It was one of those early spring days when everything feels a touch lighter. The road to “Das Grace” in Flensburg was quiet, the light soft, the air still cool but gentle. Instead of heading straight to the hotel, we took a different route—one that would set the tone for the evening ahead. Our first stop: the James Farm.
Jasper greeted us there and we walked the grounds with him, past the farm’s own butchery and creamery, where raw ingredients are shaped with care into something refined. This was no showpiece. It was working land, purposeful and alive.
The farm lies just a few kilometres from the hotel, but conceptually, it sits at the very heart of what Das Grace stands for. In the butchery, animals are handled with respect. In the creamery, raw milk becomes cheese that later arrives at the table not as a centrepiece, but as part of a seamless whole.
That first moment on the farm made something clear: this is not cuisine built from ideas—it’s rooted in practice. And that difference would echo throughout the night.
The James Farm – Origin & Philosophy
The James Farm is not only a supplier. It’s a foundation. A philosophy made tangible. It’s where the menu begins—not in the kitchen, but in the soil, in the barns, in the hands of those who work the land with care.
Set within the rural landscape of northern Germany, the farm follows a principle that feels refreshingly uncompromising: regional, transparent, sustainable. The meat—like the Höruper Presa, later featured in the main course—comes from animals raised in humane conditions. The cheeses are made from unprocessed milk, handled with time and precision. Even vegetables, herbs, and ferments are either grown on-site or sourced from trusted neighbours.
What’s striking is not just the commitment, but the quiet confidence behind it. There’s no need to overstate or romanticise. The “farm to table” concept, often reduced to marketing speak elsewhere, finds real substance here.
This is a place where food begins—not just physically, but philosophically. And it shows—on the plate, in the rhythm of the evening, and in the lingering memory of it all.
Checking In – From Soil to Shore
After our visit to the farm, we made our way into the city. Flensburg, with its quiet elegance and maritime charm, welcomed us gently. At the edge of the harbour, where sailboats drift and the water catches the last light of day, stands Das James—a five-star superior hotel that feels more like a retreat than a statement.
The arrival was smooth, almost cinematic. Soft interiors, warm-toned materials, the subtle scent of something herbal in the air. There’s a modernity here that doesn’t try to impress, but rather reassures. A place that knows who it is and invites you in without spectacle.
From the first step inside, it became clear that Das Grace—the restaurant nestled within this building—would be no less considered. The transition from farm to hotel felt seamless. What had started as a tactile, earthy experience now shifted into something refined. But the throughline remained: intention, care, clarity.
We settled into our room, then headed down as the sun began to drop over the Flensburg Fjord. The sky turned apricot. And with it, the mood shifted once more—from anticipation to something quieter, more grounded. We were ready for dinner.
The Setting – Light, Stillness, and the Fjord
Das Grace in Flensburg reveals itself slowly. It doesn’t demand attention—it earns it. The space is intimate but open, with clean lines and a quiet rhythm to its architecture. As we stepped into the dining room, the light had begun to shift. Through the large windows, the Flensburg Fjord stretched out like a painted backdrop—calm, expansive, glowing in the last tones of the day.
Our table was set directly by the window, the view unobstructed. The water outside seemed to mirror the mood inside: composed, warm, quietly expectant. The sun dipped lower, casting a golden hue across the room that softened every surface, as if the restaurant itself was exhaling.
There was a noticeable stillness, not in silence, but in pace. No rush, no urgency. Just an understated elegance that allowed every detail—linen, glassware, the light touch of music—to register without shouting.
This wasn’t just a setting for dinner. It was part of the experience. A space that aligned perfectly with what the kitchen was about to deliver: focus, restraint, and a deep respect for presence.
The Culinary Philosophy – Northern Roots, Honest Craft
What arrives at the table at Das Grace doesn’t just reflect a region—it reflects a mindset. The cuisine is shaped by the north: its clarity, its landscapes, its rhythm. Ingredients are thoughtfully sourced, with an emphasis on quality, seasonality, and regional identity. There is a visible respect for the origin of things, but it’s never dogmatic.
At the helm of the kitchen is Quirin Brundobler, whose presence defines the direction of each course. Alongside him, Norbert Fervágner, the sous-chef, brings precision and focus to every detail. Together, they’ve developed a style that favours balance over excess and purpose over performance.
While selected elements come from the James Farm—such as the Presa or raw milk dairy—what characterises the menu is not strict provenance, but coherence. The team works with a trusted network of producers and builds each plate around intention rather than ideology.
The result is a cuisine that feels both grounded and free. Sauces are refined, ferments thoughtfully placed, vegetables treated with the same attention as fish or meat. The plates show confidence without needing to declare it.
This is not about pushing boundaries. It’s about restraint, clarity, and a kitchen that trusts its materials—and its guests—to meet somewhere meaningful in between.
The Menu – Course by Course
The evening began with a thoughtful sequence of Aperos—small compositions that offered a first impression of the kitchen’s direction. There was clarity in every bite. Nothing ornamental, just a deliberate opening note that invited attention without asking for it.
