New decor, classic dishes at The Danish Place
One thing this gig makes clear is there are restaurants you know, but only if you know.
Happenstance sent me down a keyboard-clacking rabbit hole to a Google Maps pin marking The Danish Place. In a Danish retirement community. In a wooded area. In Crieff. I’d say, “Who knew?” but after more clacking, it’s one of those places you know, if you know.
We turned into Sunset Villa Association’s stone gateway and parked in front of the sword-wielding Viking. The restaurant’s white clapboard building and the 50 acres it sits on were part of Lt.-Col. J.B. Maclean’s (founder of Maclean’s and Chatelaine magazines) country estate and purchased by the DanishCanadian Club in the 1950s. What began as a café evolved into a three-room, 90-seat restaurant, open from March until December, Thursday to Sunday.
Kristine Mathers, her brother, Jacob Beck, and his partner, Joanne Moyes, purchased the restaurant from Mathers and Beck’s parents earlier this year. A refresh saw taupe walls, tawny woods and cushioned banquet chairs around red-clothed tables make way for a lighter, brighter and airier space. Hygge (pronounced “heugeh”) — that Danish concept combining homeyness, cosiness and a bit of Gemütlichkeit — surrounds guests with gentle lighting, light wood tabletops and an eclectic soundtrack.
While the space now boasts a contemporary feel, the pared-down menu isn’t Claus Meyer or René Redzepi’s New Danish Cuisine. Instead, it’s about the food familiar to most Danes. Beck, family cook turned restaurant chef, offers a solid sense of the traditional while balancing colours, tastes and textures.
There’s more than a dozen Smørrebrød (openfaced sandwiches), various starters and a good selection of entrees such as Hakkebøf (beef patties), Flaeskesteg (roast pork) and PandestegtFiskefilet (pan-fried sole). A smoker is in the back. Grain Revolution and Polestar Hearth breads bed open-faced sandwiches. Hansen’s Wienerbrød (Danish pastries) are nibbled while Planet Bean Coffee is sipped.
Traditional Danish cuisine is about simply prepared, slow food. It features ingredients from land and sea (sometimes fresh, sometimes preserved), light and occasionally sprightly Scandinavian flavours, and German, Dutch and French culinary influences.
For Danes, meals are often relaxed, communal affairs. Pork and seafood are favourites; root veg and potatoes often appear; butter is generously slathered.
Danish beers are available, but Akvavit ($5.50), the herb- and spice-infused Scandinavian schnapps, called to me before our starters arrived. Hønsekødssuppe’s ($8) lightly seasoned chicken broth tasted overwhelmingly of celery. It carried carrot coins, small pork meatballs and fluffy, gossamerlike dumplings. We smeared soft Deep-Fried Camembert ($10), bright blackcurrant jam and creamy butter on toasted French country bread. RejerSmørrebrød’s ($10) jumble of small plump shrimp was seated on a spread of mayonnaise on thin, buttered French loaf (rye is used for some of the other sandwiches). The briny pop of teensy onyx caviar contrasted the delicately sweet coral shrimp.
Savoury and tender Snitzel ($18) was made from hand-cut pork loin, pounded thin, floured and fried until golden. Mulberry-coloured cabbage was sweet and tart. Vibrant green beans were buttery and snappy. Rich brown gravy blanketed the pork and mashed potatoes.
Velvety parsley sauce was spooned over three pan-fried, succulent, light and peppery Frikadeller (pork meatballs, $17). The snappy green beans appeared. Rather than fries or mash, the requested sugar-browned potatoes — fork-tender baby yellow potatoes, caramelized with sugar and butter — tumbled alongside. Yup, the Frikadeller was fantastic.
The week’s Wienerbrød ($4) was a buttery soft slice of kringle, a bronzed pretzel-shaped pastry, filled with marzipan and studded with raisins. A bouncy and creamy Citronfromage ($6) — a pale yellow lemon mousse topped with Chantilly cream and blueberries — balanced sweet and sharp.
The staff and owners’ relaxed conviviality treated everyone like friends or family. As the evening went on, tables grew with young and old, a singer performed and contentment grew among the flickering tea lights. From the food to the service to the feeling, The Danish Place is one of those hidden gems. You know.