SEASIDE HOTEL

In a change of scene, Kenneth guides me into the basement.

‘Here we have our production, with many different stations: baked goods, confectionery, vegetables, meat and fish.’

In the back of the large room, I see that the staff are prepping fish, opening scallops and cooking stock in a huge pot.

We go further in, where the raw ingredients come in and are distributed to the various coolers. Kenneth pulls open a heavy door into a fully stocked ham cellar with natural ventilation.
‘I have always been told you can’t make air-dried ham in Denmark,’ he says. ‘That didn’t make sense to me, so I insisted on giving it a go. I discovered that, of course, it was all about what sort of pig the ham comes from – breed, living conditions, diet.
The old Danish piebald breed is perfect for the purpose. In terms of flavour, it is every bit as good as Spanish Iberian pigs.
Danish piebald pigs grow slowly, which gives them time to develop a good balance between fat and muscle.
The breed thrives in the Danish climate and is able to spend all year outside. It is also known for having large litters and being able to raise them – as many as 30 at a time. Naturally, that doesn’t work in industrial settings, where the pigs are tethered, but they’re perfect for free-range farming.
The pigs we buy have spent their entire lives outside. You can sense the smell of acorns in here, because that was part of their diet.
The pigs are shot in the field and transported after they are dead. We buy whole animals, and of course, we use every part.’

‘This year, we have enough stock. Otherwise, that is the first thing we do when the season ends, in early October: making charcuterie and pickling and fermenting three to four tons of fruit and vegetable.
The off-season staff only includes the chef, Henrik Aggerholm Olsen, the two chef’s apprentices and me.
In peak season, we have a staff of 23, divided into three teams. That is what it takes when you’re open from morning to night, seven days a week, with a new menu every day.
We could use a couple of extra apprentices, but it’s not easy to recruit young people to this remote location.’

I am astonished to hear that the positive reputation of both Svinkløv and its kitchen – personified by Kenneth as executive chef – is not more of a draw.
Kenneth explains, ‘I understand that young people find it more appealing to move away from home and into a small flat in Aalborg, Aarhus or Copenhagen than to live out here and commute to Aalborg during the school periods.
After all, few set out with enough goal orientation and professional passion to be able to appreciate what we have to offer – that develops with time.
The restaurant business is very diverse and attracts anyone from academics taking artisanal culinary training to young people who struggle with book learning or simply aren’t interested in academia to others who come in with heavy baggage from growing up in a troubled family.’

And you can handle that diversity here?
‘I am inherently curious about people and interested in understanding why they do the things they do.
There are many myths about the harsh tone in the restaurant business, and they did not develop out of nothing.
The thing is, you don’t learn about leadership when you’re in training as a chef – but if you’re talented and lucky, you can attain rockstar status very quickly.
I was not maladjusted in school, but books were not my strong side either. I was lucky that, as soon as I started my apprenticeship, I recognized that this was something I was good at.
Right from the outset, during my first years as a fully trained chef, I was praised by the food critics of leading newspapers, winning competitions and had begun to think “next stop, New York”.’

Kenneth had his first season at Svinkløv in 2009, when the previous owner, Lise Emborg, requested his help.

‘When Lise rang to ask me to help her out, I turned down her first three requests. In mid-May, when I realized how urgent it was, I accepted.
After my first two weeks, food critics flocked to the restaurant and sang our praises.’

‘Fame is an ego-boost but not necessarily a healthy basis for managing a workplace. I have taken an interest in performance management. Working in the kitchen can best be compared to a professional team sport. You need to put in a top performance, under time pressure as part of a team. You can’t do that by yelling and screaming – even if you might sometimes feel like screaming. To make it work, you need a safe culture, you need to communicate, and after the match, you need to evaluate.
Initially, the team was quite small, now it’s much bigger, and we try to look after people. Many come back for three or four seasons, so we must be doing something right.’

‘When I had been here three weeks, Lise asked if I was interested in taking over the lease. I thought, at least I would like to do one more season, and I began to see the outline of a future where I could raise a family.’

Had you already met Louise then?
‘No, but I saw that here, I would be able to pick up any future children from day care and school in the afternoon, go fishing, and even if I couldn’t tuck them in on summer nights, I would be there during the six months when we’re closed.’

So you fell in love with a possibility?
‘Yes.’

We change the topic.
‘Before you meet William, I want to show you our vinegars.
Every year, we make cider. It’s much easier to teach our apprentices about winemaking when we can show them how it’s done. We use some of our cider to make vinegar, so they can see the vinegar mother grow bigger the more sugar she consumes.’

