24-05-2025
Disfrutar versus Noma: A tale of two Michelin meals
What does it mean to be creative? Is it finding beauty in the simplest of things, coaxing it out of everyday objects, or is it an expression of joy and whimsy? If it is true that constraint breeds creativity, few restaurants exemplify that ethic better than Copenhagen's three-star Michelin restaurant, Noma. When I first ate there in 2014, I was blown away. The experience, from start to finish, was out-of-the-box, pushing on boundaries I did not know existed. It became the benchmark against which all other dining experiences were measured.
For the entire duration of that meal, my senses were jolted by new flavours, textures and experiences. I was served caramelised milk extruded into thin fettuccine wafers and scallops that had been dried, ground into a powder and recombined with beeswax so it could be served as a mousse. The sea urchin was served on the crispy skin of a duck, and the steak tartare was seasoned with flash-frozen fire ants—the only way they could find to introduce tart acidity into the dish without using a citrus fruit.
In those days, Noma strictly adhered to a self-imposed rule to cook only with ingredients sourced roughly 200km from the restaurant. This is why they went to extraordinary lengths to reproduce the taste of lemons, and why, in the sparse winter months, diners were served reindeer moss and roasted celeriac.
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It is such constraints that sparked creativity and pushed Noma to the top of the culinary world. Nothing comes easy in the harsh Nordic north, and the effort of coaxing flavours and textures out of whatever was available showcased the region's resilience and gave them a repertoire of skills unmatched in the food industry.
Earlier this month, I returned to Noma, well over a decade later. Since my last visit, the restaurant had shut down and resurrected itself in a new avatar, moving to a new location on the outskirts of Copenhagen. Noma 2.0 no longer forages for its food locally, but crafts its menu according to the season, serving produce from the oceans in winter, vegetables in the summer and game from the forests in autumn.
I came to this meal with high expectations, but within the first few courses, it was clear that something was off. I guess it all went downhill after the snail course—a delicate morsel served in a bouquet of wasabi leaves.
While there was nothing wrong with the dish itself, it would have helped if they had not placed a live snail on the dish for effect. As soon as it saw its brother being eaten, mine hightailed it off my plate and on to the table. Pandemonium ensued as servers and diners alike tried to retrieve the snails so that service could resume.
Don't get me wrong, the food was delicious—skilfully prepared and exotically eclectic in assembly. The shrimp in magnolia petals was exquisite, delicately floral and tinged with a hit of ginger. And the calamari, cured in kelp and served with poppy seeds, was worth the price of admission all on its own.
That said, the experience as a whole felt performative—as if, having built their reputation on using flash-frozen ants to produce citrus acidity, they now felt compelled to keep performing new feats of even more outrageous creativity.
Our next stop was Barcelona, where we had reservations to eat at Disfrutar, currently, the top-ranked restaurant in the world. Located in the very heart of Barcelona, behind an unpretentious storefront that gives little indication of the magic that is being wrought inside, this (thanks to its one year waiting list) is one of the hardest tables to get in the world. As an added treat we learned, just before we boarded the flight for Spain, that we were going to be seated in the R&D kitchen in the basement for the 'Living Table" experience.
If Noma distils Nordic austerity, Disfrutar, which translates to 'enjoy" in Spanish, epitomises Catalan exuberance. That joy was expressed in the cheeky smiley face that's part of the restaurant logo, and then again in the attitude of every member of the staff throughout the meal.
The first thing we were served was the amuse-bouche, a concoction of passion fruit and rum presented in the form of an eclair that popped in our mouths when we ate it. I was immediately transported back to the mid-2000s when this sort of molecular gastronomy was all the rage.
I should not have been surprised. The three chefs behind Disfrutar—Oriol Castro, Eduard Xatruch and Mateu Casañas—previously worked at El Bulli, universally regarded as the most influential establishment in the history of modern gastronomy. Rumour has it that it was Castro, not Ferran Adrià, who was the real wizard of that culinary laboratory, so it should not have been a surprise that a restaurant helmed by him would take such a playful approach.
There are about 20 courses on the classic menu at Disfrutar, but we did not have to wait for long before we were served the legendary Caviar Panchino. Deceptively unpretentious in appearance, the Panchino presents as a brown sphere, light and airy to the touch. Bite into it and the crust dissolves in your mouth, revealing an unctuous filling of caviar and cream. How on earth did they manage to fry a bun till it was crisp and still ensure that the caviar didn't cook? We asked and with refreshing openness, they showed us a video of how it was cooked.
This candour, I discovered, is part of the Disfrutar DNA. At the end of the year, the restaurant compiles and publishes as a book, all they cooked over the course of the year, releasing the precise recipes with extensive commentary to anyone who cares to ask. This lack of proprietariness around their innovations is refreshing, and in stark contrast to so many of us who go to extraordinary lengths to keep inventions secret.
As the meal progressed, we were treated to more and more examples of quixotic brilliance. When I reached to pick up one of the portions, I found myself clutching at air—the real dish was hidden and I had been looking at a reflection. Later, in a not-so-thinly veiled dig at the 'Instagram-ification" of food, the plate on which the food was served was attached to a mirror so that every photograph of the food was also an image of me photographing food.
We were also part of the cooking experience. One course was served in an eggshell and topped off with a truffle-flavoured tempura. We were invited to bite off the top of the tempura and pour the liquid egg yolk found inside it on to the mushroom jelly inside the shell. We could then drink the broth with the tempura for crunch. But they had saved the best for last—a grand finale the likes of which I have never experienced before.
Once the meal was over and all the plates cleared, the covers were removed to reveal the table below it—one that had been specially fabricated for this moment. As the music swelled to a crescendo, the server explained that this was the living table, a symbolic reflection of the city of Barcelona itself, embodying its creativity and joyful enjoyment. And as he did that, the table itself came to life.
Servers synchronised their movements to the music and the narrative, opening little compartments and revealing an assortment of petit fours that had been hiding beneath all the time. The entire presentation took 10 minutes, the music swelling in intensity as more of the table was uncovered until, by the time the music stopped, our dining table had been transformed into a glorious tableau of confectionery that somehow also reimagined the city's grid layout.
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The ability to produce great food under the constraints of time and region is admirable. But a meal is not memorable unless it evokes an emotional response. The Noma kitchen will always shine brightly for its technical brilliance, its mastery over produce and meticulous execution. But I will remember Disfrutar for the smile it put on my face and the standing ovation we spontaneously burst into once the music had died down. Noma showed us what excellence looks like. Disfrutar invited us to join in and co-create our own unforgettable experience.
Constraint is all well and good, but a meal isn't great unless it sparks joy.
