Alchemist
Alchemist is an inexhaustible volume, perpetually unfolding chapters of wonder and terror that resonate both in the immediacy of the dining experience and upon deeper reflection. Alchemist is undeniably one of the greatest restaurants of our time.
Situated in a secluded industrial district of Copenhagen, it has erected an expansive, intricate, and meticulously choreographed theater where each millisecond is purposefully accounted for, while concurrently delivering a rich tapestry of flavors, awe-inspiring culinary techniques, a seamless blend of soundscapes, lighting, and music, as well as a multifaceted emotional voyage. Here, patrons are plunged into a premium-tier emotional odyssey that diverges from the joy, warmth, and sentimentality typically associated with other world-class dining establishments, instead filled with the bizarre, the unexpected, fear, surprise, anxiety, speechlessness—all interwoven with moments of anticipation and applause.
While all this is indeed awe-inspiring, there lies beneath the surface a dimension that instills genuine dread. I discern an underlying ambition shared by both the investors and the chef, one that transcends the boundaries of the restaurant itself, reaching for broader and more substantial influence. The current state of Alchemist is less akin to a conventional restaurant or theater and more resemblant of a biochemical laboratory. Instead of merely aspiring for multisensory fusion, what genuinely preoccupies Alchemist are political, social, cultural, and environmental concerns; however, these interests are not driven by benevolence alone, but rather serve as avenues to accumulate greater power and sway. Alchemist aspires to establish not merely a dining establishment, but also a religious movement, a political faction, while simultaneously nurturing a fascination with organs, blood, death, and mysticism—themes too unsettling to ponder at length. Consequently, if the chef were ever to run for Prime Minister of Denmark, it would hardly be surprising; similarly, I would not be shocked to learn that he was revealed as a serial killer or cannibal. This establishment selects not just diners, but adherents, bearing a weight that no ordinary eatery could sustain, and each advancing day seems to chart a course towards self-annihilation.
After dining here, I feel compelled to document my impressions, ensuring that when this restaurant eventually meets its end, future generations may uncover vestiges of its profound depths, terror, hypocrisy, and relentless pursuit of extremity. An uncanny ambiance pervades the establishment, casting both seated patrons and circulating servers under the glow of artificial lighting and animated domes, giving them an appearance that is anything but virtuous. Imagine arriving at this venue for a meal, where everything seems perfectly ordinary, with guests laughing and conversing, only to realize that you are the sole genuine diner amidst a cast of ACTORS. What then?
As you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you—Alchemist can indeed operate as an extraordinary culinary theater, yet it could just as readily morph into a life-and-death escape scenario.
Before my visit, I was almost entirely oblivious to this restaurant. However, among the uniformed staff serving me, Chef Rasmus Munk was immediately recognizable; his calm yet provocative, proud, neurotic, and controlling gaze could only belong to a chef, unmistakable in any setting.
It's surprising that Geranium and Alchemist share the same investor, Lars Seier Christensen, a Copenhagen financier who started his own restaurant venture at 18 and later founded Saxo Bank, Seier Capital, and Concordium, with a particular interest in blockchain technology, while also being an insightful commentator on politics, society, and business, as well as a passionate connoisseur of fine food and wine. This background makes the existence of Alchemist all the more logical, leading me to view its current manifestation as a combined vision of both the investor and the chef.
Upon arriving at Alchemist, massive bronze doors slowly opened to reveal a sprawling 2000+ square meter establishment, reportedly backed by initial investments exceeding 15 million US dollars. Inside, it was pitch-black, designed to distort perceptions of time and space, making Alchemist seem like a venue that could be situated anywhere around the globe.
After verifying my reservation details with the front desk attendant and engaging in a brief exchange, we entered a 10-square-meter mirrored performance area, which collaborates with artists to periodically change themes. A dancer, adorned with exaggerated dark makeup, performed under flickering stage lights. As the door closed behind us, it felt akin to stepping into an "Escape Room" scenario. The dancer then presented us with a black, square, sugary crisp from a long black box, marking the first course, Square One, symbolizing both form and the concept of starting anew.
Subsequently, the room doors swung open to disclose a lounge area equipped with sofas and tea tables, where the centerpiece was a cocktail bar. Directly ahead were glass-enclosed research kitchens, signaling the start of the evening's appetizer journey.
The second course, Daisy, began with a kombucha starter served in a daisy-shaped vessel containing a golden, jelly-like yolk with a unique texture between liquid and solid, infused with yuzu foam and icy granita.
The third course, Smoke Ball, initially seemed ordinary but upon cracking its crispy shell, a sudden burst of smoke enveloped diners. It consisted of a mantou bun topped with lobster paste and a dollop of caviar.
