20 November 2012
dinner at Noma. It took me a while to process my thoughts on my meal there, but on that July night as I walked away from the old warehouse in Copenhagen's Christianshavn, I had this strange lightness of step and giddy excitement, like some spotty teenager with a newfound crush. But this wasn't to be a holiday fling, I promised myself, it was the real deal, we'd keep in touch. I vowed to come back.
So much for good intentions for it would be over two years until I returned. Courtesy of a kind invitation from Arve at Starve – "would you like to eat at Noma with us?" he asked; a question that could only possibly have one answer – I found myself standing outside that same mottled stone building looking out over the cold waters of the canal. A little flutter of butterflies in my stomach betrayed my concern. Would it be just as good as I remembered? Or was that meal one of those rare moments where the right stars aligned at the right time to create something utterly magical, never to be repeated. What if it was just a fling? How had time changed my Noma experience?