I once met a surprisingly serious foodie in the tiny, hole-in-the-wall Kuuttila bar in Kallio, in Helsinki. He was a rough-edged bloke from Savo, already a few drinks in, delivering his opinions with the blunt certainty of a self-made man. At first glance, you’d have pegged him as someone whose idea of fine dining peaked at a well-fried sausage.
A few minutes into the conversation, that assumption fell apart. On his business trips, he told me, he made a point of eating at Michelin-starred restaurants around the world. One-, two- and three-star dining were all equally familiar territory, from temples of haute cuisine like Le Bernardin in New York to pilgrimage sites such as El Celler de Can Roca in Girona.
Naturally, I asked him for his favourite Michelin restaurant in Helsinki.
'Olo,' he said, without hesitation. 'They get it right.'
So Olo had to be tested. And after the visit, it’s easy to see why a chance drinking companion would single it out. The restaurant has held its Michelin star for 15 years, and it wears that distinction lightly. The interior is pared-back but elegant, warm rather than showy, with an arched wall opening towards the Market Square. Refined, yes, but never stiff.
Much of that ease comes from the front of house, led by Sam, the head waiter, who strikes the balance perfectly: attentive without hovering, professional with a glint of mischief. He reads the room instinctively and makes guests feel not just welcome, but quietly at home.
And the food? Flawless. The dishes arrive like small works of art, none more so than the tiny hors d’oeuvre: a miniature wagyu tartare, so finely detailed it makes you briefly wonder whether reading glasses might be required. But flavour is never sacrificed at the altar of appearance. Taste remains firmly in charge.
The tasting menu runs to around nine courses, each one distinct yet in conversation with the next. No dish steps on another’s toes or repeats the same idea. Textures and flavours shift constantly, keeping the meal in motion. Sauces are poured at the table, always restrained, never aggressive. This is not food that aims to knock you out. It seduces.
At just the right moment, the menu turns playful. A humble bread course steals the spotlight, served as a dish in its own right. Breaking and sharing it feels almost biblical. Alongside comes an outstanding cold-smoked reindeer: soft, gently oily, melting on the tongue. Charcuterie at its highest level.
The evening unfolds like a well-paced play, one compelling scene following another
As with any great Michelin restaurant, the evening unfolds like a well-paced play, one compelling scene following another. The script holds, the direction is tight, and there are no dead moments.
Everything was excellent, but the undisputed star of the night was a seared scallop. Cooked just right – deeply caramelised on the outside, almost sashimi-like within – it was the kind of dish that recalibrates your understanding of what a scallop is supposed to be. Only after eating it do you realise you’ve never quite understood it before.
The dish has become something of an Olo classic, and long may it stay in the menu. On its own, it’s reason enough to return again and again – like checking in on an old friend, or an ex-lover you see only occasionally, but whose presence still sparks something unmistakable.
The drinks, naturally, crown the meal. The petit pairing is the smart choice, offering a full tour of the beverage programme in smaller pours. Even then, it feels generous, whether you opt for wines or the thoughtfully constructed non-alcoholic alternatives.
As the evening draws to a close, there’s a faint reluctance to let it end. One last ceremony remains: dessert. A large trolley is rolled to the table. You can choose. Or you can take everything. The neighbouring table recommends the latter. They’re right.
And as for the guy in that small bar in Kallio: if we ever meet again, thank you for pointing me towards Olo. The drinks are on me.