The fourth course, Butterfly, featured a real, edible butterfly perched atop a bed of green leaves and a honey tartalette. An animal not typically found on dining plates, representing beauty and mystery, was used by the restaurant as a potential new protein source, testing diners' psychological boundaries right from the beginning.
The fifth course, Dumpling, offered a cotton candy-textured dumpling wrapper filled with basil leaves and gelatin, providing a sweet interlude after the butterfly, reminiscent of a comforting moment at an amusement park.
The sixth course, Space Bread, was a one-of-a-kind black bread that dissolved instantly upon contact, even melting when held, leaving no crumbs. Allegedly containing 10% air, this creation was part of a collaboration project between MIT researchers and Alchemist exploring culinary expressions for zero-gravity environments in space travel, including methods to maintain yeast activity within the confines of cooking capabilities aboard the International Space Station. Topped generously with caviar, the act of eating it was purely about savoring the taste of caviar.
The seventh course, Omelette Hamlet, highlighted the chef's quest for the perfect omelette, filled with egg yolks and a hint of cheese. Smooth and delicate like a fragile embryo, biting into it released a rich, runny yolk center, with a strong egg flavor and tender texture, yet the semblance to an embryo sent chills down one's spine. The meticulously arranged black truffle particles on top appeared placed individually.
The eighth course, Sunburn Bikini, drew inspiration from Barcelona tapas, presenting a dish similar to ham croquettes but reimagined with cheese inside, creating a chewy, mochi-like consistency akin to glutinous rice cake, flavored with truffles and subtle hints of ham. The outer shell was crispy, but not like fried dough, instead offering a softer, non-abrasive feel.
The ninth course, Sea Buckthorn G&T, concluded with a Gin and Tonic cocktail transformed into an ice cream sandwich format, yet with a distinct texture quite unlike any store-bought popsicle or sorbet.
Following a tour of the extensive wine cellar housing tens of thousands of bottles, we ascended to the dome space, the main dining area capable of seating 50 guests. Resembling a colossal orb straight out of Las Vegas, it featured wraparound screens displaying vivid animated effects based on various themes. Underneath the vast dome, the sense of time and space became blurred, with the animations functioning as our clock—a technique originally employed in casinos.
Dome animations changed every 15 minutes, showcasing themes such as underwater worlds, glowing jellyfish, cherry blossom trees bathed in moonlight, industrial chicken farms, pulsating hearts and exploding capillaries, forest moss, surveillance footage, and light-shadow coffins—each corresponding to the dishes served, albeit in a thought-provoking manner that often did not align chronologically.
Among these animations, my favorite depicted the restaurant's facade, revealing an elusive warmth. In this animation, servers carried dishes through the establishment, and windows that didn't exist in reality showcased enchanting views of cherry blossoms and starry skies, while the apex of the dome hinted at the Northern Lights. The minimal warmth of the actual restaurant was confined to the realms of imagination and childhood memories, whereas everything rooted in reality was imbued with a pervasive sense of horror, gore, and irony.
The dining experience within the dome space unfolded in distinct thematic chapters: Chapter One revolved around marine environments, Chapter Two explored humans and organs, Chapter Three delved into land animals, and Chapter Four highlighted marginalized social groups, each chapter consisting of 4-5 courses.
In the tenth course, titled "1984," inspiration was drawn from George Orwell's novel, presenting a large, symbolic eyeball representing omnipresent surveillance, followed by dome animations echoing themes of monitoring. The eye featured caviar on top and langoustine below, with a subtle cucumber flavor. Eating this dish involved scooping out the 'eyeball,' setting the stage for the evening with a strong macabre impact, signaling that tonight's meal would be far from ordinary.
The eleventh course, "Ocean Invaders," required cracking open a crispy wafer made from beach crab to reveal succulent Faroe Island sea urchin, though both species are invasive and detrimental to their local marine habitat.
The twelfth course, "Lobster Claw," paid homage to New York-style lobster rolls, which the chef cherished during his time in the city. A red claw was filled with piping hot lobster meat, served in a fishnet bag mimicking its freshly caught state, accompanied by a chili pepper-infused mayonnaise sauce, resulting in a straightforward yet delightfully spicy treat.
The thirteenth course, "Marine Plastic," addressed ocean plastic pollution, as many cod caught in Nordic waters contain plastic. This dish consisted of a plastic-like plate crafted from dehydrated cod skin, resembling white rabbit candy, positioned above a deep-fried cod mousse tower.
The fourteenth course, "King Crab," featured the king crab native to the Bering Strait but later introduced to Murmansk and eventually migrated to Norwegian waters, where it caused ecological imbalance due to overpopulation. Alchemist blended the king crab with its preferred mussels and lobster into a paste, encased in thin slices of bread, creating a soft, warm, and powerfully flavorful dish.
