2% chance of opening another restaurant

Last week, I appeared on Euroman's podcast "Arbejdstitel" (Working Title), where I talked about my years at El Bulli and Noma, about starting and selling the restaurants Relæ, Manfreds, Bæst, and Mirabelle—and about why I chose to step away from the restaurant industry when I had the opportunity.

Life as a restaurateur has given me an incredible amount, and I will always be grateful, but there are plenty of reasons why I won't open a restaurant again. In the podcast I gave it a solid 2% probability.

When I first ventured out on my own, it was in the middle of the financial crisis. Those were different times with recession and a completely different dining-out culture than what we expect of Copenhagen today. You'd have to be completely out of your mind to show up at a bank asking for money for a restaurant project in 2009. It shows, I was one of the few mad enough to do so.

The industry was bleak and struggling - with empty tables and restless chefs in quiet kitchens. A low-cost startup, "impossible" conditions, raised eyebrows, and general resistance motivated me to my very core. My vision was strong, and so was my belief in myself.

Today, the industry is fat, full and saturated after 15 years of New Nordic success, international attention, and plenty of good revenue in its belly. The New Nordic ideas and visions have been consumed, digested, and partly forgotten. After raw shrimps dotted with dill and dressed with cream got nautiously boring, it has eaten its way through every global trend within reach: fried chicken, Fastelavnsboller, BMO, ramen, and tacos. Now we're getting to the more obscure underbush of specialties from distant cuisines like arepas and mysterious Korean breakfasts. It's a different game—a game others are much better at playing than I.

The obvious question of why I would stop doing something I'm successful at was also raised. That's the attitude I often encounter, and it's quite understandable. When I got the opportunity to step away, at the top, it wasn't the first time. I had already tried it when I closed Relæ and Manfreds in 2020—both roaring succeses for 10 years straight. Both back then and after selling my shares this year, the most intimidating and nerve-wracking part was removing myself from what has, through hard work, shaped my identity and forged my tiny position in the world for the last 15 years.

But the feeling of leaving the table with a good hand and an onoreous stack of chips calls for more. Once you've tried waving goodbye to a large part of yourself, you feel space for a new narrative. A new direction that can be explored. For me, it's a wildly intoxicating thought that the world can still be completely uncharted if you just change course. Much more so than standing there on safe ground, where everyone knows where they have you.

In these months, I've spent an (enormous) amount of time with my family and my children. I've let myself be infatuated by the thought that somewhere out there, the world might be hungry for something else I have to offer. It has given me time and mental space to dwell on art, literature, poetry, philosophy, and conversation (when the small buggers allow it). The sudden feeling of an uncertain future fills me with wonder and appreciation for not knowing what comes next.
It's a given, that I am privileged by the cash I cashed out - but I see no reason to and I have no urge to splurge on fancy cars og lavish holidays. I realize that the perfect investment for is just being able - to be present.

You can listen to the podacast down below (Danish)