Discover why Geranium remains the pinnacle of plant-forward fine dining. our team provide an honest review of Rasmus Kofod’s three-star masterpiece.
When we first visited Copenhagen a decade ago, the city was vibrating with the raw, fermented energy of the original ‘New Nordic’ movement. Today, that energy has matured. It is no longer about the shock of the forage; it is about the elevation of simplicity into something transcendent.
At the heart of this evolution sits Geranium. Perched on the eighth floor of the Parken national stadium, overlooking the Fælledparken woods, it remains a study in contradictions. It is a three-Michelin-starred sanctum of haute cuisine set within a concrete sports complex. It is a restaurant that famously removed meat from its menu in 2022, yet feels more robust and satisfying than ever.
we returned to Geranium this spring to see if Rasmus Kofoed’s vision still defines the pinnacle of Scandinavian fine dining. What the findings show was an experience that prioritizes clarity over complexity—a rare feat in a world where many chefs confuse the two.
Luxury, in editorial view, begins with the transition from the chaotic world into a curated one. At Geranium, that transition happens the moment the elevator doors open on the eighth floor.
The space is flooded with a specific kind of Nordic light—cool, diffused, and relentless. The design by Teruhiro Yanagihara Studio avoids the moody, dark cliches of high-end dining. Instead, it embraces a palette of grey, blonde wood, and stone. It is ethereal, almost clinical, but saved by the warmth of the hospitality.
What sets this apart immediately is the scent. There is no smell of cooking fat or heavy sauces. Instead, the air carries a faint, crisp note of pine and ozone. It prepares the palate in a way that is often overlooked in lesser establishments.
When Chef Rasmus Kofoed announced Geranium would go meat-free, the culinary world held its breath. In a region where cured game and pork are staples, it was a profound gamble. However, after four hours at the table, we realized this wasn't an act of deprivation, but of liberation.
By removing meat, Kofoed has forced a deeper exploration of the oceanic and the botanical. What delivers here is the texture. Often, vegetarian-leaning menus lack "bite," but at Geranium, the structural integrity of the dishes—the snap of a pickled vegetable, the creaminess of a nut-based emulsion—replaces the traditional heft of protein.
Service at this level can often feel performative—the synchronized clatter of silver domes and the rehearsed monologues of sommeliers. We have long argued that true luxury service is an invisible hand; it anticipates a need before the guest is even aware of it.
At Geranium, the service is led by Søren Ledet, the restaurant’s co-owner and sommelier. There is a perceptible lack of hierarchy in the room. The chefs often bring the dishes out themselves, explaining the provenance of the ingredients with genuine enthusiasm rather than scripted lines.
What actually matters in a three-star environment is the pace. We have sat through many "Modern Gastronomy" experiences where the gap between courses feels like a vacuum. Here, the rhythm is musical. Courses arrive with a cadence that allows for conversation but never allows the energy to flag. It is a difficult balance to strike when serving twenty courses.
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