Following this came the breads: sourdough, herb focaccia, and a dark beer loaf, served with raw milk butter—cool, pure, unhurried. A grounding moment before the courses unfolded.
The first dish: Shrimp – Kefir – Blood Orange. A meeting of freshness and depth. The shrimp, precise in texture, was lifted by the acidity of kefir and the brightness of blood orange gelée. Pickled cauliflower brought structure; a crustacean sauce added resonance.
Next: Carrot – Einkorn – Rhubarb. A dish that played with warmth and coolness, softness and bite. Grilled carrot tartare on einkorn cream, with yogurt, pickled rhubarb and carrot sorbet. A composition that felt both rooted and light.
The Char followed—smoked, layered, reinterpreted as tartlet and panna cotta. Each element distinct, yet harmonised into one restrained statement. Confident, without ever being loud.
Then came the Norwegian Scallop, accompanied by asparagus, braised leek, and an emulsion of caramelised yeast. A subtle interplay of sweetness and umami, anchored by a rich scallop beurre blanc that lent the dish its final shape.
The fish course: Gently Cooked Cod, paired with shrimp carpaccio, celeriac purée, almond emulsion, and a beurre blanc deepened with celeriac. A small Takoyaki on the side—playful, composed, precisely integrated.
Transitioning to meat: Höruper Presa, grilled and balanced. Potato cream and a crisp baked slice formed the base, elevated by a mustard-shallot emulsion, tarragon jus, and pickled pearl onions. A dish that knew how to hold its ground.
Then: Aged Dairy Cow—entrecôte, roasted to a fine edge, alongside braised shoulder, parsley root, yuzu, and bone marrow hollandaise. Full of character, yet never overreaching.
Before dessert: a Pre-Dessert of citrus—focused, invigorating, exactly what it needed to be.
The main dessert: Braised Apple, presented with dulcey chocolate, roasted almonds, yogurt sorbet, and Calvados caramel. Textured, elegant, balanced between sweetness and clarity.
Munster Cheese with sea buckthorn brought contrast and tension—rich meets sharp, creamy meets bright.
And finally, a selection of Petit Fours: pralines and macarons, each made with the same composure as the rest of the meal. Nothing excessive. Just a well-measured end to an experience that held its tone from beginning to close.
The Service – Warmth, Presence, Ease
There’s a kind of hospitality that doesn’t follow a script. It adapts, listens, responds. That’s what defined the service at Das Grace in Flensburg. From the moment we entered the room until the final petit four, we felt not only looked after, but truly welcomed.
The team moved with confidence, but without choreography. Every gesture felt natural. Explanations were precise, but never rehearsed. Plates were introduced with context, not performance. There was room for lightness too—humour, brief exchanges, a sense of ease that made the evening feel personal, not staged.
Special mention belongs to Morlin Jochimsen, who leads the restaurant with intuition and clarity. Her presence shaped the flow of the evening—not just through organisation, but through genuine connection. She read the room without needing to scan it.
This was service that didn’t stand in front of the experience, but walked alongside it. Present when needed, invisible when not. And always anchored in a kind of warmth that can’t be trained—only chosen.
The James – More Than a Setting
To describe Das James simply as the hotel in which Das Grace is located would fall short. It’s more than an address—it’s an essential part of the experience. From the architecture to the atmosphere, everything in this place speaks the same language: calm design, thoughtful detail, a sense of space.
Located at the edge of the Flensburg Fjord, Das James blends maritime clarity with contemporary softness. It’s elegant, but not ostentatious. The rooms, the spa, even the hallways—everything feels considered. As though someone had walked through each space and removed whatever wasn’t needed.
What makes it memorable, though, isn’t just how it looks. It’s the way it holds the guest. There’s a generosity here that runs beneath the surface. A sense that you’re not simply passing through, but being invited to pause.
That same spirit extends into the restaurant, and back again. Das Grace is not a separate chapter—it’s written in the same tone, with the same care. The result is a seamless narrative. One where farm, table, and place converge.
Why we want to come back
Looking back, it wasn’t a single moment that defined the evening—it was the way everything connected. From the first steps on the farm to the last sip of wine at the table, there was a throughline of care. Not dramatic, not deliberate. Just present.
It was the awareness that the food came from somewhere real. That someone had raised it, picked it, seasoned it with intention. And that those choices mattered—not only to the kitchen, but to the experience as a whole.
Das Grace didn’t try to impress. It invited us to pay attention. To notice the way a broth held warmth, the way light shifted across a plate, the way timing shaped taste. It reminded us that dining can be more than consumption. It can be connection—between people, place, and something quieter within.
More than a dinner, it was a day that unfolded with rhythm. One that began in the fields and ended by the fjord, stitched together by small decisions that left a lasting impression.
It made us want to eat slower. To travel with more intention. And to return—not just to Flensburg, but to that state of attentiveness that a place like this makes possible.