Minda Over Matter
Curious spirit and Danish chef Bo Bech takes on the life of Geist in his latest book, ‘In My Blood’.
What’s your secret to being personal? Passion. That’s why people love chefs, but also fear them. I had Paustian [Bo Bech’s Michelin star restaurant in Copenhagen] for eight years, then I realised that everything was too white and clean. I started seeing that every gesture I made pushed away the human feel. The way I look at a restaurant, it is either feminine or masculine. The masculine mindset is, I’d go there because of a specific thing this place is unique for. The feminine mindset is, “Let’s go there because it’s cozy”. It’s never been possible to visit a restaurant that accommodates both, so I thought, why not make that attempt, so I can find out if there really is a reason behind having these two mindsets, or if it was even possible. Is that how Geist was born? The attempt was to create a cozy restaurant for the guys. I try to do the best type of food as you would at a gourmet restaurant, but never tell your guests. I thought, “What if you remove all the things you don’t pay for, but get anyway?” I understand that sometimes you get a little tired of food always having to have a thought. What drives your food? Is it art, music, or emotion? I look at it as telling a story. My food is seasonal driven. Some people understand it, some don’t. Is it funny to eat strawberries in the winter? Is it funny to devour a heavy chocolate cake in 45°C weather? The more you love something, the closer you are to understanding its definition. Geist probably defines “space” more accurately. The intention is to make everything look industrial. In 2001, I lived in New Delhi, and I remember going somewhere with my architect friends, and I said, “Oh, so they’re still fixing the place,” and they said, “No, that’s the décor.” They were making “new” look “old”. The whole restaurant scene ... it has become fashionable to be unpretentious, to be sloppy, but there’s a fine line. What do the five pillars in your new book, In My Blood, mean to you personally? In My Blood was written and created the same way I would do a menu—starting out with a feeling that eventually leads to a dish. When I think about food, I have different pillars. For example, “rage” is when I taste a product that I don’t understand. I used to have a love-hate relationship with endives because it was so bitter. It was an ongoing battle that took years to perfect. Then there’s this pillar called “journey”, a humbling phase where you travel to a place, and you meet new people and discover new ideas. Your heart is open, and in a way, you’re searching, but not really. You’re soaking up good energy. “Tribute” is when you celebrate beauty. I like to take a product and say, “I’m going to celebrate language through this. I’ll put it on a pedestal.” Then, I say, “I want something like a supporting actor for this dish.” I want a provocation, but nothing that doesn’t have a significant reference. For example, I’ll dust hibiscus on it. There’s bitterness in the hibiscus, and I like this chromatic view of playing with shady red colours. It’s an homage to the Little Sun project by one of my favourite artists, Olafur Eliasson. You wrote, “The truth is easier to remember than the lie,” in your last book What Does Memory Taste Like?. How does food tell the truth for you? You know when you visit someone in their apartment? You’re in their sanctuary, and you see who they really are. You observe their taste, and their likes and dislikes. With certain people, you don’t even have to try to tell the truth, you’re just being you. Some people tend to look at my food, and say things like “minimalistic”, “simple”, etc. The reality is, it’s boiled down to the essence of what I actually want to tell. It’s ripped apart from all the bullsh*t, of the insecurities. If you change that game constantly, you’re choosing to only have one focus—being very clear in your expression. That’s exactly what I try to do with my food. www.chefbobech.com