As the famous Maya Angelou quote goes, “people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” All good front-of-house staff should internalise this in their training, but to bastardise it further as a general truism, whether a person, a city, art, music or anything that has an impact on you emotionally, we tend to gloss over the tiny details or minor frustrations and remember the core essence of what we love about it.
I’ve loved Copenhagen for years, even if it has been a freeze-thaw relationship as, shamefully, my last visit was pre-Covid – but its soul always stays with me. It’s just so damn civilised: a place for bicycles not bigots, a gleaming Metro network that operates on trust, and smørrebrød is not just satisfying to eat but symbolic of the city’s straightforward openness. No doubt, writing this afterwards, there’s the risk of lapsing into sentimentality, but there’s a fundamental attitude that I always admire. It’s no surprise it’s one of the happiest places to live.
The icing on the Danish pastry is its ever-developing food scene, now internationally-renowned and rightfully attracting the best talent. Indeed, a recent example is Chantelle Nicholson, chef owner of Apricity in London and a champion of sustainability, who is now also running Fjora at the 1 Hotel in Copenhagen’s Latin Quarter.
Unfortunately I just missed that opening, but keeping with the ecological and nomadic theme, I recently investigated Alouette’s new home. Alouette first opened a decade ago but relocated to central Copenhagen in 2024, now hidden in a courtyard opposite the King’s Garden – in fact, so hidden, I walked past it without realising, but such is the excellent (if slightly Orwellian) service here they somehow just knew it was me and chased me down the street. Being rescued from Google Maps’ epic fail was just an introduction to how they look after guests here.
Right now I can’t recall every tiny detail or what each server said – how can anyone after 15 courses? – but I’ll always remember how it made me feel
Chef Nick Curtin, who co-owns Alouette with his wife Camilla Hansen, is an ex-pat chef himself, originally hailing from Providence, Rhode Island. He started his cooking career in New York and quickly garnered critical acclaim in the mainstream US press for his stints at Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s Perry St, Compose (as executive chef), ACME and Rosette amongst others before moving to Denmark.
Under Curtin’s direction, Alouette has been awarded both red and green Michelin stars but, mercifully, it isn’t nauseatingly self-satisfied: the sustainability ethos is not rammed down your throat like an evangelical facehugger (surely the worst kind of bio-weapon from the Alien franchise, being both aggressive and holier-than-thou). Searching for any criticism is like hunting for diplomacy in the Irn-Bru Infant’s recent presidential address to the UN, though some of the more ambitious dishes could be reined in slightly. It is also ferociously expensive, but then you don’t visit Copenhagen without checking your credit card has a sufficient cushion first. We’ll return to these points.
But first, the setting. After the mysterious courtyard and then a candlelit bar for aperitifs, the main action takes place in a spacious dining room designed by David Thulstrup. It feels like a 1970s vision of the future: all utilitarian with beige and brown dominating, but just lacking staff wearing jumpsuits for the full look. (If you want a London comparison, Thulstrup also designed Ikoyi.) No detail has been spared, from the mood lighting to the artisan cutlery, and I was impressed when a server kindly wrote down the name of their crockery supplier when he clocked my unhealthy interest in their coffee mugs. (Again, that’s great service for you.)
Courgettes and caviar
Trout and blackcurrant
Pork and milk bread
There is no menu at Alouette but rather a cavalcade of 12 to 15 mystery small courses, with mystery matching wines too (though you don’t have to have a wine for each course). Usually I fear these things will be nothing more than a canapé party but at Alouette everything is grouped into four distinct ‘chapters’, each showcasing particular ingredients from independent producers in Denmark. I won’t bore you with every morsel consumed (partly as I can’t remember how each one was described and you have better things to do) but will focus on the highlights and the occasional controversy.
To start, a celebration of the humble courgette and potato in three mini courses, each of which were technically excellent and with just a soupçon of local caviar for that touch of “luxurious sustainability.” All lovely but I started to worry that this meal might just be nice tartlets of vegetables.
Things then moved up a gear for the second ‘chapter’ on fish and seafood. A trout tartare was blisteringly good but was then upstaged by trout in cooked form. This was bathed in a lusciously thick hollandaise sauce which was hiding – wait for it – blackcurrant. Curtin is known for trying to bring a nostalgic element to proceedings and this was my Proustian moment, this strange custard-like hollandaise with back notes of Ribena. But with fish? I was extremely dubious when it was presented to me but somehow it worked, if just a bit too sweet.
If you’re of a nervous disposition you can skip this paragraph. To segue into the meat ‘chapter’, and to confirm that they really mean it when they waste no part of an animal, another server presented a pot and poured a broth of pig’s blood laced with jalapeño into a transparent bowl. A pig’s blood broth is not normally my cup of tea but this was delicious and prepared the palate well for two exceedingly good pork dishes, one of which was served with a Danish milk bread.
Onto the sweet section, two variations on raspberries and strawberries, perhaps in a nod to the traditional Danish dessert rødgrød, but here the flavour was turned up to 11, the sensation of which I remember now even if I can’t recall the texture. Again, just maybe, these could have been a bit more restrained (whether it was Curtin or someone else on pastry that day they clearly have a sweet tooth). And then an impressive selection of petits fours with the aforementioned coffee mug.
So that leaves the crucial question: was it worth it? I’ll level with you. I saved up a bit for this as it’s not exactly like grabbing a Danish hot dog from a street vendor: a table requires a deposit of around £100 at the time of booking and then the balance on the day was about another £200. That’s an eye-watering amount and I don’t think I’d return for a while, even if the exchange rate improves. But, for the experience as a whole, it’s not an expense I begrudged. Indeed, right now I can’t recall every tiny detail or what each server said – how can anyone after 15 courses? – but I’ll always remember how it made me feel.
Kronprinsessegade 8
1306, Copenhagen
Denmark
October 2025
