Oaxen Krog

Few Swedish chefs have pursued their chosen mission with as rigorous a philosophy as Magnus Ek. With a persistence bordering on fanaticism, he explores the potential of Nordic flora and fauna for gastronomic extravagances and manages, even on these bleak latitudes, to find new ideas, species and methods each season. The 21 courses that make up an evening here are complex, but these days the yum factor is as high as the level of innovation – witness the galactically good cream of sea urchin mingled with the nuttiness of nearly raw Jerusalem artichoke, ditto miso, and tart apple. Or the supple scallop, stylishly paired with fermented pear, gooseberries, horseradish and green juniper berries. During the snacks service we discover that the coumarin in woodruff, which lends a small dish of glassy zander and fermented carrot a woodland touch, is a perfect match for the house champagne from Bérêche & Fils, giving it a whole new and richly perfumed aftertaste. The nature theme is echoed in the attractive timbered framing of the dining room and, of course, in the view of the watery entrance to Stockholm. As do all the home-carved and crafted serving gear, handmade by Ek himself with timber waste from a local carpenter’s. Ask any member of the staff (preferably Magnus) about details and you’ll get a reply that’s light years from the standard waffle: all Latin plant names and the finer points of fermentation – a dream for any food nerd. But anyone who doesn’t fancy going deep into birch bark smoking or koji chemistry needn’t worry. It’s perfectly all right just to sit back and enjoy the ride. The next stop is a pretty roundel of buttery-soft, thinly sliced beef from a retired cow from Umeå, with pedantically peeled walnuts from Väversunda farm and a stock made with three-year-old matured ham. A hay-baked beetroot is bathed in ‘miso water of lupin bean’ and is joined by a cream of celeriac and lovage – all of it adroitly matched with Eric Morgat’s Litus, an organic chenin blanc from volcanic soils in the Loire. Following a stout Norway lobster tail, barely cooked but quickly smoked over a piece of birch bark, the duck press is wheeled in. Or so we think. It turns out to be a home-built (yes, it as well) press intended for much smaller jobs than that, namely the lobster’s head – the contents of which are pressed into a little saucepan which is then heated over a flame and whisked together with crown dill butter, which in turn is used to coat a pretty piece of cod accompanied by unripe plums and crown dill purée. Desserts are not geared towards the sweetest of teeth. Both the sorbet of marigold with a fir granita and the pitch-perfect combination of plum stones with wild rosemary pudding and bilberries in fig leaf oil are irresistible.