Finnjävel

There can’t be many Michelin-starred restaurants in the world born from quite such a strange and self-deprecating idea. The name Finnjävel – literally ‘Finn devil’ – was once a Swedish slur for Finnish immigrants, stereotyped as drunken, knife-wielding troublemakers on the streets of Stockholm.

The food Finnjävel celebrates has similarly humble origins. These are the often-maligned staples of Finnish home cooking, familiar from school canteens and visits to grandma – dishes whose names are more likely to strike fear into the heart of a Finn than set their taste buds tingling.

But then again, who wouldn’t want to find out just how good tilliliha – that notorious Finnish stew of meat in dill sauce – can actually taste?

The restaurant itself began with a reality TV series in 2016. Its founders, celebrated chefs Henri 'Henkka' Alén and Tommi Tuominen, travelled around Finland meeting people who were keeping traditional recipes and cooking techniques alive.

The aim wasn’t to make money but to preserve Finland’s culinary heritage. What was intended as a short-lived cultural project proved so popular that Finnjävel eventually found a permanent home at Helsinki’s Kunsthalle. A Michelin star followed in 2021, along with the Michelin Service Award for the best service in the Nordic countries.

For somewhere with such serious credentials, Finnjävel is remarkably relaxed. Guests are greeted with such easy familiarity that you could be forgiven for assuming everyone else in the room is a long-time regular. One party had even brought their dog. Not a Finnish Spitz, unfortunately.

One waiter was particularly memorable. He looked as though he’d arrived for his shift straight from a bar crawl in Kallio – via a bar fight, judging by the black eye. It probably wouldn’t have worked at Helsinki’s grand Palace restaurant, but here he fitted in perfectly. Despite the slightly battered appearance, he was the friendliest of gentlemen.

Finnjävel is fine dining that tastes unmistakably Finnish

There are playful details everywhere. Even the restaurant’s logo looks as though Sisu director Jalmari Helander could take one glance at it and create a home-grown Finnish superhero around it.

The playfulness continues on the plate. The amuse-bouches are called hiukopalat – a Finnish word for little bites eaten to stave off hunger. On our visit, they included Finnjävel’s takes on the Karelian pasty and kesäkeitto, Finland’s old-fashioned summer vegetable soup, the latter transformed into an emulsion served in a tiny cup.

When the meat course arrived, there was no table knife: instead, we were handed a puukko, the traditional Finnish sheath knife. A jenkka, a lively Finnish folk dance tune, played in the background. 

One course was simply called 'bread and buttermilk'. The dark archipelago bread was extraordinarily good, easily eclipsing the airy, fluffy brioche that seems to appear with increasing regularity in fine-dining restaurants everywhere. I’d happily see more dark Finnish breads in the country’s best restaurants.

In fact, it was almost good enough to make you question the rest of the fine-dining enterprise. If bread can taste this good, do we really need all the tricks?

As the foreign guests at the next table announced rather loudly: 'You really can’t get bad bread anywhere in Finland.'

The waiter also offered an excellent tip while pouring the buttermilk: 'For breakfast, all you need is a glass with half buttermilk and half blueberry soup.'

As you’d expect from chefs of this calibre, everything tasted good – and looked even better. Anyone familiar with Tuominen’s other Michelin-starred Helsinki restaurant, Demo, will recognise the meticulous presentation. The plates resemble miniature works of art. The braised perch was one of the most beautiful dishes I’ve been served in Helsinki.

Does that sound perfect? Almost.

Finnjävel delivers on its promise: the connection with Finnish food and culinary traditions runs through every course. Reindeer heart, crisp potato sticks and crumbs of sourdough rye bread all make appearances.

And yet the meal’s true star turn didn’t arrive until the läskisoossi. This is one of Finnjävel’s signature dishes, dating back to the restaurant’s earliest days, and was available as a supplement to the menu.

Läskisoossi is old-school Finnish comfort food at its most unglamorous: essentially pork belly or fatty pork in a brown gravy. Finnjävel’s completely deconstructed version looked as though it had been beamed onto the plate by an alien: 'People of Earth, I bring you a new delicacy. We call it Läskisoossi 2.0.'

It was brilliant. But it also revealed Finnjävel’s one weakness: I wanted more dishes like this.

More Finnish classics turned completely inside out. More dishes that surprise as much as they delight. The rest of the food was delicious, certainly, but beneath the exquisite presentation some of it felt relatively conventional. Instead of beautifully behaved fish dishes, I found myself longing to taste what Alén and Tuominen might do with lindströminpihvit (beetroot and beef patties), cabbage casserole, Jansson’s temptation or Finnish macaroni casserole. Liver casserole! Chicken fricassee! Siskonmakkara sausage soup!

Perhaps that’s an unrealistic wish. Deconstructing classics on this scale must be labour-intensive and expensive, potentially pushing the menu price much higher. It could also become a creative cul-de-sac: a Michelin restaurant needs to keep evolving, and sooner or later you might run out of Finnish classics – or ways to reinvent them completely.

So while Finnjävel could perhaps use a little more devilry, it deserves to be celebrated for what it already is: a fine-dining restaurant serving excellent, unmistakably Finnish food. If you want to experience Finnish cuisine in Michelin-starred form, Finnjävel is one of the city’s most distinctive choices. It also stands out in a city where many other Michelin-starred restaurants roam much more freely through international flavours.

And one final word of praise for the oat biscuit served at the very end.

It was, of course, perfect.

The vibe: Housed inside Helsinki’s Kunsthalle, Finnjävel Salonki is dark, stylish and unmistakably Nordic. Atelier Sotamaa designed everything from the furniture to the striking cutlery, including pieces that curve at the end like a devil’s tail. Even the chairs have a horn-like silhouette, while the lighting throws Finnjävel’s distinctive logo onto the walls.

Drinks: One optional course deserves special mention: ‘bread and buttermilk’, available for an extra €9. Take it, especially if you’ve never dared try piimä, Finland’s cultured buttermilk drink. Finnjävel makes its own, naturally, and whisks it smooth in front of you, so there are no alarming lumps to contend with. Drinking buttermilk in a Michelin-starred restaurant feels pleasingly ritualistic.

Food: There’s a shorter five-course menu (€108) and a longer eight-course menu (€138). Our full meal stretched to four hours, so I’d be tempted to choose the five-course version and add the bread and buttermilk plus läskisoossi when it’s available. The extra courses on the eight-course menu didn’t add quite enough to justify the additional time.

Time Out tip: Next door to Michelin-starred Finnjävel Salonki is its more casual sibling, Finnjävel Sali, which serves lunch as well as dinner.