In Copenhagen, two-Michelin-starred Koan transforms Kristian Baumann’s Korean-Danish heritage into a layered gastronomic narrative where memory, migration and technique meet, turning each plate into a dialogue between East and West
Koan in Copenhagen constructs a culinary language shaped not only by technical mastery but by narrative identity. Emerging from Kristian Baumann’s personal story, this language becomes a stage where not only flavors but also knowledge and memory are exchanged between East and West.
In recent years, Copenhagen’s gastronomic scene has been read not solely through the lens of technical excellence, but increasingly through narratives of identity. The New Nordic movement, once centered firmly on locality, has entered a new phase: Kitchens articulated through origin, memory and experiences of migration are coming to the forefront. Kristian Baumann’s Koan stands among the most striking examples of this transformation.
Baumann’s story forms the foundation of his cuisine. Born in South Korea, raised in Denmark, and professionally shaped at the center of Scandinavian gastronomy, his narrative is reflected in the restaurant’s approach. What we encounter at Koan is not an attempt at technical fusion; rather, it is the gastronomic outcome of confronting one’s own biography. The menu investigates not merely how ingredients from two geographies can be combined, but how two cultural memories might converse. Even the restaurant’s name — referencing the Zen concept of paradoxical questions known as “koans” — openly reflects this perspective. This cuisine does not seek to provide answers; it asks questions: Where does belonging begin and where does culture end?
To understand Koan’s two-Michelin-starred kitchen, it would be reductive to view it simply as a merging of Korean and Nordic techniques. A more precise reading emerges through the encounter of two distinct systems of culinary knowledge. Western gastronomy has historically advanced through measurability and methodology, whereas in Eastern culinary traditions, knowledge often evolves through intuitive transmission and memory. On Koan’s plates, these approaches do not clash; they intertwine. Nordic discipline in product sourcing speaks with Korea’s fermented memory and the plate becomes less a conclusion than a vehicle through which intercultural knowledge circulates.
While the menu changes, the restaurant’s gastronomic language can be read through certain structural constants and during the evening I experienced, this approach was clearly perceptible. One of the most striking examples was the white kimchi dish. Its layered structure, unfolding toward a floral form and marked by visual clarity, signaled a deliberate distancing from the expected sharpness of fermented cuisines. Upon tasting, crisp texture, gentle acidity, and quiet depth progressed together — and as the inherent clarity of this chili-free kimchi met Nordic minimalism, the dish positioned itself at the center of the narrative unfolding here.
This same trajectory continued in the menu’s reference to sundae. The allusion to the Korean blood sausage tradition reflected not literal reproduction, but an interpretive engagement with cultural memory. Rather than offering a directly identifiable reference, the dish created an emotional terrain that felt familiar yet difficult to classify — one of the defining effects of diaspora cuisine. On the seafood side, the use of langoustine clearly expressed Nordic product focus, while its integration with Korean flavor architecture materialized the bridge between the two geographies. Plates centered on tofu and rice — particularly gamasot rice — pointed toward a culinary mentality focused less on technical spectacle and more on the potential of fundamental ingredients. The texture of the rice and its quiet confidence in presentation conveyed a sense that the meal was oriented toward narrative construction rather than performance.
Taken together, these dishes transform the Koan experience from a sum of individual courses into a holistic gastronomic narrative in which identity, fermented memory and product discipline unfold in layered dialogue over the time spent at the table.
Koan’s rapid rise to international visibility demonstrates how narrative power has become as decisive as technical performance in the fine dining world. Today, gastronomy is no longer solely a matter of ingredient selection or technical mastery; it is an arena for expressing identity, an architecture of memory and a circulation of intercultural knowledge. For this reason, understanding Koan requires more than looking at the plate — it requires reading the story.
