Archive Page 2

Restaurant Paustian v. Bo Bech, Copenhagen

Almost all are aware of the Sydney Opera House, but nearly none know the name of the man whose vision it was. He was Jørn Oberg Utzon. Even though a masterpiece – although arguably the most famous monument in the southern hemisphere – its construction and the near scandal that surrounded it, resulted in Utzon’s resignation and early return home shortly before the project’s finish. Having left Australia, his reputation somewhat besmirched, he continued working with success yet never again landed another major civic commission.

What was perhaps the world’s loss was the Danes’ gain – one Dane’s especially. Furniture magnet, Ole Paustian, hired Utzon to design his new waterfront showroom in Nordhavn where supply ships from Norway unload and reload whilst luxury yachts rest lazily. It turned out to be the architect’s last undertaking on native soil and, inspired by Denmark’s beech forests, was completed in 1987. An adjacent restaurant and office were added two years later; the former run as a reputable, local café under Erik Geppel until 2004 – until Bo Bech took over.
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In de Wulf, Dranouter – ‘Identity Crisis – Service à Six Mains’

In de Wulf - l'Enseigne In de Wulf - les Trois Chefs

Half-an-hour across London. An hour-thirty on the Eurostar. Taxi from straight outside Gare de Lille Europe.

Dranouter, S’il vous plaît.’ ‘?’ il m’a demandé. ‘Dran-out-er, en Belgique à Heuvelland, quarante kilomètres d’ici,’ je lui ai dit. ’OK, je pense que je connais la direction. Pas de problème…

One hour and ninety Euros later, having asked four times for directions, one might at last find themselves at a quaint renovated farm amidst the rolling Flemish fields of bucolic Flanders.
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MR, Copenhagen

Once upon a time, Mads Refslund wanted to be a writer. As a child he enjoyed penning fantasy fiction pieces – short stories about princes, princesses and unicorns. However, having finished school, he decided to abandon books for another interest – cooking.

Refslund had first begun dabbling with the culinary arts aged just eight. At twelve, a pizza he had made impressed his mother so much that she framed a slice and hung it on the wall until it rot. Later, he lived with his ‘father, who worked at night for Politiken, packing. He slept all day…and was often so tired that he gave me permission to go into the refrigerator and knock something together for dinner. It was often spaghetti and meat sauce, but I was eager to make the perfect sauce…’
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Pierre Gagnaire, Paris

There was a hard, dark side to my family,’ begins the chef whose face is now synonymous with a smile. ‘[My father] was an introverted man, not at all expressive. He was orphaned and had been brought up by a strict and authoritative grandmother.’ Jean-Claude Gagnaire, an Apinac native, ran a one-starred restaurant in Saint-Étienne. ‘The motto in my family was do your duty…I was the eldest in the family of four and I knew what I had to do.’
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