We were walking around Stockholm on a cold and windy autumnal day, when we chanced upon a fishmonger’s near the harbour side, overlooking the water. I opened the door and it went ping and I walked in. I looked at all the fresh fish and artisan produce from the coastal regions of the Baltic, Atlantic and Mediterranean regions. In the corner of the shop, in between the ice counter and the fridge, was a small round table with two chairs. Sat there were a couple eating lunch.
In fact it looked like a romantic date – in a fishmonger’s! Who brings their date to a fishmonger’s, I thought. I looked down at their food. My eyes almost bulged out like a monkfish’s eyes. That looks delicious.
‘Are there more tables,’ I called out.
‘No.’ came the response from somewhere behind the counter.
In the background, two lanky Swedes were busily and noisily refilling the shelves and serving customers as they pinged in through the door. Both men wore blue and white striped sweaters and fishermen’s beanies.
Sure enough, there was only one table. After a bit more questioning, we were told that we can sit down when the couple have left. But if anyone else is there first, the table is theirs. No reservations. There was nowhere in the shop to wait so, ping, I opened the door and walked back outside into the cold.
We walked around the block a few times. Each time, I opened the door with a ping, poked my head in, but still the couple was there, perfectly happy.
After about an hour, I gave up and said let’s go to the unlimited buffet round the corner but Nora said ‘Let’s try one more time,’ and she opened the door and, ping, with a bit of lady luck, they were just getting up to go.
Like a child sprinting to the back of the bus to claim the back seats, I darted into the shop and lunged myself into the chairs and claimed them.
We made ourselves comfortable. We looked at the menu on the chalkboard. There was only one dish: fried herring with mash and johannes berries. I took that.
As I was cleaning my plate with the thickly buttered dark rye bread, I congratulated the owner for the great food but told him it was a new – and odd – experience to have a romantic meal surrounded by monkfish heads, cod fillets and buckets of mussels. What gives?
He appreciated the comment and he told me, ‘I think the concept of a restaurant is boring. Here you can sit down, stay as long as you want. We have one good dish per day, but actually you can order anything you want. I’ll cook you lobster if you want.’
With that, he went back to filling his shelves and serving customers as they came in. And, ping, what an insight. If you boiled down what he said to a forumla, it seems like he’s figured it out.