June 30, 2015 — it was the first day of sunshine in Copenhagen and my first in the city. A bright sunny day calls for celebrations in all of Scandinavia, and Copenhagen was making the most of it. The entire city was outdoors. I decided to do the same.

It took me just five minutes to check-in and deposit my bags at Hotel Absalon, in the central area of Vesterbro. I followed a quaint cobbled street down the harbour nearby. The itinerary decreed a boat cruise at 5.30pm but I had a pilgrimage to make before that. It was the high temple of patisserie — La Glace, established in 1870 and famous for its layered cakes. It is here that I came to the instantaneous conclusion that if Denmark has a national food, it is cream. Light, frothy and fresh, cream is used in various forms to elevate its cuisine.

There are 40 masterpieces on the menu but my tummy could take in only three: Rubinsteinslagkage, named after the pianist, was a package of rum mousse, whipped cream, hazelnut and chocolate éclairs; Othellolagkage was custard, macarons, chocolate icing and butter cream; and HC Andersen combines lemon mousse, nut sponge, raspberry butter and white chocolate.

The harbour cruise, which followed the pastry binge, was a delightful way of taking in Copenhagen’s architectural highlights. But people-watching is always more interesting — on both sides of canals were hundreds of locals drinking wine, beer or coffee, and munching on takeaway food. In July and August, the insides of all restaurants in the city are deserted. The buzz shifts to the tables outside.

Even I wanted my share of al fresco delight. My choice for dinner was one of the oldest restaurants in town — Nyhavns Ferry Inn. I tried to visualise sailors of yore as I ordered the traditional rye bread with beef carpaccio, fish roe with sour cream and dill, and succulent baby lamb chops with a green sauce.

The next few days were also full of food, punctuated by activities that helped build my appetite — a cycle tour of the city, a visit to the impressive National Museum and Viking Museum at Roskilde, a stroll along Stroget, the pedestrians-only shopping street and so on. The next culinary temple I visited was Schønnemann, the Mecca of the Danish open sandwich or smørrebrød . Piled on a silver tray was a colourful variety of rye bread sandwiches, topped with crumbed plaice, gravadlax salmon, Greenland shrimp, smoked eel, roast beef and duck, pickled spicy herring. The sandwiches came with generous dollops of cream cheese or mayonnaise, lettuce, potatoes, mustard and dill. The toppings get more creative for Christmas lunches and dinners. Local beer and ales do a great job of washing it all down. My smørrebrød session ended with a summer special — plump strawberries and cream, with meringues for crunch.

The Danes love seasonal produce, unlike many countries in Europe. Strawberries, rhubarb, cherries, myriad berries and tender asparagus appeared at the table in many avatars. I lost count of the strawberry and rhubarb trifles, fresh berry tarts and spears of asparagus in herb butter that found their way into my system. The seafood was equally fresh — the shrimp was juicy and sweet, the white halibut smelled of the salty sea breeze, and the salmon was melt-in-the-mouth. Knowing that I couldn’t carry back any of the fresh produce, I consoled myself with cheeses and the Danish sausage or pølse . The purchases followed several helpings of the Nordic hot dog — pølse served in a baguette with pickled cucumber and mustard.

At the world’s second oldest amusement park — Tivoli Gardens, which opened in 1843 — I booked a meal at Brdr Price, a fine dining restaurant bang in the middle of the fairytale setting of castles, towers and turrets, a mini Taj Mahal and a rollercoaster that is 100 years old. Brdr Price owes its name to two brothers who hail from a family of circus owners. The meal began with a leek and asparagus tart, served with dry Chablis. Up next: Pan-fried plaice served with caper-butter sauce and cranberries. The wine this time was a Bourgogne (Burgundy). Dessert was crêpes with apricot and whipped cream. Butter, cream — the leitmotifs of this gourmet opera.

I spent my last evening in Copenhagen to what I had started considering my backyard: Vesterbro, the original meat-packing district. As with many cities across the world, Copenhagen’s warehouses and factories are now swish bars and restaurants.

I chose to dine at Kul, known for its contemporary food that is mostly chargrilled. The man in charge is Chef Henrik Jyrk, who takes pride in his global fusion menu. I sampled the trout roe with yuzu pear and wasabi vinaigrette, Iberico ham with octopus tempura, and lamb chops with charred pimento.

Tearing myself away from the buzzing square was tough but there were only a few hours of sleep before the flight back home. If the waiting list at Noma, legendary for its New Nordic cuisine, moves sans hiccups, my next trip to Copenhagen is only two years away.

Sheema Mookherjee writes on food, travel and is currently based in Gurgaon, Kanha

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