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Published: April 13th 2007
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science meets art
Steve. Looking up or asleep? Last night we took one of Copenhagen’s canary yellow buses to visit Steve’s friends, Mads, Mette and their little boy, Lauge, in their apartment in the Norrebro area. They live on the top floor of an apartment block which had stairs narrow and steep like those found in an old ship.
I’d read about the Danish love of ‘hygge’ - a sense of cosy wellbeing - and, sure enough, in spite of being a virtual stranger (Steve knew Mads before we had got together but had never met Mette), these lovely people took us into their home and made us feel absolutely at ease. Not least because the conversation soon turned to toilet matters. After I’d sung the praises of the Copenhagen lavs, I realised that I'd struck a nerve. Mads and Mette, it turns out, had endured a hiking tour of France in their youth and Mette had experienced an urgent visit she'd rather have forgotten. It was one of those cash for lights situations and, naturally, she was out of francs. So it was that, in the dark, she answered nature's call with one hand on the door to fend off hordes of incontinent locals with cries
too much Carlsberg?
and it was only 5.30 of, "occupe, occupe!", while trying her best to avoid doing irreparable damage to her shoes. She revealed that she hadn't been able to go near a toilet since without a shudder of fear. "Hmm, it was not very nice", she said dolefully. Ah, the Danish love of understatement.
If the Norwegians eat to live and the Swedes eat to drink, then without a shadow of a doubt the Danes live to eat. Thwarted in our attempt to get a reservation for smorgasbord at Ida Davidson we were determined to enjoy a cake or two at the famous patisserie, Conditori La Glace. Mads and Mette had recommended the house special, that they called 'the football'. Intrigued, we rocked up with empty stomachs and inquired as to exactly what this was.
The lady behind the counter looked rather pleased with herself as she strained to lift a plate from the front window. "Here it is!", she announced in impeccable English. I have never, in my life, seen a slab of cake quite like it. A giant wobbling mound of whipped cream and hazelnuts towered over us. We asked for a side order of coffee and sat down in anticipation. Steve and I share an irrational love of puddings with a certain wibble about them so when our cake (to share) arrived we both stared wide eyed in wonder. The top was all frothy, gooey creaminess with a gummy biscuit base that would have glued you to the spot if you'd stood on so much as a crumb. Add a handful of caramelised choux balls and jorgs your uncle, instant heart failure on a plate. Wonderful!
I picked up the house book, written by the owner, whose name I forget, but it was crammed with marvellous recipes for cakes to accompany the HC Anderson fairytales. I was starting to feel a tad bilious so flicked through a Danish magazine which was advertising an album called 'Spank Rock'. I couldn't understand a word of the article but I was rather impressed with the title. Come to think of it, Copehagen seems refreshingly unafraid of employing dodgy titles, since we'd passed a resturant by the name of 'Nasty & Grotty' only the day before. At least, I think it was a restaurant....
We paced the vast space that is the Statens Museum pausing for breath next to some sinister sculptures of some hooligan canines, boffing and carrying on with wild abandon by sculptor Jorgen Haugen Sorensen. I wondered what on earth possessed him. An American lecturer occupied the space in front of us and was earnestly extolling the virtues of Andre Derain, since the museum was currently home to an exhibition of the artist’s works. I studied art history at university but now, as then, my ears seemed to fill with cotton wool and my eyes wandered to the outside where I watched two small boys running back and forth from a picnic to the lake side. A running club was doing a quick circuit of the lake. Christ, it was no later than four and everyone was engaged in healthy pursuits; which I suppose is why they all look so damn great. I burped a sugary, cakey burp and felt guilty.
Found a great sculpture of a man that looked like Steve after several pints though.
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