Upon finishing the king crab, the marine-themed segment concluded, widely acknowledged as the most delectable part of the meal despite the unconventional presentation methods. Impressively, each dish arrived at the perfect temperature thanks to the kitchen's meticulous timing down to the millisecond.
Transitioning into the second chapter, focusing on humans and organs:
The fifteenth course, "Hidden Carving," referenced the 18th-century carving technique where patterns are barely discernible in natural light but come alive under backlighting. Similarly, this dish initially appeared indistinct until the server activated the backlight, revealing a Frida Kahlo portrait intricately crafted from artichoke sauce with varying depths and a consistency between a French sauce and liquid glue. Patrons consumed the image using crackers until it was entirely devoured.
The sixteenth course, "Tongue's Kiss," involved gradually licking clean a plastic tongue shaped like a human's, tasting a sauce composed of anchovies, black pepper, and olive oil, evoking a mix of kissing and repulsion.
The seventeenth course, "Food for Thought," entailed opening a silicone mold shaped like a sheep's brain to find an actual piece of sheep's brain nestled on a bed of deep-fried breadcrumbs. Overcoming instinctive fear and aversion demanded considerable courage.
The eighteenth course, "Toast to Celebration," was the sole dish served simultaneously to all 50 guests, regardless of their arrival times between 5:00 PM and 7:00 PM. All servers temporarily retreated to the kitchen, and as the dome animation shifted, they reemerged in rows to serve each guest a cocktail, instructing them not to take photos for the next two minutes before promptly departing.
In an instant, the lights went out completely, but suddenly, everyone's cocktails began to emit a soft glow in the dark. In the midst of this darkness, people raised their illuminated glasses in celebration, with exclamations of "cheers" and "life is beautiful". The sight of these glowing specks in the obscurity was unexpectedly poignant, especially following a barrage of intense horror and oppressive emotions, culminating in a rare moment of warmth. The opening dish featured a melon-flavored cocktail that glowed due to the inclusion of protein extracts from jellyfish bodies. Surprisingly unpretentious, it had a crisp, refreshing sweetness that offered a soothing emotional respite.
As the lights flickered back on, the dome transitioned to a paper-cut animation of walking figures, evoking a sense of nostalgia tinged with a hint of the surreal, while the music remained soft and gentle. This segued into the third chapter under the dome, returning to themes rooted in land-based elements.
The nineteenth course presented 'Air Bread', which resembled a fusion between a doughnut and a croissant. The bread was light and airy, garnished with rose-shaped ham slices. However, its substantial fat content made it somewhat challenging to swallow, particularly after several preceding courses that seemed ordinary yet were heavy on the palate.
The twentieth course introduced 'Bugrata', a reimagined version of burrata cheese. True to its name, the dish was alive with bugs; the burrata ball was enveloped in two layers of raw fish slices, crowned by wriggling green tomato worms. The restaurant even provided a convex mirror so guests could observe the tiny green insects crawling atop the cheese.
The twenty-first course, titled 'Hunger', served as a paradoxical commentary on global food issues. With thousands dying daily from starvation juxtaposed against excessive food waste, the chef explored sustainable meat sources. A silver miniature human ribcage, scaled down to the size of a rabbit, invoked images of emaciated chests, adorned with cured rabbit meat and garnished with various herbs and flowers. The unconventional meats sparked an instinctive fear that perhaps human flesh was surreptitiously included.
The twenty-second course, 'Exhausted Chicken', highlighted the chef's staunch opposition to battery farming where chickens are confined in cramped cages. An animated segment within the dome protested industrial poultry farming, showing skyscrapers composed of stacked cages. The dish itself was served inside a realistic cage, featuring a chicken ball filled with herb-infused ingredients, coated in sweet and spicy sauce and crispy rice. Holding such a chicken claw, however, left one feeling queasy and unable to relish it.
The twenty-third course, named 'Footprint', consisted of a boneless chicken claw prepared akin to Kung Pao chicken, but with a crispier skin than the traditional rendition. It came with a very spicy meat broth infused with jasmine flowers, echoing mysterious Eastern culinary traditions for foreign diners.
Transitioning into the final chapter under the dome, which focused on marginalized social groups.
The twenty-fourth course, 'Reflection', was the first dessert, playing on double meanings: both "reflection" and "introspection". The deep purple sugar crisp reflected rainbow colors, possibly symbolizing solidarity with the LGBT community. Beneath the crisp lay a layer of vanilla ice cream and a chocolate cookie base, forming a delightful sandwich-like dessert.
The twenty-fifth course, 'Scream', drew inspiration from the Norwegian painting 'The Scream'. The dish comprised a sugar wafer over layers of ice cream, each bite revealing different flavors – starting with banana, then passionfruit, culminating in a tartness reminiscent of a prank candy, causing a grimace of discomfort. The server chuckled, explaining how this taste experience mirrored the expression depicted in the painting.
