Baltic Prawns in Nasturtium with Wood Ant Dust
A Nordic nibble that bites back — in the best way.
Summer in Copenhagen means Baltic prawns so fresh they're still thinking about the sea, and nasturtiums spilling over every garden wall — peppery, beautiful, and edible. Wood ants (yes, the actual bugs from Dyrehaven, dried and roasted) bring this fierce little umami punch, a trick I nicked from a forager in Nørrebro who laughs at fancy cuisine. This is seafood showing off, but gently.
How to Cook It
- 01
Prep the ants and kelp salt
Blitz the roasted wood ants in a mortar: half into fine powder, half left chunky. Toast the kelp in a dry pan for 90 seconds — it will smell like the sea just decided to visit your kitchen. Grind it to flakes. Mix with fine sea salt in a small bowl. Set aside.
~5 min - 02
Blanch nasturtium leaves for 30 seconds
Boil a small pot of salted water. Drop the nasturtium leaves in for 30 seconds — just enough to soften them, not to kill their peppery shout. Fish them out, lay them on a clean cloth to cool and dry completely.
~3 min - 03
Dress the prawns
Pat the raw prawns dry with paper towel. In a small bowl, toss them gently with a whisper of cold rapeseed oil, a crack of black pepper, and a tiny pinch of the kelp salt. A squeeze of lemon over the top — no more. Taste one: it should sing of the Baltic, not drown in acid.
~2 min - 04
Build each bite
Lay a nasturtium leaf flat on a cold plate. Set one dressed prawn in the centre. Fold the leaf loosely around it — you want it held, not smothered. Repeat for three more.
~2 min - 05
Dust with ant and kelp
Sprinkle the fine wood ant powder first, then a light scatter of the chunky bits and kelp salt flakes. The powder settles into the creases; the flakes catch the light and add texture. Don't overdo it — this is an accent, not a burial.
~2 min
“Each bite sits on a single nasturtium leaf, dusted with the ant–kelp mixture. Cold plates are non-negotiable — this stays cool from fork to mouth. Serve all four at once, on a clean slate or ceramic, nothing fussy. The leaf is edible; the diner decides. Keep garnish and prawn visible; let the colours speak: pale pink prawns, green leaf, grey-brown dust, flashes of dark kelp.”
First bite: the sweet, briny flesh of the Baltic prawn arrives on the tongue, then the leaf's peppery snap comes in like a door opening. Chew a little longer and the wood ant dust — lemony, almond-like, faintly smoky — blooms. Kelp salt anchors it all at the back of the palate. A whisper, not a shout. The kind of thing you want to eat four more of immediately.
Swap the raw prawns for thinly sliced raw celeriac or kohlrabi (both grown locally, both bright and crisp). Dress them identically: cold rapeseed oil, black pepper, kelp salt, a whisper of lemon. The nasturtium leaf wrapping stays — it's the bed. The wood ant and kelp dust work just as well on vegetables; the crunch and umami are undeterred. You lose the sweetness of prawn but gain a cleaner, more mineral finish. It's a different animal entirely, but no less memorable.
Crisp, mineral, won't fight the umami of the ants or the sea salt; refreshes between bites.
Light, dry, cleanses the palate without overwhelming delicate prawn flesh.
Faintly sweet, mineral, and local — lets the dish lead without distraction.
- ·Raw prawns must be sushi-grade; ask the fishmonger and don't be shy. If you're unsure, walk away.
- ·Wood ants are forager territory — if you can't source them, a light dusting of toasted pine nut powder and nori flakes approximates the umami without the entomological commitment.
- ·Nasturtium leaves bruise easily and wilt within hours of picking. Pick or buy on the day you serve. No exceptions.
- ·The whole point is simplicity — if you're fiddling, you've already lost it.
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