We were back in Stavanger for a weekend visit with Morten and Siw Helen (AKA the Queen). Thomas has known Morten since they worked together to launch an osteoporosis medicine many years ago, and we had arranged to meet them in Saint-Tropez this summer. The evening there turned into one of those effortless, laughter-filled dinners that end with promises to meet again — and this weekend, we did.
Siw Helen and Morten welcomed us into their beautiful home as if we were family. Friday evening stretched into laughter, a few rounds of musical games, and couple of smooth cigars that paired perfectly with stories old and new.

Brick House Cigars from Nicaragua and Mango IPA from Hansa brewery

Saturday we had lunch at Hermetikken on the calendar, joined by Børre and his wife. Børre, who approaches dining the way others approach religion, is a regular here.
He set the tone before we even opened the menu: “Let’s start with some bubbles.”
A magnum of champagne appeared. This will be an expensive afternoon, we thought.

Many quotes have been attributed to Churchill. When we visited the Nyetimber vineyard, we were served this one:
*“A magnum is the proper size bottle. It is the proper size for two gentlemen to share over lunch — if one of them isn’t drinking.”*

The evening began with a whisper of the sea — a single oyster, crowned with caviar and a soft foam that dissolved as it touched the tongue.

Oyster by Hermetikken — Oyster foam and caviar by Hermetikken

A moment later came the sound — the shattering crack of tempura. Hidden underneath the fragile lattice: sweet monkfish cheek, dotted with curry emulsion and tiny flower petals. Playful, nostalgic, and utterly serious at the same time. The chef mentioned his childhood in Norwich with fish and chips — the dish was a beutiful hommage. This was memory, reimagined through technique.

Not exactly a standard fish&chips – Hermetikkens version is a creative feast for the mouth.

Next, rosette pastries filled with cod and musjon, balanced by an experimental lemon gelée, dill powder, and a tiny alizie flower. The dish looked like something between architecture and art — fragile, fragrant, and gone too soon.

And then came the pasta — our collective weakness. Homemade ravioli filled with sweet lobster and shrimp, resting in a light, spicy bisque infused with chili, ginger, and a whisper of butter. Wilted spinach with toasted pine nuts brought balance, freshness, a hint of nuttiness. It felt both Italian and coastal Norwegian — a bridge between seas and temperaments.

We’ve always had a soft spot for pasta. I mean, who doesn´t? Thomas likes to say that the only thing truly Norwegian about him is his passport — the rest belongs somewhere tropical.
Except his stomach. That, he claims, lives in Italy.

Then, scallops — tender and pure — paired with pickled aromatic mushrooms, shiitake dust, and a rich, buttery sauce made from whey at Stavanger Ysteri. It was one of those courses that stops all conversation at the table for a few seconds.

Pearl-white halibut, barely poached until it quivers. A broth made from the fish’s own head, reduced with cream and wine until it hums. Fermented cabbage for edge, caramelised apple for sweetness, and a swirl of herb oil like a painter’s stroke.

Soft, clean, quietly luxurious — the kind of dish where time slows and forks pause mid-air.

It arrived just before the Beef Wellington, and it’s impossible to say which was greater. They belong to different kingdoms — one swims, one roars — and both rule their own.

Pearl-white halibut, barely-poached until it quivers.

The beef Wellington came next. Perfectly cooked beef from Ustein Kloster’s “Pantheon” cow, wrapped in spinach, mushroom and chicken mousse, herb pancake, and house-made puff pastry. The bordelaise sauce — red wine, bone marrow, shallots, tarragon, and a hint of sherry vinegar — was pure theatre. Every cut revealed the kind of precision and patience that makes a dish immortal.

Dessert opened on a bright note: white chocolate and tarragon namelaka — a Japanese-style mousse so creamy it barely held its shape — paired with vanilla cookie crumble, mandarin–orange sorbet, and a Szechuan-pepper sugar tuille that tingled playfully on the lips.

Then, a warm blackcurrant soufflé, tall and proud in its ceramic cup, followed by a soft swirl of gingerbread ice cream — a taste of Christmas folded into November.

Finally, the petit fours:
Millionaire’s Bread, tiny golden tarts with glossy chocolate and gold leaf;
Madelaine, almond-soft and still warm;
Fruit gelée, jewel-like squares of berry and citrus;
and airy meringues topped with flowers and zest — the evening’s quiet farewell.

When we finally stepped outside, the Stavanger air was clear and cool.
We’d eaten, laughed, and listened — to each other, to the room, to the rhythm of a kitchen that cooks with intention.
It wasn’t just the food; it was the generosity of friends, the calm of craftsmanship, and the joy of being exactly where we were supposed to be.

To Morten and Siv Helen — thank you for opening your home, your laughter, and your weekend to us.
You made the city feel like ours.

If you have any questions, drop them in the comments below 👇