‘Does it make sense?’ Kenneth asks rhetorically. ‘We could definitely buy good balsamic vinegar cheaper. Also, this vinegar won’t be ready for another 25 years, so I doubt that I will be the one to use it.’

I always applaud projects driven by enthusiasm rather than immediate utility and comment that if no one keeps knowledge and skills alive, we will end up poorer and lacking in culture.
Kenneth nods, then says, ‘Is there anything else I can do for you now? Otherwise, I’ll let William take it from here – he’ll be with you shortly. You can wait for him in the red room.’

In the red room

I am lost in thoughts, watching a group of hotel guests who have settled on a bench to take in the view.

William shows up with a carafe of water and offers me a glass.

I open with, perhaps, a somewhat obvious question: Why do you want to be a chef?
William replies that he has asked himself the same question many times, but that he decided as early as in the seventh form. He liked drawing and painting but did not think that he would be able to make a living as an artist. Cooking seemed like a good alternative.

What made you apply to Svinkløv?
‘I was born and raised in Fjerritslev, 10 kilometres from here. Before I began my training as a chef, I did two years of grammar school followed by the basic course at Techcollege in Aalborg.
My first apprenticeship was at Fjerritslev Kro, but I decided that if I was going to train as a chef, I might as well learn from the best. My dad was always talking about Kenneth, who is a world champion.
So I terminated my apprenticeship, put on my best clothes, combed my hair and came out here to meet with him.
We sat in the blue room,’ he points, ‘and I said, “I would like to apprentice as a chef.” “Sounds good,” he replied.’

‘This was in the middle of peak season, and I had just turned 18. We agreed that I would start when the hotel closed in September.
That winter was magical; an experience that I’ll be telling my grandchildren about. We took in whole animals, which I helped butcher, and pickled and fermented fruit and vegetables. You get to know each other and the craft when you’re part of such a small team.’

‘When I talk to the others at the college in Aalborg, most of them are astounded to hear that we get our asparagus directly from the farmer’s field … Very few of our deliveries come plastic-wrapped.’

Have you begun to think about what direction you would like to go, once you complete your training?
‘So far, I have only worked here and briefly at a traditional restaurant in Fjerritslev, so I don’t think I’ll know more specifically until I have more, and broader, experience. Just like you don’t know what being an adult involves until you move away from home.
I would probably like to do a few seasons here and then spend my winters working in other restaurants – maybe in Copenhagen, maybe in France.’

Could you imagine entering competitions, the way Kenneth has?
‘You don’t know what you’ve missed unless you try it.
Sometime in the future, I dream of having my own place – whether a brasserie or a Michelin-starred restaurant, time will tell.’

When I spoke with Kenneth, we briefly talked about the working climate in the business. What’s your experience, as an apprentice? Are apprentices treated with respect?
‘Yes, you’re respected, but there’s also a necessary level of discipline. And even if you do well, someone still has to sweep the floor.
The first time tempers flare, or you are reprimanded during service, it’s a bit of a shock – but you just have to go, “Yes, chef!”.
Once you realize that after the match, there are no hard feelings, and everyone still gets along, it’s easy to move past it. You don’t have to be a tough cookie to make it in a restaurant kitchen, but you probably shouldn’t be soft as butter either.
For me, coming here is the best decision I ever made.’

You report to the head chef, I assume?
‘Yes, but Kenneth is my master too. He helped me become a chef – and a man.
A man who loves cooking. My girlfriend says that I speak of broth in my sleep.’

‘In about a month, we begin to plan next season. Then I take a long break, since we are not butchering any animals this year. During my holidays, I’ll go to Copenhagen to dine in a lot of different restaurants. In January, I go back to school, and then it’s time for my exam.’

Louise has joined us, returning from rehearsal with her musical trio.

‘My ultimate life source,’ she says. More of that later.

She is the hotel’s creative director ‘… and hostess and ambassador of love,’ she adds. ‘I am not included in the rota, but I talk to the guests, handle communication’ – and, I was told, the development of site-specific soaps, bathrobes and products for the summer shop in the former icehouse. She also oversaw the interior design of the hotel in collaboration with furniture designer Chris Liljenberg Halstrøm (page xx). Chris designed the Vester chair, which is used in the yellow room, for the reconstruction of the hotel. ‘You mentioned the chair and Chris in your first bookazine,’ Louise recalls. That is correct. ‘We were partners in crime – the chair was produced by Skagerak, which was owned by Vibeke and Jesper Panduro at the time. Today, they are among our closest friends and have shared important insights into what it takes to be personal and professional partners at the same time.’

