Rough-hewn wooden tables. Alice-in-Wonderland oversized chairs. Wooden panels on the walls, high ceilings to match the high standards, woven straw and wooden chairs with space-age style lighting. And sheepskins that Kylie Minogue lusted for last time she was here, says Mathias. But Mathias put his foot down. I imagine Kylie just spun around and refocused on her raspberry sabayon. That’s the power of sheepskin chic in Matbaren for you. A majestic mismatch that, of course, in a sophisticated Swedish way, just somehow works.
How your table place will look at Matbaren
Who eats here? Business types. Second dates. A rockabilly couple on our left. A casual but well-heeled lady with professionally blow-dried hair to our right. And one bunch of rowdy food journalists, courtesy of the CAS programme, occupying the backbone table of the restaurant.
The evening begins. We have champagne. Then we have a Riesling, redolent of dried apricots. And maybe gooseberry. And lots of other wine terms that I don’t have time to check the glossary about. But it was highly aromatic, perfumed with a round sweetness, and rather moreish. That would have done for dinner, with a slab of sourdough and a block of my other favourite food group (and Mathias’s apparently) — butter. Yes. Butter.
"I support good food".
We had langoustine for starters. It was a veritable massacre. Backs, tails, claws; flying in the air. Well, not quite, but we did joke about a Pretty Woman moment and a leg of langoustine flying across the room in place of a snail. OK. OK. So it was just me. Then I got the hiccups with the excitement of it all. Another noted moment was the knäckebröd; Swedish crispbread so crisp and thin it could have passed for an ill-tempered super model.
A veritable massacre of langoustine
The surprise intermediate course? Sashimi of Salma salmon, reindeer fillet, avocado, tapioca balls soaked in soy, and slim slivers of crunchy onion with shavings of horseradish and ginger. Served on a rectangle of green marble. A veritable joy of velvety sensations and offset by little bubbles of salty umami-ish joy that can settle any manner of craving. Would you sell your mother for this? Don’t be so pious. After you have tasted it, you may find yourself logging into eBay.
Sashimi of Salma salmon and reindeer
Vegetarians! Behold. Simply called: ‘Pumpkin with broccoli’. The pumpkin was only interfered with ever so slightly; roasted, puréed, and seduced with a little cream, salt, pepper and nothing more. Full stop. Broccoli: boiled. On top? Alp-Shrinz cheese from Switzerland, aged, like parmesan and shaved to within an inch of its redolently smelly life. Crushed hazelnuts, and truffle shavings. Piemonte truffle, at that. Watercress, and browned butter. Really, this dish is a thing of beauty. Matbaren is now officially a destination for vegetarians. I want to lick my plate. But apparently that’s rude in Sweden. So I settle for my fingers. Don’t worry. I hid behind my hair. Nobody noticed.
Cookbooks discovered in Mathias Dahlgren's kitchen
In response to our reactions to the main dish of beef and onion I shout down the table (my manners are impeccable, I know); “Anyone know what the green purée is?” Watercress? Green beans? Spinach? Arguments start. Saul from Spain sums up our curiosity about figuring out a green puréed ingredient as akin to ‘culinary forensics’. Thank you Saul. I would have stolen the term and claimed it as my own but for the fact I know you will be reading this. But the meat is so incredibly soft and saftig (juicy, in Swedish) that it and keeps us occupied until … Ha! We solved it. The lovely sommelier and Maître D’, Daniella Illebrand, explained to us that the purée under forensic investigation was, in fact, lightly grilled spring onion mixed with olive oil and liquefied. Also served with battered onion rings — don’t worry, they had counselling before we ate them — and lightly grilled spring onions atop. Beef and onion is the name of the dish. And that is exactly what it was.
“In order to be a successful restaurant, you have to be real; we are natural, and that’s Mathias’s philosophy. We are the natural kitchen”. And that is also the translation of his cookbook title: Det Naturliga Köket. The cooking philosophy applies both to Matbaren where we are eating and its fancier sister restaurant next door, Matsalen, which is the main dining room. What’s Matsalen like? “Same produce, same philosophy, just raised a few notches” according to Daniella.
We move on to discussing the floor-to-ceiling mirrors in Hotel Skeppsholmen. And Canadian food writer living in Copenhagen, Tania Groth, says this, apparently, is a bad thing. After four days of eating and drinking, we conclude in agreement, that the last thing you want to see is yourself, in a mirror.
Dessert was raspberries from Gotland with a superbly tart raspberry sorbet and a lemon tinged, airy and meltingly creamy sabayon. No word in conclusion there. The adjectives said it all.
The atmosphere is relaxed. Mathias conscientiously moseys around the restaurant. Checking that all is right in his inclusive restaurant world. He is happy to chat with customers, staff and visiting food writers in an easy manner.
Oh yum. Just had the peanut butter chocolate brittle. I am awfully happy. My colleague Jenny Jonevret of the Culinary Academy of Sweden at the end of the table shouts-up “Enjoying yourself Grace?” Oops. That means I am eating with my eyes closed again and making ‘mmmmm’ noises. And I went for seconds. And if I am honest, which I am occasionally, thirds. No amount of thundering beginner ballet classes will burn this off. Looks like it’s elasticated pants for the rest of the weekend.
Delightfully freshly-baked madeleine (with the red wine in question)
And who knew that madeleines were so magnificent with dry red wine? Will I did. But I have to pretend it is a revelation to make it sound like I don’t eat cake with dry red wine normally. The editor of The White Guide (Sweden’s version of Guide Michelin) would be horrified. (Sorry, Per).