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You will find plenty of restaurants in the quaint UNESCO-protected old town of Tallinn that serve what they term as authentic or traditional cuisine.

Dishes range from Ahjus Küpsetatud Karuliha (stewed bear) to Külmroog (Baltic herring) and the very tasty Sea Suitsuvorst (smoked pork sausage). This selection demonstrates Estonian cuisine’s status as a gorgeously nuanced palimpsest of influence and adaptation.

Bear dishes come from a northern forestland tradition common across Russia, Finland and Sweden. Pickled or cured Baltic herring owes more to Scandinavian preservation techniques picked up during centuries of trade within the Hanseatic League than to a uniquely Estonian gastronomic history. And the smoked pork sausage is robustly Germanic.

The old city caters admirably for an increasing number of tourists. But if you want something a little bit more interesting, you’ll need to head to the sea.

The former industrial harbour area of Noblessner became a gastronomic hub over the last decade. The name is a hybrid of the surnames of Emanuel Nobel (nephew of Alfred) and Arthur Lessner, who founded the Russian Empire’s flagship submarine factory in 1912. Part of what was once that factory is now dedicated to cuisine, although you can still see some wartime ephemera saved for character.

In another of the collective’s restaurants, the Asian cuisine-inspired UMA next door, you can dine beneath the ceiling-mounted rails from a century ago, as well as navigate your way via the colour-coded tiles that workers used when the factory was open to avoid falling submarine parts.

“In 2011, we started off with farm-to-table. And we were really taking this very seriously,” admits Kristjan Peäske, co-founder of Lore Bistro on the portside in Noblessner. The engaging sommelier and restaurateur appears to have raced nobly into sustainable cuisine at his first restaurant, ‘Lieb’ (black bread), and then, seeing those parameters juxtaposed with the longevity of his outlet, right out the other side. Agriculture in a climate like Tallinn’s, at nearly 60° north, may only provide limited local ingredients for an upmarket dining menu.

“We even felt a bit embarrassed if we wanted to use lemons. We said we need to use local apples, for example. This path for us was about 10 years, and as time went on, we felt like it was very difficult for us to be creative with the narrative we made for ourselves. And also, we felt a bit bored of what were doing. We do still take good pride in what is locally grown, but at the same time, we felt like if we’re not having fun anymore, there will be a point when our guests will not have fun either. So actually, although the restaurant was very successful financially, we decided to close it.”

While the pandemic led many hospitality operations into closure, the return of a former sous chef due to COVID led to a fortuitous meeting between Peäske and the partner she brought back with her to Tallinn, Hiroaki Takeda. He had been working in the fermentation team at Copenhagen’s Noma and was keen to bring his ideas to Peäske’s Estonian projects.

“We said we still want local to be central, but you can do whatever you want to combine that with your experience. And we are not that much into ethos anymore, so if you want to bring something from wherever in the world you want to enhance our local flavours, you’re more than welcome to do so,” explains Peäske, taking a seat opposite the welcoming fireplace flanked by spinach-green tiles.

Thus, much like its post-Pagan history, the colours of others began to be superimposed onto Estonia’s cuisine.

Black Bread and Fur Coats

But what are the staple elements of Estonia’s gastronomic history?

“It starts with a bit of black bread. For example, when I was a kid, when it fell onto the floor, you were supposed to kiss it and put it back,” he explains. “That’s how seriously it was taken, because not respecting your bread, we had this strong belief, would mean you ended up starving.”

“How we got all the nutrients into our body was a thing called kama. Kama pretty much is mixed flour, and you have there everything from wheat, barley, to peas,” Peäske continues. “So now you have this flour, and then you put it together historically with sour milk due to the bacteria in it being good for gut health, but today you’d use kefir. Fish and meat were only really for celebrations if we’re speaking historically, but the longtime German influence make pork and sauerkraut a staple.”

Goat cheese cream, trout roe and beef tartare are the three small plates in Lore’s showcase and the first of them, Peäske admits, has no original source. Accompanied by pickled grapes, caramelised walnuts, and pomegranate, the cream is surprisingly bright.

The second dish, trout roe with charred potato, egg, mustard stems, mayonnaise, and herbs, does have a story.

“It’s inspired by a dish called “Kasukas”, meaning “fur coat”. It’s all about having layers and comes from Slavic culture where you have layers of beetroot, egg, and herring, and you have your sour cream, and your mayo in between these layers. Historically, you wouldn’t have made it with fish roe, but potatoes is essence in Estonia, so they’re still in there. We made the mayo with mustard seeds to give it more punch, and instead of herring, we are using trout roe.”

