KNYSTAFORSEN - when things fall into place only to slip away

When things seem to fall into place, only to slip away, and then, somehow, they fall into place once more. It was a Tuesday morning in September when my inbox lit up with an email from Knystaforsen, the restaurant in southern Sweden I’d been meaning to visit for a while. Set in a former sawmill by a river, it had been my culinary white wale. The email read: “Last-minute tables available.” I opened it immediately. There it was—a table for Thursday, just two days away.

I quickly checked flights from Berlin to Copenhagen, price decent enough not to weep and replied to secure the reservation. Moments later, the confirmation arrived. Excited, I booked a flight and a small rental car for the drive to Rydöbruk, where the restaurant is located. Everything was falling into place.

Until it wasn’t. 

A follow-up email arrived from Knystaforsen: “Sorry, system error. Your reservation isn’t available. Can we offer you another day?”

Well, that wasn’t going to work. I’d already booked flights and a car based on their confirmation. I emailed back politely but slightly dramatically, explaining the situation and asking if they could find a way to honor the reservation.  

Shortly after, my phone rang. It was Nikolai, the Chef himself, apologizing for the mix-up and assuring me they’d make it work.  

Crisis averted, dinner saved.  

Sweden, here I come. 

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La Banchina and Louisiana

When you fly cheap, you usually fly ridiculously early. That’s how I found myself landing in Copenhagen at 7:30 in the morning, bleary-eyed. But the timing was actually perfect. It gave me just enough room to pick up the rental car and grab breakfast at La Banchina.  

La Banchina is the kind of place that feels like a secret you’re lucky to stumble upon. Perched right on the edge of the water in Copenhagen’s Refshaleøen district, close to Alchemist, it’s equal parts café and wine bar - picture a small wooden dock with mismatched chairs, a sauna, and an easygoing vibe typical to Copenhagen. Black coffee and a cinnamon bun did their job.

I then had just enough time to squeeze in a visit to the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art north of Copenhagen, which was on the way to the ferry, that would carry me across the sea to the Port of Helsingborg in Sweden.

The Louisiana was as stunning as always, with its mix of cutting-edge exhibits and serene coastal views. At the time of my visit, the museum was hosting a powerful retrospective on Pussy Riot, documenting their decade-long story of activism and protest against the Russian regime. It was also wrapping up its five-year series, The Architect’s Studio,with a sixth and final exhibition spotlighting the innovative work of the Nairobi-based Cave_bureau.

But neither of those exquisite shows was what left me riveted and, frankly, in tears on the floor.  

Ragnar Kjartansson sits naked in an old, clawfoot bathtub, which is placed in a dimly lit room, a moment that feels both intimate and contemplative. His posture is relaxed but somehow vulnerable, as he plays his guitar and sings along with the rest of the musicians. The setting—decaying, yet oddly serene.

_________

 In Tears on The Floor

"Visitors" by Ragnar Kjartansson is a hypnotizing, immersive, multi-screen video featuring the artist and a group of musicians performing at a decaying mansion once owned by the Astor family in upstate New York.  

The hauntingly beautiful song, combined with the crumbling surroundings, spread across different rooms and screens, created a mood that was both mesmerizing and oddly melancholic engulfing me in the world of music, emotion, and isolation. Simple and powerful.

The musicians, who are all filmed in a single, continuous take, each contribute their unique voice or instrument, building an intimate soundscape. As you move through the installation, the music shifts and evolves, weaving in and out of your perception, giving the feeling that you're walking through the performance itself. The mansion—its decaying grandeur, empty spaces, and old-world charm—serves as a perfect backdrop, adding a sense of nostalgia and quiet sadness to the work.

I sink to the floor leaning against the wall in the dark room, profoundly sad, completely mesmerized. I am not the only one—the room has that quiet weight to it, and I notice a handkerchief being secretly brought up and pressed to the eyes, some sniffs here and there, all of us wrapped up in the same quiet, emotional pull.  

