Why Restaurant Marchal is Copenhagen’s Most Delicious Act of Rebellion

To understand Marchal, you must first understand the collective culinary amnesia of Copenhagen.

For the past two decades, the global food elite has been deeply entrenched in a love affair with the New Nordic Manifesto; that game-changing approach to the hyper-local, hyper-seasonal and often somewhat challenging obsession with the foraged, fermented and fungal. We’ve been conditioned to fly to Denmark for austere, hyper-local plates, where we can anticipate that each ingredient is profoundly tied to the earth and thoroughly philosophically justified. In the dining halls and buzzy pop-ups in cities like Copenhagen, we expect to nod sagely at the genius of spores, soil and zero-mile minimalism. 

Cocooned in luxury, Marchal Copenhagen

However, as with many a manifesto that came before, the New Nordic approach gradually became a dogma: if an ingredient hadn't been personally picked from a wind-whipped Danish beach by a chef in a linen apron, it didn't belong on a plate in the capital. All of this, and much more besides, actually makes stepping into Marchal feel like a deliciously rebellious act of heresy.

Housed inside the palatial, unapologetically grand Hotel D’Angleterre overlooking Kongens Nytorv – Copenhagen’s best attempt at a city centre, albeit one that’s prettily pulled along a series of canals, bridges and brightly-coloured historic homes – Marchal doesn't care about your foraging basket. It cares about your appetite. 

After all, this is a dining room that looks at the stark, ascetic minimalism of modern Scandinavian cuisine, and then gleefully counters with gilded mirrors, plush upholstery and an existential crisis plushly wrapped in a classic French reduction. It’s fabulous, and it knows it. 

Simply put, one of my favourite places to be

The Flavour-Driven Counter-Revolution

Let’s be entirely clear: Arrive in Copenhagen chasing purity and restraint, and Marchal will feel almost disorienting. The kitchen is captained by Alexander Baert who followed on from Jakob de Neergaard, an effervescent, brilliantly flamboyant and rather chatty chef. Both function as Denmark’s premier defender of timeless French fine dining, with their true allegiance sworn not to Noma, but to the holy trinity of Escoffier: butter, cream and impeccable saucing.

However, to dismiss Marchal as a mere exercise in French nostalgia would be a mistake, as this absolutely is not a mere Parisian tribute act shipped to the Baltic coast. Look past the heavy sauces and you’ll find that the soul of the menu is still tethered to the North; the kitchen does a superb job of celebrating the hyper-cleanliness of local flavours and a very Scandinavian instinct to let a single, perfect component breathe on the plate. 

Look at it this way: this is contemporary Copenhagen cooking, yes, but perhaps if Copenhagen were a quirky sub-district of Paris. It lacks the raw, avant-garde edge of its minimalist neighbours, but compensates with an intoxicating dose of comfort.

A Study in Excess

Green gazpacho

The curtain rises, the show begins. I take my seat by the broad, bright windows overlooking the cobbled streets of Kongens Nytorv, and the evening launches with a green gazpacho cut through with an olive oil sorbet. It’s clean, herbaceous, and entirely refreshing, and it’s a dish whose minimalist presentation feels inherently Danish (even if calling an olive oil sorbet "Nordic" requires a stretch, even by local standards). 

Plump oysters dressed with a sharp kick of wasabi and a crown of caviar follow immediately, the nasal heat of the wasabi slowly extinguished by a satisfying blanket of sweet, briny shellfish and slightly savoury, nutty roe. The kitchen is setting expectations early: I will be eating a lot of fish eggs tonight, and I’m not complaining in the slightest. 

Case in point: "Caviar en surprise."

This particular dish arrives disguised as a standard, sealed tin of caviar. Pop the lid, and the magic is revealed: a dense, glittering blanket of jade-green, low-salinity Rossini Oscietra caviar. As my spoon plunged through that salty, nutty canopy, I hit an incredibly smooth and velvety puree of Jerusalem artichoke layered with impeccably sweet and nursery-soft white lobster meat. It is an extraordinary dish; decadent, deeply soothing and unashamedly grown-up. 

Caviar en surprise, a strong contender for dish of the year

Riot-Worthy Comfort Food

Halibut with endive

Next up is the kitchen’s crown jewel: a flawlessly executed halibut served with endive and (what else?) even more caviar. It is a masterclass in bold, classical fish cookery, with the flesh falling apart under the fork and the miniscule pops of fish eggs adding depth and opulence to an already luxuriant sauce. The service staff dryly note that if the kitchen ever dared to strike this dish from the menu, the regulars would likely burn the D’Angleterre to the ground. Again, I find myself asking: Is it distinctly Scandinavian? By my third spoonful of that sauce, I was entirely too content to care.

The savoury act closes by bringing me briefly back down to earth with a roasted Poussin, tossed with earthy, foraged chanterelles and golden corn kernels. The meat is sweet and rich, the mushrooms bursting with umami, the sauce a glossy, intense and powerfully savoury blanket beneath which all the ingredients can become intimately acquainted.

It’s a brief, comforting nod to the actual Danish forests and farmlands (a moment of true Scandi grounding) before the meal concludes with a flourish of the northern forests and the patisseries of France, both present and correct in a bowl of wild berries and cream.

Je Ne Regrette Rien

Marchal is an opulent, beautifully executed anomaly. It proudly refuses to participate in the hyper-minimalist, self-denying trends that have come to define modern Danish dining, yet it respects the local terroir too much to be anything truly resembling a caricature of French cuisine. It is elite, old-world French escapism balanced with a clean Nordic touch, and this is a combination that works far more effectively and satisfyingly than many might assume. 

My honest take? Go elsewhere in Copenhagen to be challenged. Come to Marchal to remember why pleasure matters, with absolutely no regrets.