The restaurant Noma in Copenhagen shaped culinary history like few others. Since opening in 2003, it defined what became known as the “New Nordic Cuisine”. The name coming from “nordisk” (nordic) and “mad” (food) quickly became a global reference point, that changed the world of Fine-Dining forever.

Founded by Redzepi and Claus Meyer Nielsen, the restaurant earned three Michelin stars and was repeatedly named the best in the world. Redzepi was seen as a pioneer of a new avantgarde. Moss fermentation, wild herbs and local ecosystems became part of a new culinary language, that extended the “Nose-to-Tail” approach far beyond the use of meat. It positioned itself against globalized luxury dining and focused on what the surrounding landscape could offer.

By 2024, Noma had turned into Noma 3.0 – a laboratory rather than a restaurant. Service became rare and seasonal, while the focus shifted to research and development. The goal was – once again – to redefine fine dining. Earlier this year, Noma opened a four month Pop-Up residency in Los Angeles, presenting an exclusive tasting menu based on Southern California ingredients including wild plants, seafood, cactus and honey-ants. The price – exclusive as it could get – around 1500 USD per person. All of that is irrelevant now – the future of Noma will have to be rewritten. And now, it has the chance to do so. Instead of gourmet-experiments, the Los Angeles residency is now associated with protests.

Through NYT investigative research, 35 staff members spoke out.

On March 12, Redzepi resigned after former employees startet speaking out publicly. The accusations are serious – and detailed. Reports describe repeated verbal and physical violence over many years, especially between 2009 and 2017. There are accounts involving kitchen tools, physical attacks, and an overall working environment defined by fear. Jason Ignacio White, a former employee and head of Noma’s fermentation laboratory, was the first to speak publicly. He started to post about things he had witnessed personally, and experiences other former staff members had shared with him. The case then gained international attention after a details investigation by The New York Times, based on interviews with 35 former staff members. What emerges is a pattern of humiliation, intimidation, and violence. A construct of power, a pattern, that is no longer open for interpretation. One that screams – for once, start listening to the victims! What stands out most is how long this behavior existed without consequences.

At the same time, none of this comes out of nowhere. Criticism of Noma’s work culture has existed for years. Former staff and interns have repeatedly described extreme working conditions and an aggressive leadership style. In 2015, Redzepi himself admitted that he had been “a bully” for a long time during his career. Investigations also showed that large parts of the kitchen brigade consisted of unpaid interns, working up to 70 hours a week. The recent testimonies have brought these issues back into public view with new force. Protests followed, and partners withdrew from the Los Angeles project.

So, why did it take so long for this to happen?

Noma built its reputation not only on food, but on status. It became a place that could define a career. Having worked there meant recognition and opportunity. A school of life, that you had to pass in order to become someone in the culinary world. This is a well established system, with silence as a necessary part of the structure. Fine dining operates through hierarchy. The head chef is the central authority, and endurance is expected. Obedience becomes a requirement for those who want to move forward. Under these conditions, speaking out carries a real risk. Many young chefs accepted these realities because they believed they had no alternative. Former employees have also reported threats when considering going public. There is a broader issue here. We still live in a culture where those who speak up are often questioned rather than supported. The question is not only why people stayed silent, but who would have been willing to listen.

So, the current situation is much less a scandal than – maybe – an actual structural shift. A system that has presented itself as visionary and progressive is being forced to confront its own contradictions. The image of the chef as an untouchable authority is starting to crack. At the same time, the industry is already under pressure. Economic challenges, staff shortages, and a new generation that questions hierarchy are changing the conditions. Redzepi’s resignation shows how fragile the idea of the star chef really is, once stories of power and violence become impossible to ignore. The question now is how much authority such a system can carry before it collapses under its own weight. Where these structures begin to break, there is space for something new to emerge, even in institutions like Noma.

The post When power crumbles: The fall of Redzepi first appeared on STAGES OF TASTE – Magazine.

“Twelve of the world’s most innovative mixologists shake, stir and pour their way through high-stakes cocktail challenges to win a life-changing prize.”

