Meyers Deli

Not everything on bread is smorrebrod, of course.
Meyers Bageri, one of Copenhagen's top notch bakeries (my airbnb rental had two
Claus Meyers books on the shelves, one bread, one sweets; I couldn't read
either, though the photos were convincing) has an outpost in the basement of
department store, Magasin du Nord. It was not my intent to stop in, but it had
gotten to 3pm and I couldn't settle on anything for lunch and didn't want to
waste money on an outdoor tourist cafe. (Actually, I was in this part of town
to find a McDonald's, but felt like eating real food rather than tracking down
a novelty on this particular afternoon.) The deli had some nice looking
sandwiches. In particular, Lun Flaeskestegs. This is as close as I'd get to
traditional roast pork.

There were thick slices of meat, still rosy in the
center, juicy and fatty with strips of cracklings, separated and added-in for
extra crunch. Pickled red cabbage, cucumbers and slivered red apples added
tartness and texture, and a creamy sweet mustard sauce bound it all together. This
was a serious sandwich, almost too much for one sitting (I would've asked for
half to go, or rather takeway, as the rest of the universe says, but wasn't
sure if that was couth).

And the potatoes, which made it a real meal, weren't
throwaway. I had to stop myself from eating all the crispy skinned wedges that
had a richness that could only come from being submerged in quite a bit of
butter.

Crackling close-up

I was asked if I wanted mayonnaise and I wondered if
it was because they assumed an American would prefer ketchup (you shouldn't; I'm
sure it was house made, but it was watery and weird) . Maybe, maybe not, though
I'm pretty sure the cashier checking to see if I needed ice for my bottle of
Pelligrino was trying to accommodate US tastes. (I'm fine without ice, though
my travel companion was dismayed at its absence from the Ikea cafeteria.)

It was only after decompressing a bit in the nearly empty seating area that I
realized 125 DKK was $22. Ouch. That was one expensive sandwich. You could try
and reproduce it on the cheap–the recipe is online with the translated
headline "Have you pig left over?"

Meyers Deli * Nytorv 13, Copenhagen, Denmark

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Grøften & Schønnemann a.k.a. Things On Bread

If your only exposure to smorrebrod is Copenhagen
import, Aamanns, you might get stymied when figuring out how to order the
open-faced sandwiches in a more traditional, albeit touristy, setting.

At Grøften, inside Tivoli Gardens, you're presented
with a checkbox list, broken down by topping type–seven herring variations,
alone–and each with the choice of rye, caraway or white bread. (Locals know
which pairs with what and there are definitely rules. I didn't want to be the
blueberry bagel ordering foreigner.) Is this like dim sum? Pick away, share? Using
price as a guide isn't reliable since nearly everything ends up costing more
than you think it should anyway. Is a $16 sandwich plenty for one or barely a
snack a la Aamanns?

We decided on two each, which I now think was too
much (see Schønnemann, below), plus, meatballs, which was definitely way too
much. Yes, there is actually a slice of bread hiding beneath the tuft of
shredded horseradish, sweet pickles, remoulade and fried crumbled onions (a
garnish so popular it's sold in little plastic tubs at Ikea). Oh, and roast
beef.

Beef tartare, egg yolk and horseradish was
straightforward as can be. Capers, chopped onion and turmeric-tinged pickled
vegetables, similar to piccalilli, came in little glass bowls for all the sandwiches
but  made most sense with the slab of
chopped raw meat. The same sandwich with black caviar is called "løvemad,"
or lion's snack in English. Cute either way.

Fried herring was a little more subdued.

Frikadeller, a mixture of pork and veal, I'm pretty
sure.

As my first restaurant meal in Copenhagen, I was a
little surprised (not unhappily, as I love smoking on vacation) to see you
could still smoke indoors since Scandinavia always struck me clean-living–maybe
it's the propensity for biking? (It was also not unusual to see parents pushing
strollers with cigarettes in hand, a practice that would be certain to induce
severe shaming in many parts of NYC.) This was an anomaly that wasn't repeated
at any other restaurant I visited, though.

* * *

Schønnemann is also a traditional purveyor of things
on bread, mostly rye. There's nothing wrong with old-school Danish food; I
would highly recommend a little stodginess in lieu of  seaweed broths and charred cucumbers for one
meal. Luckily, we were seated closely, NYC close, to a Danish twosome who made
sure we ordered right. (I ended up spending Saturday hanging out, barbecuing
and drinking at their "kolonihave" outside the city and was all the
better for breaking out of the New Nordic confines that can limit the
food-obsessed.)

House brews, referred to as "lunch beer"
by our waiter, and a delicate walnut aquavit are a great way to start off an
afternoon. (While I'd recommend eating some regular food in Copenhagen, I can't
say I'd advocate multiple shots of thick salty black licorice liqueur flavored
with pomegranate, which I was exposed to later.)

Herring salad, yes, on top of a thin, chewy slice of
nutty rye. We were told we should've asked for more bread so you're not just eating
fish, beets and sour cream.

Just one smorrebrod apiece, the normal way of doing
things. I had been previously charmed by lion's snack, and this, the
veterinarian's midnight snack, was no less poetic. That translates to a thick
spread of pate, salted beef similar to sliced corned beef, aspic and raw
onions.  This is my kind of sandwich. Dark bread and liverwurst? Yes.

The Harbourmaster, cured salmon, chives, dill,
potatoes, red onions and smoked cheese, also had an impressive name. The lime
seemed odd to me.

Make sure to have another beer, don't look at the exchange rate too hard, have a good time.

Grøften * Vesterbrogade 3, Copenhagen, Demnark

Schønnemann * Hauser Plads 16, Copenhagen, Denmark

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