This is a tomato. Torched and glazed in barbecue sauce, dusted with blue cheese and chives. An example of the new, bold cuisine.
Story and photos by Nicholas Yeo
AT SUNSET, golden light streams through sheer curtains, illuminating the dining room at NOA Chef’s Hall.
Impeccably dressed diners sip wine and watch as a chef wields a flambadou over a charcoal fire. The cone ignites and born of the flames is “fire oil”, which infuses beef tartare with a smoky aroma.
This is not the French Riviera, Miami Beach or a scene from Netflix documentary series Chef’s Table . NOA Chef’s Hall is in Tallinn, and it is a contender for a Michelin Star.
Steak covered in mayonnaise and fries is no longer the norm for Estonians, said Mr Orm Oja, 26, head chef at NOA Chef’s Hall. “People look for different flavours,” he said.
Estonian cuisine is not on the world’s culinary map. The Atlas of Prejudice by bestselling Bulgarian author Yanko Tsvetkov satirises the region’s cuisine as toxic. Blood sausage, an Estonian delicacy, is characterised as a culinary horror in the 2013 book. But the country is on the cusp of a culinary golden age. Unshackled from the austerity of communist rule, Europe’s most wired nation is now at the frontline of a gastronomic revolution.
Since 2016, there have been at least 107 new restaurants and in 2017, 17 of the 30 best restaurants in the Baltic region were in Estonia, according to restaurant reviewer White Guide.
Eating out is now a norm for the growing middle class. The average monthly wage in 2018 was 1,220 euros (S$1,960), up by almost 60 per cent from a decade ago. And a meal at a top restaurant costs from 14 to 90 euros.
“The economy has grown so much that people can really afford, and when they can afford they learn to appreciate. Twenty years ago, no one knew what a croissant or sourdough was,” said Ms Silja Luide, 39, a columnist for the Eesti Paevaleht newspaper.
Consultant chef Priit Toomits has seen it all in his 30-year-long career. “Everything has changed. Everything,” said the 44-year-old. He began his career at 14 in a Soviet-era canteen, where he worked with 20 older Russian ladies ; a chef’s work was seen as a woman’s job at the time.
There was no such thing as quality ingredients, he said. Chefs had no incentive to cook better food as ordinary people had low incomes. “Now, it’s not just eating to survive, but it’s enjoyment when friends and family come together at the table,” he said.
Finnish food critic Juho Kaariainen, 31, said the restaurant boom started five years ago, with Estonia’s young chefs “leading the way” in the Baltic region.
These chefs, who used to work in kitchens overseas, have returned home with a wealth of experience and an appetite for experimentation. Mr Kaariainen said: “Some of the youngest sous chefs and head chefs are 25 or 30 years old. They look at their own backyard with completely new eyes.”
One of them is Mr Silver Saa, 30, head chef at ORE, which offers European fare with an Asian twist. “Younger chefs are working at Michelin-star restaurants. Twenty years ago, nobody would have thought it possible.”
Mr Saa, a Japanese culture lover, once worked as a demi chef at River restaurant in London’s Savoy hotel. “I don’t put borders on cuisine. It’s just so open, now you have Instagram, Facebook. You don’t have to write and post a letter to a chef you fancy, you just text them on Instagram and say: ‘Hey man, I like your food, can I come work for free?’ ”
The emerging market has also caught the eye of those who want in on the action. NOYA Nordic Japanese restaurant promises an encounter with “Japanese Vikings”, serving up a 76-euro omakase and 49-euro air-flown wagyu striploin.
NOYA is situated in the Rottermann Quarter in Tallinn, which houses the offices of advertising and law firms. It was started by Mr Njal Solland, 47, a veteran Norwegian restaurateur who founded Sabi Sushi. The franchise has 17 outlets in Norway and 12 in Denmark — including the one Michelin-star Sabi Omakase.
Mr Solland, whose wife and daughter are Estonian, believes Estonian cuisine will see a renaissance in the next decade.
The Soviets spent half a century trying to eradicate Estonian culture and food, but it has persisted, he said. “They’re coming back to their roots and rediscovering who they were or who they are — they are actually a Nordic country in many ways.”
Attracting local diners is a perennial problem, but things are slowly starting to change.
“Now that we have had independence for almost 26 years, even the older people are getting used to eating out. The young people — for them, it’s natural,” said Eesti Paevaleht’s Ms Luide.
Leib restaurant is a pioneer in the farm-to-table movement. Its near-perfect reviews on TripAdvisor are a testament to the high regard in which the restaurant is held among more discerning customers. Main courses range from 14.50 to 23 euros.
Locals Ms Tiina Peterson, 60, and Ms Age Poder, 54, met up for a business lunch at Leib. “I like this restaurant particularly because it uses Estonian produce,” said Ms Peterson.
High turnover is another challenge. Leib head waitress Eliise Hermann, 23, said that in one summer alone, about 200 service staff came and left.
“The younger people are lazier. I’m the country girl and I do work all the time. Nowadays, the young people don’t do it as much and are on the phone all the time,” said Ms Hermann.
To Mr Tonis Siigur, 43, a veteran restaurateur who is regarded as a godfather of the restaurant movement, Estonian cuisine is already world-class.
“But we are such a small country and not all people know where Estonia is located and what we’re doing. If we can make a Netflix TV show, then all the world will know.”