Kenneth came here in 2009 – when were you taken in by Svinkløv Badehotel?
‘Kenneth and I met in 2013. I was living in Copenhagen and worked as a producer on the TV 2 show Madklubben (Food Club) with a number of celebrity chefs, including Kenneth.
We fell in love and became a couple. Soon after, he asked me if I could imagine living here. I liked my life in Copenhagen and my job, but I didn’t want to stand in the way of his dream. On the other hand, he was pretty cool about it: if you don’t want to, don’t do it – and if you want to live here without being a part of the hotel, maybe working in Aalborg instead, that’s a possibility too.
Long story short, I decided to give it a shot – provided that we were going to be equal partners as lessees of the place.
I could never see myself being primarily a wife – although, if you google my name today, the first thing that comes up is that I am married to Kenneth.’

‘As you know, we took over the lease in 2015, and the hotel burnt down in 2016, two weeks before we were going to wrap up our first season. We were newlyweds and about to go on our honeymoon. That night, fate turned our lives into chaos for a while – but everything worked out in the end.
In the few years since then, we have established ourselves at the hotel – with all the wonderful history that we stand on the shoulders of and everything we achieved, and we are raising two children in the safest, most secure environment you can imagine.
And after initially trying to put aside my musical ambitions, I have now realized that I would become a lesser version of myself if I don’t take that side of myself seriously.’

Tell me more?
‘I hold a bachelor’s degree in musicology. I never had a master plan, but one thing has never changed: singing has always been part of my life.
Then I became a TV producer, more or less by chance. I enjoyed it, and I was good it at. In my spare time, I sang in a church choir and in the Academic Choir in Copenhagen.
Now, I am a member of the Philharmonic Choir Aalborg under the leadership of Michael Bojesen. We rehearse once a week and perform with the Aalborg Symphony Orchestra.
In addition, I have my trio: Dorthe Græsborg on piano, Deborah Josephsson on cello and myself as vocalist. We will perform at a sold-out matinee on the hotel’s last opening day. On that occasion, we do contemporary, nonclassical music – I love both genres.’

I remember that after the reopening of the hotel, in 2019, I heard that she moved everyone with her rendition of Alberte and Aske Bentzon’s song Lyse Nætter [White Nights]:

One of your imprints on this place is to bring singing and music into the rooms – that is beautiful, I say. Then I ask, One thing is what your days look like when the hotel is open, but what are your winters like?
‘I enjoy the summers and our wonderful guests, many of whom have become friends. To draw a parallel to my former career, the summers are like being on a six-month TV shoot – there keep being unexpected situations to deal with.
In summer, I am also the main parent to our two boys, since Kenneth naturally spends evenings at the hotel.
In winter, we enjoy that it’s just the two of us. We take some time off, my choir has several recitals, and I also have a lot of administrative tasks.
We evaluate, recruit and check the entire hotel, top to bottom – repainting woodwork and replacing faded curtains.
Speaking of curtains – when they fade, we don’t throw them out. It’s still quality fabric. I have had them turned into cushions and rag rugs that we sell in the summer shop.
Wintertime has its own quiet charm, even though I sometimes miss the cultural offerings of the city.’

The day has flown by. It is time to say goodbye. Louise is picking up the children, and tomorrow morning she will catch an early train to Copenhagen to visit friends and family. For the first time since she had children, she is going to spend three nights away from home.

I have time for another walk before I sit down for an early dinner.
While I enjoy a truly lovely meal, the hotel guests begin to arrive – most of them have changed for dinner.

After dinner, I return to the kitchen to be a fly on the wall as orders come in for dinner. This evening, there are 86 guests.
In peak season, there may be twice as many, including many who just come here for dinner.
In other words, the kitchen is not overly busy, and I am not in the way, they assure me.

Around 19.00, Kenneth shows up with his and Louise’s eldest son, Vester, who is six. Father and son have caught a pike in a nearby lake. It will now be descaled and filleted and then turned into fish cakes tomorrow for the family’s own dinner.
The boy is keen. Kenneth seizes the teachable moment. They examine the fish’s teeth, its empty belly, its swimming bladder – ‘and look at that neat little liver,’ says the boy, pointing.

Around 19.30, I slip into mom-mode and ask whether the catch made them forget all about bedtimes – this is, after all, a school night.
With a smile, Kenneth replies that this is the school of life, and the boy is learning a lot.

After a couple of hours in the kitchen, I have reached my bedtime. My room is simple – in the best sense of the word – and calming.

The next morning, I am up early and ready to get back on the road.
During breakfast – home-baked bread, excellent cheeses, fresh country eggs and yoghurt with granola – yesterday’s scene repeats itself: a migration of people, all in white bathrobes, headed to the beach.