That’s how Netflix introduces its new original series Drink Masters — a ten-part reality competition dedicated to the art (and spectacle) of modern mixology. The concept follows a familiar recipe: much like The Final Table, where emerging culinary stars battle for gastronomic glory, Drink Masters invites bartenders to prove their worth before a panel of experts.

One thing is clear — Netflix has money. Technically speaking, Drink Masters even outshines The Final Table. Set in a glamorous, sprawling bar with a limitless kitchen, the show spares no expense to showcase its contenders as they aim to prove they’re among the best of the best.

But there’s a catch. While The Final Table truly gathered chefs from around the world, Drink Masters’ understanding of “the world’s most innovative mixologists” seems to begin and end in North America.

When “the world” means the United States

Most contestants are based in the US, with a few from Mexico and Canada. A quick glance at the current World’s 50 Best Bars list, however, shows only eight American bars — all of them in New York City or Miami. In contrast, European cities host twenty of the world’s finest bars, and, by extension, many of the world’s best bartenders. So Drink Masters’ self-proclaimed “global” line-up doesn’t quite hold up.

Undeniably skilled — yet not all professionals

That said, the majority of contestants are genuine masters of their craft, regardless of geography. Their creativity and technique shine throughout the show’s many elaborate challenges. Without giving too much away, let’s look at the first episode. The bartenders are asked to reimagine the world’s most ordered cocktail — the Margarita — while keeping its basic structure (Tequila, Triple Sec and lime juice) intact.

They have ninety minutes to prepare, moving seamlessly between the bar and a fully equipped kitchen. There’s smoking, foaming, cooking, gelling, re-distilling — you name it. One soon realises just how much of contemporary mixology now happens behind the stove rather than behind the counter.

 

 

Later episodes push this even further, assigning desserts to be recreated as drinks — a task that exposes the contestants’ technical prowess and palate in equal measure.

To Netflix’s credit, the cast itself is diverse and lively, representing a genuinely colourful cross-section of the modern bar world. Among them, however, one cocktail influencer — known for aesthetic Instagram posts rather than bar experience — has sparked some raised eyebrows among professionals.

A feast for the eyes, not the palate

As viewers, we must rely on the judges for all flavour evaluations. Host and comedian Tone Bell, whose knowledge of bartending is admittedly limited, shares the judging table with industry veterans Frankie Solarik (Canadian bar legend and author) and Julie Reiner (bar owner and entrepreneur). Their expertise is unquestionable, and their verdicts form the backbone of the competition.

For the audience, though, visual appeal becomes everything — and that’s precisely what the show capitalises on. The aesthetics are the flavour. And that’s fine: television, after all, feeds on imagery.

One particularly striking example is contestant Tao’s “Absolute Opera” — a cocktail inspired by the French Opéra cake. Vodka, sponge, butter, coffee, cacao nibs, lactic acid, almonds — each element meticulously distilled to capture the taste of coffee and chocolate without a trace of brown in sight. It’s mesmerising, even through the screen.

Each creation is paired with a small dessert, further amplifying the visual drama. Yet this emphasis on presentation occasionally borders on excess. In one episode, a minimalistic, garnish-free cocktail is criticised by the judges despite its excellence — a subtle reminder that this competition is about showmanship as much as skill.

Is Drink Masters worth the binge?

The premise feels familiar — perhaps too familiar. Whether it’s cooking, baking, real estate or beauty, the formula of “who will be the best” has long reached saturation. Still, the idea of giving bartenders a platform is a brilliant one. The world of mixology is creative, diverse and evolving — but this series rarely dives deep enough to show that reality.

A more authentic format might follow bartenders in their actual bars, capturing the rhythm, tension and poetry of a real night’s service. But that wouldn’t be Netflix.

If you can overlook the American focus and the glossy production, Drink Masters offers a pleasant hour’s escape. It delivers moments of genuine insight into the craft, a few sparks of inspiration — and plenty of beautiful glassware. Skipping a few minutes here and there doesn’t hurt, though.

The post Drink Masters: What’s it worth? first appeared on STAGES OF TASTE – Magazine.