The twenty-sixth course, 'Life Line', was crafted from pig's blood, shaped like a precise drop of blood. The initial spoonful tasted like simple raspberry, but as one delved deeper, the blood flavor grew more pronounced, leaving marks on the plate identical to those of real blood, almost triggering a gag reflex. A small QR code on the plate led to Alchemist's website, which encouraged blood donation and redirected to a blood donation site.
The twenty-seventh course, 'Sin and Pleasure', subtly addressed the indulgence of chocolate—a delicious yet calorie-dense guilty pleasure—while also alluding to the hardships many endure while others enjoy happiness, highlighting the unfairness of the world. Unwrapping what looked like a chocolate energy bar, it initially tasted like a regular energy bar, but its coffin-like shape instilled a renewed sense of unease. The packaging carried profound messages, emphasizing the issue of child labor in West African cocoa plantations and urging customers to influence the industry by writing to chocolate brands demanding they reject child labor practices. Scanning the package's QR code directed users to the International Labor Organization's website, providing shocking statistics and further information.
With the conclusion of the chocolate course, the main dining experience beneath the dome came to an end. The waiter escorted us to a confined space filled with plastic balls and enveloped by mirrors. Following a musical interlude, the lights abruptly went out, only to illuminate seconds later, revealing a female dancer adorned with exaggerated dark makeup who began throwing balls at me. Upon closer observation, she was indeed the same dancer who had performed the eerie dance upon our arrival, thus keeping her quite busy throughout the evening in scaring patrons. As lively music commenced, its lyrics sang of freedom, and the dancer encouraged play with the balls; however, I found myself too overwhelmed with trepidation to fully engage. With the music's cessation, we exited the small, soundproof, and claustrophobic room, which evoked thoughts of liberation and shedding all protective barriers.
Navigating hesitantly, we were then led into the kitchen where the waiter elucidated on the electronic systems, stopwatches, and kitchen configurations, answering my lingering questions about food temperature control. It transpired that there was, indeed, a meticulous millisecond-level command system operating behind the scenes.
Subsequently, we proceeded to take an elevator up to the rooftop area (Balcony) situated at the restaurant's highest level. At the entrance, one could catch a glimpse of the dome's edge, symbolizing a breakaway from the enclosed world and gazing down at Earth as if from outer space, detached from everyday life. The balcony exuded a calmer, more tranquil ambiance, featuring numerous slowly rotating jellyfish lamps overhead. Arriving here marked the commencement of the post-meal dessert course, most of which invoked childhood memories, hinting at the chef's own nostalgic longing for his youth.
The twenty-eighth course was titled 'Amber'. It consisted of an amber candy containing an insect. Sensing my low tolerance for insects, the waiter kindly offered a genuine amber candy version for taking pictures before serving an insect-free alternative to consume. This dish represented the chef's childhood memory of collecting amber on the beach. The amber candy featured a unique texture, with a glass-like exterior and a soft, sticky interior.
The twenty-ninth course was the 'Margarita Cube'. The waiter mentioned that Tuesdays are often considered mini Fridays in Denmark, with many celebrations, both big and small, frequently starting on Tuesdays in anticipation of the upcoming weekend. This cocktail cube was exceptionally icy, yet not akin to a mere ice pop; when placed in the mouth, it didn't melt like ice cream but retained its original form, slightly diminishing in size. Alchemist abounded with creations that left diners pondering their very construction.
The thirtieth course was 'In a Nutshell'. Playing off the idiom meaning "in brief", the chef crafted a nutty ice cream. The waiter noted that after a night of challenges, congratulations were due as we finally entered the comfort food phase. This dish comprised a chocolate-coated crunchy topping over hazelnut ice cream, undeniably delectable.
The thirty-first and final course was 'Grandfather's Beard'. Resembling a beard, this chocolate treat carried a subtle cream flavor and invited guests to take playful selfies with it. After a night of terror and high-pressure experiences, the last part of the meal returned to themes of childhood and warmth. Yet, even as I sat on the rooftop, I still found myself short of breath, and the following morning, I woke up feeling chest tightness and experiencing shortness of breath.
After settling the bill, the waiter escorted us to an elevator that took us down to the first floor, where we entered a pitch-black room illuminated by neon words written all around its walls. These were English phrases left by historical patrons, filled with both glowing adjectives like "amazing" and more unsettling terms such as "anxiety". Our coats hung silently on the coat rack in this room, ready for us to put them on before making our departure.
Everything had come to an end. As we stepped out of the restaurant, we felt a mix of emotions—on one hand, a sense of relief at having finally concluded the experience, while on the other, a lingering sense of emptiness and nostalgia.
