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Food

Eating on Tour Can Blow, But Thank God for the Food in Copenhagen

I've been touring with bands for the past eight years and I've figured out how to find the best food in any given city. To kick off this column, I'm going to do a solid for Timber Timbre, a band that's playing in Copenhagen tomorrow to provide some...
Photo via Wiki Commons

Welcome to Get Out of the Van, our new column from Max Goldblatt, the guy that well-known bands hire not only for his t-shirt slinging talents, but for his ability to find the best food in any city. He's brought his skill set to the likes of the Dirty Projectors, Spoon, MGMT, Band of Horses and many more. Once a month, he'll provide advice for musicians on where they should eat when they're on tour in hopes of preventing another sad gas station meal.

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In 2006, I was a year out of college and a bit lost. Singer-songwriter Pete Yorn (who is, coincidentally, a cousin of mine) asked me to come document his seven-week tour across the US. Being a lifelong music freak who had seen very little of the country, this felt like the perfect scenario to me. I'd film the shows, sell t-shirts, edit videos, and drink for free. Heaven. Under the tutelage of tour manager and fresser extraordinaire, Rick "Balls" Marino, I discovered that the secret perk of this work was the ability to sample the indigenous foods of wherever the hell we were for the night. Eight years later, I still find myself trekking around the globe with bands I love, trying to sniff out the best meals for all of us while we're out on the road.

One of my favorite bands right now is the dark, brooding, subtly menacing Canadian outfit, Timber Timbre. Their excellent new record Hot Dreams just came out and they're touring at this very instant. I've seen them perform twice, but they still maintain a lot of mystery for me, a rarity in our contemporary internet age. Their live arrangements were super-sparse, relying on silences just as much as the noise itself. I don't think I was the only person in the audience made both nervous and excited by what I was hearing. This is a roundabout way of saying that it's difficult for me to picture these people eating. It'd be like trying to imagine Nick Cave flossing. But Timber Timbre must get hungry. They are, after all, people.

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Since Timber Timbre is going to be playing in Copenhagen tomorrow, I'd like to help them suss out their eating situation. This is, after all, what I do. Copenhagen is one of the most exciting places to eat today, and there are a number of ways their culinary journey could play out.

Often, promoters or venues give you cash for dinner, which is known as a "buyout," and you're on your own for the night. This is when I thrive. When soundcheck is over, I scramble out into the real world, armed with recommendations from locals, in an attempt to find some nourishment or, ideally, a delicious moment of hope amidst the dark and soul-crushing existence of #tourlife. But due to the ticking clock and the location of the venue, I might just end up making a depressing sandwich for myself backstage. The only glimmer of happiness in these moments is the possibility that the kettle chips haven't been ransacked by the band, and I can stack a little crunch factor into my sandwich.

But in Europe, it's highly likely that the promoters will take the power out of your hands and actually feed you. It's all they want to do. In Italy, they often seem more obsessed with procuring the finest meats and cheeses for the greenroom than focusing on promoting the actual concert. Venue catering can be the enemy to a food-finder such as myself. Ideally, when in Europe, the catering is like somebody's grandma cooking just for you. And in situations like that, I'm totally satisfied. But in reality, promoters tend to give us vouchers to eat at some slow and bafflingly-named garbage-hole below the venue. Occasionally, we end up with promoters on tour who knock it the fuck out of the park.

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The first time that happened was in Copenhagen a little over a year and a half ago with Dirty Projectors. It was Halloween and we were treated to one of the best catered dinners you can imagine. In a small open kitchen backstage, a mellow and bespectacled chef named Erik Lautrup-Nielsen was effortlessly banging out a succession of New Nordic dishes for the band and crew. Erik, it turned out, wasn't just some random dude. He has some serious pedigree, having worked at Copenhagen's fine dining mecca, Kokkeriet, the highly regarded modern German restaurant Bieberbau, in Berlin, and wd~50 and Franny's in New York.

In place of the standard meats, cheeses, hummus, and crudités we usually encounter backstage, Erik presented us with fresh, seasonal ingredients prepared in an innovative yet deceptively simple fashion. I recall a particularly mesmerizing sunchoke and parsnip dish involving a righteous amount of caramelization. It was the sort of meal that makes you fall in love with an entire city, and, indeed, I probably shouted "I love Copenhagen" midbite a few times during that dinner. We don't expect to be fed like this on the road. And I'm amazed that the band wasn't stuffed to the point of discomfort during their set that took place a few short hours later.

That was the best possible catering experience one could ever hope for, one I might never experience again.

I've never worked with Timber Timbre, but if I were on the road with them, I would make it my duty to make sure they'd experience the sort of culinary Danish hospitality I experienced that evening. Because it's impossible to squeeze in a full-course tasting menu at noma between soundcheck and the show, I'd recommend that they saunter to Manfreds & Vin for lunch, a quick walk from the venue. The last time I was in town, a friend took me there for one of the most memorable meals of my life. It's the casual, affordable little brother of the Michelin-starred Relae, just across Jaegersborggade. Ordering off the chef's choice menu, they can fuck with dishes like burnt carrots, fermented celeriac, you know… the good stuff.

And then there's the mirror ball in the wine room, which seems aesthetically appropriate for the band. Or Stevie Nicks. And while it may not be a feast a few feet from the greenroom, Manfred & Vin is a fantastic and approachable introduction to the New Nordic movement that ought to be experienced while visiting Copenhagen.

And if Timber Timbre needs someone to sell merch and eat their leftovers—ahem—I'd gladly clear my schedule.