Scandinavian-danish Cuisine Was Something Quite Rustic, Mostly

My Last Meal On Earth, I Would Love It To Be A Bowl Of Blueberries With Cold Cream.

I Had Turned Down Other Head Chef Jobs. I Didn't Want To Take Over Someone Else's Cuisine. I Wanted To Start From Scratch.

That's How People Make Sense Of A Meeting: They Eat Something. If They Were In A Sad Moment It Would Be The Same Thing, They'd Be Eating Something. It's What Makes Life Fun. We Don't Need It To Be Delicious Or Great Or All These Things If We're Just To Survive. But It's One Of Those Things That Makes Life Fun, Livable. And The More I Submerge Myself In It, The More Fun I Seem To Have.

I Started To Change. It Was Sort Of A Restaurant Mid-life Crisis, You Could Say. I Lost A Lot Of Confidence, Not So Much As A Father Or As A Friend, But As A Boss, As A Chef That's To Make Decisions Throughout The Day All The Time. I Just Slowly Started Burning Out. Once You Lose Your Confidence Like That, You Start Being Angry In The Kitchen. I Couldn't Recognize Myself Anymore. I Started Writing The Journal. It Was Never Meant To Be A Book, But The Editor At Phaidon Read Parts Of It. As Editors Do, I Guess.

A Gastronomical Supermeal Didn't Necessarily Have To Involve The Things I Had Brought From Other Top Kitchens.