brioche and fennel, or scallops, kohlrabi and lovage. So, what’s the difference? We asked a waitress. Smorgasbord are smaller dishes, to be shared; starters are more substantial. We ordered masses because it is what Adrian would have done, and drank aquavit and beer, which he wouldn’t, but it’s what the Scandinavians do.
I was in Stockholm in December once, where every meal seemed to comprise herrings followed by a dark-brown stew with pellucid pools of fat floating on top. This was always accompanied by aquavit and beer, which cut through the fat and perked you up to cope with the damp cold and grey twilight of the harrowingly depressing Nordic winter midday. This was a bright, clear, unseasonably warm day in London just before Christmas, but we didn’t let that stop us.
Our smorgasbord selection, snappily presented in those ubiquitous little shallow jars, was all too self-effacing. I liked the Brantevik herrings for not being cheek-suckingly sharp, but Lucas was dismayed that the mustard and curry sauces were bland; the lingonberries and lardo did not do enough to lift the blood pudding; pickles were OK, and the celeriac, mustard and lovage was tangy, if a nuclear shade of luminous green.
We had heard good reports of the venison tartare. We were disappointed. Small chunks of the rich meat are chopped into blueberries, lingonberries and juniper with potato strips, but the venison was overwhelmed. Lucas said it was underseasoned and improved it with some salt. If that let us down, dehydrated beetroots, goat’s cheese sorbet and hazelnuts succeeded beyond expectations. It was a wonderful combination of tastes and textures: the intensity of the dense beets played off the cold sorbet — and there was a perfect onion purée. Brilliant. Two more aquavits; two more beers.
What’s next? I went for turbot. Served with confident simplicity with brown butter and a heap of shredded horseradish, it was faultless. Lucas had veal cheek with dill and salt-baked onions. It was so shreddingly tender, you could have eaten it with a spoon.
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We were feeling replete by now, but the executive chef Emma Bengtsson started out as a pastry chef, so puddings are quite a thing. Arctic Bird’s Nest is a signature dish: a goat’s cheese sorbet egg on top of a pile of chocolatey and pastry twigs. It looks spectacular, but perhaps we’d shot our cheese sorbet bolt with the beetroot. We were underwhelmed. The rosehip soup, almond ice cream and almond cake, on the other hand, was outstanding. I was expecting something unctuously sweet, like my rosehip cordial, but this had a plumlike sharpness that sat well with the almond confection.
So, does Aquavit represent some adventurous, edgy branch of contemporary Nordic cooking? We would really love to know what Adrian would have made of it. Looking over the remains, we decided to call it “posh Scandi”. Aquavit could bed down, improve and become an institution. I will certainly go there again: it’s good, occasionally rising to spectacular, a really great place for lunch — if you’re happy spending £200 for two.
from the menu
Aquavit
St James’s Market, 1 Carlton Street, London SW1Y 4QQ; 020 7024 9848, aquavitrestaurants.com/london. Mon-Fri: 7am-10.30am, noon-2.30pm, 5.30pm-10.30pm; Sat-Sun: 8am-10.30am, noon-2.30pm, 5.30pm-10.30pm
Three of the best Nordic restaurants
Norse, North Yorkshire
The MasterChef finalist Murray Wilson pairs speciality craft beers with complex dishes in this stylish cafe, which transforms into a busy restaurant at night.
22 Oxford Street, Harrogate HG1 1PU; 01423 202363, norserestaurant.co.uk
The Salt Bar, Cheshire
Standing on a picturesque cobbled street, this cosy restaurant offers all the Scandinavian classics, including a mean line in meatballs.
23b Church Street, Macclesfield SK11 6LB; 01625 432221, thesaltbarmacclesfield.com
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Svea Cafe & Restaurant, Gloucestershire
A charming and relaxed setting for contemporary Swedish food. At Svea, the smorgasbord changes monthly and has a devoted following.
24 Rodney Road, Cheltenham GL50 1JJ; 01242 238134, sveacafe.co.ukhttp://www.sveacafe.co.uk
