In the land of sausage and dumplings, a German-Japanese chef puts Munich on a different culinary map

The words "German cuisine" and "gourmet" are not a natural fit.  Plenty of people head to Bavaria for the beer, but they rarely rave about the food.  Every beer garden and traditional tourist restaurant serves the same hearty fare, building from the twin pillars of carbohydrates and pork products.  A bowl of kaesespaetzle (the Alpine version of mac n' cheese) is as comforting as your mother's warm hug as she tucks you under a fluffy duvet, but it's hardly elegant.

But, as a Munchener friend pointed out to me, that's not the way the natives eat.  Like the famous British fry-up ... which foreign visitors assume the locals eat every morning because that's what they get in every B&B, but the natives may do at home once a month ... traditional German specialities are  just one slice of the food scene here.

Like Copenhagen before it, young chefs in Munich are mixing tradition up with innovative ideas and unexpected fusions.  Based on our experience in the talented hands of chef Tohru Nakamura, I wouldn't be surprised if Munich starts trending as the Danish capital did a few years ago, and his Michelin-starred Geisels Werneckhof starts getting mentioned regularly alongside Noma and the Fat Duck.  At each place, chefs have turned traditional cuisine on its head to give the world something completely new.  In Nakamura's case, it's the improbable-sounding Japanese-German fusion.

This was the best meal we've had all year.  It was the one activity that appeared on both of our lists of favourites from across the whole holiday.  We have nothing in London like it.  Quite simply:  If you're serious about your food, it is worth planning a weekend getaway in Munich just to eat here.  It's that good.

I've encountered a few places claiming Japanese fusion, but they've been car crash hybrids offering oddities like wagyu beef tartare or chicken cordon bleu sushi.  This is far more subtle.  In fact, if you sat down to eat without context, you'd only see high-end European food.  You'd know that something was different, but not be able to put your finger on it.  A lightness of touch, a clarity to the sauces, the crunch of vegetables and the hint of flavours you can't identify.  But you won't be flying blind, because Nakamura takes the time to visit each table at the start of your meal, explaining his concept and why things will taste a little different.  How, for example, he uses Japanese "dashi" for the base of his sauces, which tends to make things lighter, brighter and a bit sharper.  (And you don't even need to speak German or Japanese; he rolled out perfect English for us.)

We went for the chef's menu, which you can select in a nine, seven or five course version.  We chose the middle path, though the profusion of little extras amounted to three or four additional courses on their own.  Starting with five would more than suffice on a second visit, but I'm glad we opted for more to experience the range of Nakamura's innovation.  We also went for the matching flight of drinks, selected in the same spirit of innovative fusion by Gascon-born sommelier Gerard Desmousseaux.  After checking our tolerance for experimentation, he delivered a menu of seven beautiful glasses ... each with interesting commentary ... that used wine, sake and beer to reach that perfect match to the food.

After a spread of delicate, unusual and gorgeously presented amuse bouche (top photo), our first course delivered the combination of taste, surprise and presentation that would characterise the rest of the meal.  Locally sourced char had been mildly smoked in juniper branches, then combined with a creamy custard and served in a perfectly hollowed-out egg, with chervil root for a bit of crunch and meadowsweet for herbal back notes.  We'd barely gotten over our appreciation for the first fish course when a second followed:  langoustines two ways, served in a bit of tasty broth with kohlrabi that had been given time to go soft and soak up the flavours.  (The notes in the Riverford veg delivery box always explain away the kohlrabi with "it's very popular in Germany"; if I could make it taste like this, I'd be happier about receiving it!)  The subtle Japanese elements here were umeboshi ... a fruit ... and a herb called shiso.  And, no doubt, the precision plating with flowers that channeled the horticultural perfection of a ikebana flower arrangement.

The dish of the night, for me, came next.  Regular readers will know that I'm a sucker for foie gras and have eaten far more than my fair share.  But never combined with sweet chestnut and pistachio (another favourite of mine), beetroot and sour cherry.  The sommelier paired this with some rose sake, sweet but with a dry finish, that pushed the whole thing right over the edge into sheer perfection.  It's one of those stand-out dishes I will remember for a long time.

It was so good, it nearly overshadowed the local pork that came next.  But it didn't, because: I've never had pork "shabu shabu" before (thinly-sliced, cooked quickly in boiling water); the accompanying pork belly was incredibly succulent; and pork with eggplant (aubergine) is a revelation I need to repeat.

The cheese cart arrived to divide savoury from sweet.  A solid, traditional offering, this was the course I could most easily have lived without.  But then I would have missed the spot-on pairing of a creamy, Belgian dark ale with the cheese.  There's one to try at home.

The menu promised two sweets, first a lavender honey ice cream.  Curiously, it was the secondary element, fig and oxalis pistou (note another use of little-known herbs), that took pride of place.  It was essentially a tartare-style patty of diced fig meat with the ice cream on the side, and a real treat for anyone who loves that fruit.  The final course was a celebration of pumpkin, yuzu (an Asian citrus) and carrot.  I appreciated this course intellectually, as a testimony to how sweet vegetables can gender-bend to the dessert side of things.  As an American, pumpkin for pudding is no stretch for me.  And I loved the presentation, arranged on a striking pottery plinth somewhere between pillow and altar.  But as a dessert lover, I was a bit disappointed.  Where was the chocolate?

I needn't have worried.  Noting that it was both our wedding anniversary and my birthday, the team wheeled out a third dessert course to wrap things up.  I was already well past replete and heading for stuffed when confronted with five more little chocolate-based sweets, one a mousse revealed by lifting up a delightfully kitschy "lucky cat".  A great element of fun to wrap up a very serious gourmet experience.

Geisels Werneckhof is a tiny place, with just two rooms and a handful of tables seating up to 50.  That allows for plenty of personal attention under the firm front-of-house direction of Julia Pleintinger.  Everyone was aware of our special occasion and made a fuss over us.  Though this isn't at all a touristy place, everyone spoke to us in English.  And everyone ... most particularly chef and sommelier ... realised we were serious about our food and wine and took the time to chat and give us details about our experience.  This remarkable meal was a high point of the whole trip, and I suspect it will be quite a while before we find another culinary experience that surprises and delights in such equal measure.