I couldn't and didn't wan't to shake this experience off, yet by early afternoon, I was on the road again, heading to the ferry that would carry me across the sea to Sweden.

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Rydöbruk - Sensual and Impractical

Soon after arriving in the Port of Helsingborg I was on my way through the Swedish countryside to Rydöbruk. After checking into a charming room 10-minute drive from Knystaforsen, that had been organized for me through the restaurant, and having rested a while, it was time to head for dinner.

The sound of rushing water reverberated through the dense forest. Next to the sawmill, cascades flow powerfully over a series of rocky steps, creating a misty spray that rises into the cool air, the water crashes with a rhythmic, gentle roar, filling the surroundings with its constant movement.

Once the home of Chef Nikolai, his wonderful wife Eva and their kids, the old sawmill by the rippling river is now where they share their love for food and fire with others. Their motto "Sure, we have a proper kitchen, but we prefer cooking outdoors, over flames and embers. It’s sensuous and impractical, in the best sense of the word".

At the gate I notice a crackling log fire and I am welcomed there and lead to my table by Eva - a charming presence, with her bright blonde hair, warm smile and effortless ability to make everyone feel like family.

I’m tucked into a cozy nook with a perfect view of the kitchen, sitting at a single table all to myself. There’s even a gift waiting for me—Eva and Nikolai’s book on cooking over fire, probably a little thank-you for my madness: a plane, a car, a ferry, and more, all just to get to their place. I catch a few curious glances from the other guests. No, I wasn’t stood up by a date and now stuck dining alone. I swear, I chose this!

Eva arrives to settle a few details before the dinner starts, and as is often the case, I opt for the far more intriguing non-alcoholic pairing, but not before starting with a glass of bubbles, handpicked by Eva herself.

Since Knystaforsen brings the elemental power of fire into its Michelin-starred kitchen, chef Nikolai creates a culinary experience that is as much about technique and tradition as it is about connection to the land and the surrounding environment, a tasting menu that celebrates the wild, unspoiled nature around. The restaurant's commitment to cooking over fire highlights the deep, smoky flavors that come from using wood-burning flames, transforming locally sourced ingredients into masterpieces. Some ingredients come straight from the river or the lake, others are foraged from the woods, and wild game, along with artisanal goods, are sourced from trusted local partners.

And honestly, it's just really, really yummy. 

The dinner unfolds in three acts. The first takes place inside the cozy dining room, and the second moves outdoors, where we gather around a crackling fire. 

There’s something uniquely special about the camaraderie that forms around a campfire. The slow, deliberate act of cooking over flames has a way of elevating the entire experience. Fire—our oldest culinary companion—doesn’t just cook; it nurtures the soul. It’s during this second act, as the flames dance and the night deepens, that other guests, emboldened by the warmth and intimacy, finally dare to ask me, “Are you here alone?” 

I smile and nod, replying, “Yes, I am. This is pretty much my thing.” The others nod back, probably thinking I’m a bit off, like maybe I have no friends or something. “But when it comes to spontaneous trips like this, it’s simply sometimes just easier to do it solo,” I add, trying to reassure them—I’m not a total weirdo.

Or am I?

For the third act, we head back inside. I can't help but take note of the exceptional ceramic designs that define the experience at Knystaforsen, created by BadAss Ceramics. Their motto says it all: "We don’t do perfect." The dishes are gritty, raw, and mostly dark—like charred wood or chunks of coal—each one a reflection of the restaurant’s bold spirit.

I wrap up with a cheese plate featuring locally sourced artisan creations before calling it a night. 

Part of the Knystaforsen experience is the breakfast the next morning. Back in 2023, when I visited, it was served at Knystaria, a quirky pizza place just a short walk from the restaurant.  

Soon after, the mad, fearless Epicurean weirdo lady from Berlin is back on her way home.