Estonia is very proud of its new potatoes as they grow slowly in these conditions, taking their time to reach perfection, but out of season, chefs have to use a bit of flair to give them character, such as the charred example here at Lore, or give them more depth through fermentation.

The roe, which is provided in abundance, gives an exciting pop. Eating here is relaxed, fun and heartily recommended.

Finally, grass-fed beef tartare with sesame seed cream, hazelnuts, Jerusalem artichoke and asian-style dressing is very much without borders, but at the same time gives a nod to the virtues of sourcing locally.

“If the beef comes from South America, then they take down part of the Amazon to get the grassland, but also they need room to grow the grain to feed the animals. I agree you get a great flavour, but the process has been environmentally traumatic,” Peäske outlines.

“In Estonia, we have historic, natural grasslands that are protected by the EU, and have cattle that eat only grass, and because of the life cycle of the cattle farming process there, many elements offset the carbon footprint, leading, according to some studies, to a positive carbon impact.”

180°

Carbon impact may concern many visionary chefs, as exemplified by the burgeoning number of Michelin Green Stars across Europe, but it’s not central to everyone’s philosophy.

After making the one-minute journey along the harbour periphery, we find an entire menu of dishes without borders, as superstar German chef Matthias Diether’s restaurant 180° showcases a complete 180° deviation from the espousal of a farm-to-fork mentality.

“When you have it, then I would use it, but I don’t have it,” says Diether, sipping his customary glass of energising champagne before service begins. “I don’t need to feel bad because I’m not looking at this as a priority.”

“I think all the chefs are a little bit fetishistic about the products,” Diether goes on. “You want to have the best products, the freshest products. I don’t care if it’s from here, it’s local, or it’s from France, or it’s from Belgium, or it’s from Holland. I just order them and I want only the best of the best.”

I was tempted to ask about the potatoes that his neighbour Kristjan Peäske was celebrating earlier, but I didn’t have to.

“With vegetables, it’s different. It’s fantastic,” he enthuses. “During the long, long daytime with the light, it’s fantastic. Fruit, vegetables, and dairy products, that’s all really good here.

Colourful history

As a native German, Diether is aware of the Teutonic influence on Estonia as well as other historical influences.

“What is Estonian food? Estonia was every time coloured by somewhere else. It never was free. It was the Russians, was the Germans, was the Danish. Occupied,” he explains. “But what I present is actually the modern, the modern cuisine. Why Estonia is modern. Estonia is very, very young, as a country, and that fits with what I do.”

What we do find at this stunning two Michelin star institution, perhaps surprisingly, is a paring down. Clear lines of interior design reflect the chef’s self-confessed gear change towards an increased simplicity in the kitchen. 

“Too many flavours before,” he laments. “Now we have three ingredients per course only.”

While Diether goes off to lead his team in the evening service, I am directed to another wing of the restaurant by Maître d’ Tom, who moved back to Tallinn from the UK a year ago and is the epitome of friendly assurance. 

Low-fi beats fill the tasteful lounge area, and a flaming centrepiece warms the chocolate and cream tones. 

Snacks arrive.

Sturgeon and potato borscht is first, and I’m given a pretty mottled German-made spoon to aid my discovery. On top is the tiniest potato soufflé. The flavours are warm and smoky with an almost hickory hint. These warning shots prepare me for very exact, delicate cooking.

Liquid nitrogen chives and crème Fraiche pearls top a mimolette cheesecake. I manage to extract the tiniest pearl on its own to ravish in secret. It is more full of flavour than I could ever have expected. A cheese and oxtail combination beneath is an example of haute cuisine’s ability to refer to comfort food while adding elevation and design. 

Diether’s expertise in the French school is immediately apparent. The potato consommé is packed with flavour, and I suspect I will be having to find synonyms for that all evening. 

Foie gras with hazelnut is sandwiched between tiny German waffles, and a tomato marshmallow with Comte is both cute and powerful. 

Walking through into the main room, one is immediately struck by the size of the windows and the vast seascape beyond. The open kitchen echoes the spacious feel. Starters on the left, pastry at the top, mains on the right, and Matthias Diether conducting proceedings. A headmaster and a jolly uncle in one.

He watches the sous chef cook the Normandy scallops with a steady eye. They work quietly and efficiently with the occasional burst of instruction. It’s truly clinical, but in no way is it cold.

Kevin, the sommelier, is immediately engaging and pitches the chat perfectly.

A flamethrower comes out for the buttered scallop on a base of pickled cucumber, kimchi ice cream (wow) and dashi jus with coriander oil. Daikon cooked in brown butter, compressed radish in coriander oil and fermented radish complete the picture. Three protagonists, scallop – radish – kimchi, but artistry and nuance all over them.

