Eric Vildgaard: The rule breaker

If there had been a way out back then, who knows what would have become of him. But there was only blue. Above him the sky, below him the sea. Nothing but water all around. At thirteen, Eric Vildgaard's criminal record was so long that the Danish authorities sent him to a therapy ship far out on the North Sea. A floating exile for young people for whom every attempt at resocialization had failed. "I was in a reformatory," says Vildgaard, "but they quickly threw me out again. I was so aggressive - no one could find a way to get me under control." In the end, there were only two options: Adult prison or the welfare ship. But even that had a catch: "Apart from the captain and me, nobody spoke Danish. The whole crew was Polish." He had never felt so lonely before. So empty. The only pastime he found was an old cookbook. This is where the story of one of the world's most extraordinary chefs begins.

"I still don't know why. But back on the ship, I simply gathered a few ingredients and baked a cake for the crew." The men ate it - and for the first time in his life, Vildgaard felt something like appreciation.

Haute cuisine well disguised

That was almost thirty years ago, and since then it has won just about every culinary accolade imaginable. Alongside "Noma", "Geranium" and "Alchemist", his restaurant "Jordnær" is now considered one of Denmark's flagship addresses - as evidenced not least by the recurring, but of course discreet, visits by the royal couple.

And yet little about the 42-year-old is reminiscent of what we generally think of as haute cuisine - least of all himself. Vildgaard is a giant, as broad as a removal man, tattooed from his neck to his knuckles. On the face of it, you would immediately believe it to be a hearty butcher's platter. But intricate compositions with foams, gels and tweezers? Let's put it this way: when he sits opposite you, his paws folded on his massive belly, it looks pretty ambitious in terms of anatomy alone.

The surprise caused by the restaurant itself is hardly any less - at least from the outside. No architectural temple of high cuisine, the "Jordnær" is located on the ground floor of a former inn on a thoroughfare in the tranquil Gentofte, a quiet suburb of Copenhagen. A mustard yellow building with white lattice windows that does not give the slightest hint of what lies behind it.

One star for the rent

"My wife Tina and I really wanted to open our own restaurant. But we no longer wanted to make ourselves dependent on a financial backer again," says Vildgaard. "You could say that there were certain disagreements last time. It was about rib-eye steak. And around the fat edge. And, well, basically about principles."

It was the ugliest restaurant in the world.

Tina finally found this unusual location for her own restaurant. "To be honest, when I first arrived here, I thought she was trying to scam me. It was the ugliest restaurant in the world. And then there's the location, so far out." His wife, in her typically unexcited manner, simply replied: "You have no money - so what do you want?"

When they presented their business plan to the landlord, he looked them over and asked: "In one sentence - what exactly do you want to do here?" Vildgaard said: "Michelin-starred cuisine." He laughed out loud. "If you can manage that," he said, "I'll cut your rent in half." In spring 2018 - ten months after opening - "Jordnær" was awarded its first star by the Michelin Guide, followed by the second a year later and finally the third in 2024. Vildgaard smiles. "Today, the lease is a bargain - and that's why we can afford to invest everything in quality."

The Billy Elliot of the kitchen

In fact, Vildgaard cultivates an uncompromising product fetishism that is at best known in German-speaking countries from Christian Bau : immaculate Gillardeau oysters in a broth of horseradish, wasabi and dill. Succulent king crab meat combined with mussels and vadouvan, a traditional Indian spice mix of mustard seeds, cumin, turmeric and fenugreek. And of course his signature dishes: the langoustine essence with tomatoes and vanilla, served with a crustacean tartare. Or the waffle rosette, which opens the 17 courses as an amuse-gueule filled with fjord shrimps and topped with caviar. A product with which Vildgaard has a very special relationship: "For me, caviar is not a garnish. It is an ingredient, the centerpiece, the essence. Even in desserts." For example, in an ice cream sandwich made from Tasmanian honey, mascarpone, vanilla and white chocolate, in which the salty depth of the caviar breaks up the sweetness like an invisible line in the taste.

Naturally, the question arises: how did someone who spent his youth fighting on the streets become a chef who works with such precision and delicacy?

Vildgaard pauses for a moment. "Do you know the movie 'Billy Elliot'?" he asks. It is about a boy who grows up in a family of miners in the 1980s and wants nothing more than to dance - even though his father would rather see him in the boxing ring. "I'm the Billy Elliot of cooking. I grew up in the dark, but there was only one place where I could light up: the kitchen."