Aamanns 1921, irresponsible fireworks make a memorable New Year's Eve

Visiting Iceland in the depths of winter forever branded that country for me as "the land that health and safety forgot". (Story here.) After New Year's Eve in Copenhagen, I'm wondering if that attitude comes direct from their former colonial masters, the Danes. 

Watching turn-of-the-year fireworks from Copenhagen's Town Hall Square, the Rådhuspladsen, is like getting caught in the heart of a fireworks factory as it burns down around you. Official displays combine with scores of DIY contributions from fellow revellers for utter mayhem. Despite the density of the crowds, people are letting off multi-charge fireworks boxes with no more than a few feet of clear space. Others are holding Roman candles as they spit out their fountains of light. Given the effort it took us to get to anything approximating open space once we decided to head home, the potential for a dangerous stampede should anything go wrong was enormous. I didn't see a single police officer organising things, yet all was well. 

Still, I remember thinking that I was very glad we'd fortified ourselves with a Michelin-rated New Year's Eve meal in one of the world's culinary capitals in advance. Had I died by firework or crush that night, my last meal would have been one to remember.

The standard for New Year's Eve dining out in Copenhagen seems to be chef's menus with wine pairings, all in, paid in advance. Which is a big commitment to make months bfore, at a place you've never tried. Everything at Tivoli had pushed their prices into the stratosphere, so we opted for a well-reviewed spot close to our hotel. 

Aamanns 1921 is a restaurant famous for elevating Danish open sandwiches -- the famous smørrebrød -- to fine dining standards, and appears in many top travel guides as the best in Copenhagen for that style of dining. For dinner they flip to upscale modern Danish, heavy on local, organic sourcing and specialist touches like a variety of snaps flavoured in house. The location mirrors the style of food to come: on a venerable old side street, behind a facade that probably has been there since 1921, beneath rugged old stone arches lies a beautifully designed, modern space of blonde woods, creamy leather banquettes and striking brass chandeliers that could qualify as modern art.  Tradition meets cutting edge. The New Year's menu was 10 glorious courses ... though some came at the same time for practicality's sake ... with matching wines. 

I’m beginning to get a feel for what differentiates Danish haut cuisine, and it was all here: abundant sea food, the ability to get maximum flavour out of root vegetables, pickled fruit and veg often showing up in surprising ways, and a love of fresh herbs … particularly dill. We began the meal with four “starter” courses served at once with a classic dry champagne. Neither one of us is an oyster fan, but things looked up considerably with an oversized baton of toasted brioche saturated with truffle, and beef tartare in a pastry case. The mind-blower, however, was a savoury take on the classic Danish aebleskiver. Normally, these are apple-filled donuts about the size of a golf ball, cooked by flipping them around a special pan with half-circle shaped cups and then dusting them with powdered sugar. Here, the batter was savoury and the balls were billiard ball sized and unstuffed, waiting for you to tear them open and fill with a mix of soured cream, caviar and fresh chives. One of the stars of the meal and the one we're most likely to try at home. (Yes, of course we have an aebleskiver pan.)

Next came some of the best gravlax I’ve ever had; delicate yet packed with flavour, elevated with potent dill oil. Herbal oil also added spark to the next course, beautifully poached cod topped with a rose crafted from slices of poached beetroot. The third fish course was the kind of profligate blockbuster you want to see in the New Year, however. Lobster claws in buttery sauce in one dish, beside it a lobster custard made with the head meat. Both to be consumed with segments from a fresh, pillowy bread roll. It was the richest, most flavour-packed lobster dish imaginable, no doubt in part because of an outrageous fat content.

To be honest, we didn’t really need another savoury course, but sirloin of beef with pomme purée laced with more truffles continued the excessive spirit of the evening. And beef finally made way for a red wine: a debate-provoking Barolo that worked for me but was proclaimed a little thin by Mr. B. (The procession of white wines that had matched all those fish courses took us around Europe with pleasing variety, though offered no surprises.)

Dessert defied fine dining convention with the simplicity of cake and ice cream; multiple layers of chocolate sponge and ganache so dense with cocoa it would have been too much without the complementing cream. The star of the sweets, however, was the petit fours that came after. Chocolate truffles, fruit jellies and caramel are standard fare with the coffee, but it was the kransekage that made for a blockbuster ending. For special occasions, this Danish holiday confection is often made in rings and stacked to form a tree shape. The ingredients are simply almonds, sugar and egg whites, but getting the balance right so that its slightly crunchy on the outside, slightly gooey in the middle and holds the shape you want is fiendishly difficult. (Trust me, I've tried and failed.) These, shaped as quenelles with a zigzag of white icing above and dipped in chocolate on their base, were perfect.

Some other night I would have stayed to linger over one of Aamanns home-made snaps flavours, but the fireworks beckoned. It was a straight, 10-minute stroll down Skindergade from the restaurant, adding to the entertainment of the night as we realised this is clearly a main drag for nightclubs. No doubt just like their counterparts in Manchester, New York and Tokyo, girls more intent on showing off their fit bodies than staying warm cued with boys with excessive hair product and skin tight jeans to get past gruff bouncers. We pulled our coats tighter and gave thanks that we're old enough, and married enough, to prioritise dressing sensibly over being sexy. 

Sensible is, however, a challenge when it's five degrees (41F) and raining steadily. (My husband, who grew up here, kept observing it should be five below, not above.) Rain gear isn't really warm enough, and warm coats are rarely waterproof. I'd packed for warmth and was soaked by the end of the evening. The downpour, however, didn't dampen the fuse on the cacophony of fireworks that was already under way when we reached the Rådhuspladsen at 11:30. At that time you could still make your way through the square to a good viewing position, but within 15 minutes the space was full. We'd already missed the Tivoli fireworks, but the skies above were vivid with other contributions. In puddles of space around the square citizens were igniting their own displays, while others seemed to be coming from building tops and thus, one assumed, were official. 

In London we're used to the countdown, the solemn bongs of Big Ben, then the kisses, good wishes and fireworks. In Copenhagen, just like Reykjavik, it's almost impossible to tell when midnight actually falls. Yes, there's a clock tower on the city hall, but by 10 minutes to midnight the drifting smoke from all those explosives had limited visibility. Individuals rely on their own timekeeping and uncork bottles accordingly while the fireworks build to a crescendo. For about 20 minutes roughly around midnight the level of sound and light is at its peak. There is no one display to look at, the air is simply exploding at every point around you.

There were more fireworks in other squares on our way home, and bangs and sizzles outside our hotel windows until at least 3am. I drifted off to sleep contemplating an irony. Raised in the conservative heartland of the United States, I was taught that any form of socialism yielded control to a nanny state that would strip you of all individual rights. Yet here, in an officially Social Democratic state, I'd just witnessed a totally unregulated, Wild West extravaganza of dangerous firework usage that wouldn't be permitted anywhere beneath the Stars and Stripes. It would be an amusing discussion to have with some Americans over a long, snaps-fuelled lunch at Aamanns 1921.