It’s a banging first course with a classic wine choice with a freshness that stands up to the umami notes in the dashi juice. Chablis.

It’s 7 pm and still light. Through the enormous wall of windows, I see the late rays of light coat the harbour walls as the blue Baltic dapples its way into evening. 

Fish, veal and naughtiness

The next dish presents two perhaps unlikely bedfellows: Sea bass and Calf’s head.

Behold, sea bass mousseline with artichoke and basil on top in an oxtail consommé featuring veal head to provide the requisite “naughtiness,” says Diether.

Again, warm and punchy flavours – just a river of soft loveliness coursing through the mouth. This is beginning to represent the best food I’ve ever eaten.

The character of sea bass is fully present, and the calf head is as naughty as it gets. There’s veal cheek here in little pieces, too. I suspect this would usually be paired with a red, maybe a Gamay, but sommelier Kev has made a bold and brilliant choice.

The Godello is very full-bodied and oak-aged, which helps support the calf’s head ragu while still matching credibly with the sea bass due to its fruit.

The nose is smoke, toffee apple and, oddly, banana. The palate is fat, yet acidic and full of autolytic notes. It even responds to the herbs. A fully-realised pairing that you should all come to Tallinn for. Germany’s loss is Estonia’s gain.

A smoked eel dish with goose liver and rhubarb goes some way to demonstrate how the chef gets such powerful flavours. The foie gras terrine is marinated for three days in different alcohol reductions, including cognac; the jelly is preserved with Perigord truffle, and the eel tartare is seasoned with light vinegar and shallots.

And the rhubarb mousse is pleasingly rhubarb-shaped. Truffle jam sits between goose liver and smoked eel parfait and the whole piece sits in a soup of red cabbage, calvados and apple.

Simplicity here is in the concentration of star flavours, not in the preparation or design. The heartiness of the powerful eel is given an injection of neon by the almost celestial brightness of the beetroot and apple soup, like a sweet and savory ice cream in its texture and fruitiness. I’ve never had anything like it.

Running like clockwork

At 8 pm, the sky is light purple and the sea takes on a metallic tint.

The people-moving here is a lesson in ergonomics, where the lounge acts as a holding bay for later reservations to avoid any hint of congestion. “You never should have to panic,” says Diether. “If you panic, you make mistakes.”

The next plate has me running out of superlatives. Immaculately seared pigeon is soft and juicy. The salted morel and marinated cherry make it sing. I don’t want this dish to end, so I sit back between mouthfuls to drag it out. Profound cooking.

Standing up to this wonderful dish is a special wine from Bodega Chacra in Patagonia. The estate was founded in 1999 by Piero Incisa della Rocchetta, a member of the family who created the famous ‘super-Tuscan’ wine, Sassicaia.

Kevin pairs the pigeon with their Barda cuvée made from Pinot Noir. It’s only 12.5% but has so much flavour, partly due to lower yields. A vibrant redcurrant, cranberry and blackberry nose translates to the finish with an added minerality.  

The chef’s table is quite a calming experience. Like watching clockwork through a macro lens.

A hagiography of beef and onion follows, accompanied by a 2018 Brunello di Montalcino. Graphite and iodine, cherries, resin, charred wood, and smoke. Spatzle on the side situates this firmly in Diether’s old hunting ground.

For dessert, we have a variation on the famous Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte, or Black Forest Gateau.

Chocolate with cherry compote and vanilla ganache. A super-reduced cherry sauce and popcorn made from milk and cream in liquid nitrogen make up the melange.  

The dish was created in collaboration with celebrated patissier Kay Baumgardt, whom pastry chef Lisa described as a mentor. The cherry reduction is blinding. Concentration of flavour once again.

Industry crisis?

From one of the ten seats at the open kitchen counter, all you see is beauty, space, precision, light and satisfaction. But the global context brings an unwanted flavour to proceedings. This is the only 2-star restaurant in the Baltic, but even this place is feeling the pinch in 2025.

“We’re going through a very tough time. This is a real challenge for the whole hospitality industry,” Diether admits. “Cost of living crisis; how the work/life balance of the employees is changing. This time last year, I was any night of the week with 40 or 50 covers. And now it’s struggling. It’s half.”

Despite Tallinn’s international tourism being very much on the up, the impact of the pandemic has seen people move from the city to less expensive accommodation in more rural areas. Not only that but rising food costs and a general increase in living costs can lessen the number of consumers comfortable with the top-end price point

Does that spell the end of fine dining, I ask him?

A cheeky smile and a chuckle. “No, no, no,” he waves it off. “Fine dining never ends.”