Confessions of a Noma groupie

Until two years ago, I would’ve laughed at the idea of being a groupie. Groupies were for rock bands, not restaurants. Yet, here I am—a self-proclaimed Noma groupie, which comprises that breed of human that is hopelessly, obsessively enchanted by the world’s most celebrated restaurant.

Remember Tyler, the obsessive foodie played by Nicholas Hoult in Mark Mylod’s delicious dark comedy, The Menu, who would travel to a remote island for a meal? I fear I may have become that person. In the last two years, I have jetted off to Copenhagen, Kyoto, or wherever René Redzepi’s legendary eatery, Noma, has decided to pop up, just to avoid the existential dread of missing a new menu.

It’s strange to think that until 2022, I’d never set foot in Scandinavia, let alone dined at Noma. Nordic cuisine? Sure, it sounded intriguing, but not enough to rearrange my life around. Of course, I had heard all the fanfare surrounding Noma: three Michelin stars, five-time World’s Best Restaurant, the birthplace of modern Nordic cuisine, and a place every Indian chef who stages at casually name-drops into conversations. It was a cultural phenomenon, redefining what we thought food could be.

Yet somehow, I wasn’t tempted. “Someday, when I’m in that part of the world, I’ll go,” I thought, just the way we say, “I’ll start exercising on Monday.”

But then, everything changed on January 9, 2023. The New York Times broke the news: “Noma, Rated the World’s Best Restaurant, Is Closing Its Doors”. Global culinary pandemonium ensued. Other headlines followed. Wired declared the “End of Fine Dining”. Meanwhile, Eater was less sympathetic: “You Were Never Going to Go to Noma Anyway”. And suddenly, I felt a pang of regret. Would I be one of those sad souls lamenting that I should have gone when I had the chance?

It wasn’t the first time I’d felt this. I was 21 when the Adria brothers closed El Bulli, the only other restaurant that can rival Noma’s influence. Back then, I was too young, too broke, and too clueless to even dream of getting a reservation. Years later, I still kick myself for missing out. El Bulli was the Hogwarts of gastronomy that gave us culinary magicians like Massimo Bottura, Grant Achatz, José Andrés, even Redzepi himself. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. I wasn’t going to miss Noma.

So, over the last two years, I’ve made up for lost time. Six meals later, I’ve flown to Copenhagen and Kyoto (twice), obsessing over every dish, every flavour, and every microscopic detail. Because here’s the thing about Noma: it’s actually worth the hype.

It’s not just about the food (though the food is extraordinary), it’s about the philosophy, the creativity, the audacity of taking something as unassuming as a cucumber or a culture of bacteria and transforming it into edible art—pieces that look more like they belong in a frame rather than on a plate.

René Redzepi and his team don’t just cook; they challenge, provoke and reinvent. Every meal at Noma feels like a masterpiece that can never be recreated—and it won’t be, because Noma doesn’t do signature dishes. There’s no equivalent of the ‘Meat Fruit’ at Dinner by Heston Blumenthal or ‘Oysters and Pearls’ at The French Laundry. Every new menu, whether it’s for their seafood, vegetable, or game and forest season, feels like dining at an entirely new restaurant.

Over the last two years, I have eaten a reindeer-brain omelette, moss and cep, sea snails with nasturtium oil, fermented beetle sauce, ants on shrimp, wild boar belly, reindeer tongue, SCOBY (a symbiotic colony of bacteria and yeast), and jellied crab head. And it was all delicious. But sitting there, chatting with René Redzepi or Annegret Kühnert, the restaurant’s charming general manager, you leave not just fed but inspired—reminded of what can happen when someone dares to completely rethink food. As Redzepi himself says, “There is no conflict between a better meal and a better world.”

A single meal at Noma (without the wine or juice pairing) costs DKK 3,950 or roughly ₹47,000. And let’s not even get into the cost of flights and hotels or the logistical Olympics of securing a reservation, which sells out in seconds. It sounds ridiculous—to have a hobby that is so expensive, impractical, and frankly, foolish. But I’m in too deep.

I wonder what the Noma team thinks of my relentless devotion. Do they secretly crack jokes in the kitchen after I leave? Roll their eyes when they see my name on the reservation list? (“Oh god, not him again.”) But then, I have a cherished voice note from the chef to replay, which he sent after the Kyoto pop-up last month: “Good to see you again; you guys are simply some of the best guests we have, and it’s a pleasure to have you.” Either he truly means it or he’s had a lot of practice humouring obsessive fans like me.

As far as Nomaheads go, I know I’m not alone. There’s Jeff Gordinier, author of Hungry, who spent four years following the celebrated chef around the world, chronicling his creative process and relentless pursuit of perfection. Like any true visionary, Redzepi has his most fervently devout crew eating out of his hands. So when the restaurant finally closes its doors for good, I’ll know I was there, a witness to its culinary history, tasting genius that future foodies will only hear and read about. 

But until that day comes, I have my next reservation—secured seven months in advance, for May 2025, to look forward to.