Bird is a trendy cocktail and listening bar in Frederiksberg, a historical, self-respecting neighbourhood of Copenhagen.

The bar was recommended to me by an award-winning martini aficionado and resident of this beautiful city as the place most likely to serve a good martini.

Given his skills and experience I would trust him if he told me that the best martini was to be found strapped to a post shortly before execution by the Nazis – from the above scene shown to me earlier at the fascinating Museum of Danish Resistance.

Thankfully his recommendation was infinitely nicer, and I made my way to bird.

I didn’t even need to consult the online reviews.

The Venue

It’s located on the spacious Gammel Kongevej with a small entrance as wide as the venue itself. I didn’t book a place but I’m just one person, so booking ahead is recommended. It was busy when I arrived and it remained busy, presumably long after I left.

The venue is über trendy but relaxed and friendly. Someone was reading Sylvia Plath at the bar which was either a personal statement or a really strong reinforcement of the stereotype that the Nordics are a gloomy people. He definitely seemed like an outlier though because every other aspect of the venue exuded relaxed fun and the sort of excellence that requires extreme professional commitment to appear effortless.

The seating is minimal but comfortable, while the overall layout is like a sushi bar, but without the formality. The walls are decked with vinyl records and a vast array of cocktail ingredients in medicine-style bottles. It resembles a sort of mental health express treatment centre from the future, but without any connotations of a hospital. The only thing clinical was the attention to detail vis-a-vis the drinks – including the water I was served immediately on arrival.

There was a warm, soft hubbub from the bar with a vivacious, laughing vibe from the smart-comfortable Danes relaxing and catching up in the booths. The lighting is low, soft and warming. I particularly liked the long, wooden razor light over the bar area itself.

Upon arrival it was packed but I was offered a space at the top of the bar in what I will increasingly think of as “the head of the table”. Whether it’s Bird, Tata, Nobu or Bocca di Lupo this is the front row in the theatre show. I was right next to the DJ. I had a panorama of the customers, and the best bit of all: an eagles view of the bar staff working their magic.

And magic it is. Despite its easy, relaxed appearance this is a place of studied concentration. Be it rhubarb vermouth or silky drinks mixed with rice wash, this is a place too thorough to be pretentious.

Drink #1

I was asked what I wanted and I said a martini – off the books or course but I had no doubt of the abilities and catering of the hosts to deliver.

I was asked how dry I wanted it and I said “especially”. I was confirmed that it would be “in and out” which is a new euphemism I shall be deploying for vermouth ratios from now on. Essentially this is a bone dry martini, with the vermouth added to a glass, rolled around the inside, then discarded, leaving a light coating as the ratio.

It wasn’t served in a V-shaped glass but like many venues in this country, the glassware is so beautiful and delicate that I cannot bring myself to criticise any of it. Yes it is not traditional. But is it beautiful? Affirmative. Does it demonstrate that the staff care about and value their customer? Utterly.

It was dry and beautifully citrussy in a very understated but omnipresent way, like burning citronella at a house party. I saw the barman squeeze not one but two strips of lemon peel into the glass before pouring which will explain the citrus buzz. I don’t even do that for myself. Tak!

The martini itself was made with Geranium gin. It’s a Danish brand, although it’s distilled in Birmingham and bottled in London, which gave me an unexpected wave of patriotism, similar to when I was at the aforementioned museum of Danish resistance. When Britain collaborates with European partners it almost always results in high quality (I cast my political opinions openly here) and we already have Anglo-Nordic triumphs in the gin world such as Jensen and Martin Miller’s. Here’s to many more Danish-British collaborations in the future.

The botanicals of the gin are complex but the astringent citrus of the geranium is of course the leading lady. It makes a heady foundation for a martini, evoking soft summer even amid the blustery autumnal weather of the evening.

The vermouth was Sardino Blanco from Spain, made in earthenware jars with a saline touch, made to pair with seafood: eminently suitable for a martini. Bravo all round.

Drink #2

My next drink had to be the gimlet. The host recommended it, which was reason enough, but it was also intriguing by its complete lack of lime cordial, lime syrup or lime juice in any form. How could this be? The gimlet is one of the most simplistic drinks in the cocktail world. How could it be challenged so directly?

Intrigued, I dived in.

It involves the Thai-inspired Lime Leaf Gin, lime husk vermouth and yuzu sake, all noted for being both citrussy but also soft and not overly sour. If you are a fan of gimlets you have to try this. I was shocked at how it tasted like a true, classic gimlet. Moreover, this variation makes it even more like a martini than the classic gimlet because it involves no non-alcoholic mixer. Fascinating.

The Finish

If I didn’t already feel like Bird was a friendly venue, I saw clientele come in and hug members of the bar staff, then introduce their friends with kind shaking of hands and bowing of heads. I saw bar tenders conscientiously take care of customer items of property and usher them to cosy seating. This is a place of genuine warmth. I absolutely validate the word-of-mouth recommendation I received and urge you to add it to your Copenhagen to-do list.

And if you are the sort of person who rebels against the hegemony of Roses Lime Cordial in the gimlet world then make your way to Copenhagen to try this variation out.

Skål!