On my first visit to the Michelin-starred restaurant Kadeau, on Bornholm, in 2017, the evening began the way many Danish dinners do: in the garden where the restaurant grows its produce, sipping a glass of sparkling natural wine.
Standing among the bright bushels of kale and kohlrabi, co-owner and chef Nicolai Nørregaard shared his view of the island. “We chose Bornholm because it has so much to offer. It was untouched territory,” he said, dressed head to toe in black. Looking around the garden, with the sun streaming through the tall pine trees, I was inclined to agree.
When Kadeau opened, in 2007, the island was sparsely populated. Set in the Baltic Sea, closer to Sweden than Denmark, it was primarily a prosperous fishing hub littered with smokehouses. But when overfishing drove the industry into decline in the 80s, the island faced an identity crisis. A group of artisan growers were drawn to Bornholm’s temperate climate and fertile soil, and several artists and ceramists were inspired by the good clay and painter’s light.
Bornholm is the sunniest spot in Denmark, something a small group of loyal travelers, mostly Danes from elsewhere in the country, have been privy to for years. “It’s part of everyone’s childhood—where you would go on vacation from school or have your first kiss,” said one nostalgic Copenhagener before my first visit.
A rocky terrain with pine forests, it’s also one of the only places in Denmark where dramatic cliffs pour into the ocean. Here, orderly roads slice through grassy fields and connect small towns whose cobbled streets are punctuated by ancient, colorful, half-timbered houses. Sandy bays glow with deep-blue and aquamarine waters. On crisp mornings, it’s not uncommon to see a line of gown-clad locals, young and old, snaking down to the water for a bracing dip.
In recent years, many have been lured to this 227-square-mile island thanks to Kadeau, which offers a fine-dining experience in a converted old seaside cafeteria with simple, slatted walls and wraparound windows. In the wake of its success, a string of other small businesses has arrived, attracting the Copenhagen glitterati and other assorted visitors from all over.
“It’s part of everyone’s childhood—where you would go on vacation from school or have your first kiss.”
In 2014, the family-owned Svaneke Brød, a bakery specializing in dark rye and flaky croissants, opened on a sunny corner in the town of Svaneke. Then came the Nordlandet, a simple but slick hotel with modest rooms, a quality restaurant, and views of the sea. Though still understated, it was unlike anything else on the island. For decades, travelers had checked into old badehotels, tired but charming inns located a short walk from the sea.
Recently, these have been given new life, too. “The last 10 years have seen another resurgence of this kind of hotel,” says Cathrine Andersen, co-owner of Allinge Badehotel, a seaside inn that dates back to 1790. Anderson and her partner gutted the 24 rooms, lining them with traditional powder-blue Acadia-stripe wallpaper, handmade custom wood panels, and pieces selected by Danish interior designer Emil Thorup, staying true to the breezy badehotel aesthetic.
The upstairs dining area was transformed into a bright-white room where the sun floods through the loft windows and onto wooden chairs draped with sheepskins. In the mornings, pots of coffee are left outside the bedrooms. “A vacation at a badehotel is still associated with the dream of a simple, hyggelig [cozy] and cultured getaway from the city, to get fresh air by the sea and escape the stress of daily life,” says Andersen.
Other inns followed suit. When Melsted reopened under new ownership in 2022, it unveiled pastel rooms that have warming pendant lights and white terraces that tumble onto a sea-facing lawn dotted with white wooden lounge chairs. Farther north, Stammershalle Badehotel, set in a historic orange building, was acquired by a family who refreshed it with new oak floors. Inside the dining room, six-course new-Nordic meals are served: cod with Jerusalem artichokes and blackberries, and chanterelles with sourdough and cream.
Next year, Bornholm Surf Farm, owned by Dennie Hilding, who relocated to Bornholm from Sweden in 2012, will undergo a major renovation. Hilding’s philosophy is to offer guests access to surfing and farm life, as that’s what drew him here in the first place. “[Bornholm] offers a peaceful and laid-back atmosphere, where I can create a good balance between activity and rest,” he says.
Food is another draw. Gone are the days when greasy burgers and fries or plates of smoked herring dominated restaurant menus. The Copenhagen-cool wine bar Vinøst serves fresh mussels alongside low-intervention Burgundy rosé on a sunny terrace. At Terrassen, diners eat charcuterie and drink crisp white wines overlooking the harbor. Torvehal is a food market, set in an old slaughterhouse, that has a smorgasbord of artisanal produce, from pots of zingy sea-buckthorn jam to warm apple cider and cinnamon buns.
Yet despite the flurry of openings and activity, Bornholm still feels largely unchanged. When I returned last year, Kadeau was almost entirely the same except for the expanded garden (now nearly 500 acres) and the new kitchen, outfitted in wood, steel, and white brick.
I sat around the outdoor fire, the sun still high in the sky at eight p.m., then made my way inside for dinner, where plates of fire-roasted kohlrabi and honey cake with black-currant jam kept rolling out of the kitchen. Across the room, diners with tousled hair sat with sand still clinging to their shoes, likely due to a pre-dinner swim in the sea. It was as unpretentious as fine-dining experiences get—like being at a friend’s beach house. If that friend were a Michelin-starred chef.
Mary Holland is a New York–based writer who contributes to the Financial Times, The Wall Street Journal, and Monocle
