Emily Bridgewater enjoys an unusual gastronomic marathon at the world’s best restaurant – Noma.

The lid of the small kiln jar flipped open.

Inside there was a mound of crushed ice, on top of which furiously danced two live prawns, their grey shells like suits of armour.

But no amount of protection could save these shellfish. Dipping my fingertips into the jar, the prawns wriggled defiantly from my grip. I was determined, summoning all my courage to pluck one from its ice bed before dunking it into a thick buttery sauce. And in one bite it was gone. Nutty and surprisingly delicious.

This was just one of the extraordinary delicacies I tucked into during a mammoth meal at Copenhagen’s Noma, recently named – for the second consecutive year – the best in the world in San Pellegrino’s highly respected top 100.

Under owner and chef Rene Redzepi, Noma has put modern Nordic cuisine in the spotlight usually reserved for the refined gastronomy of, say, Paris or Tokyo. You won’t find olives, aubergines or sundried tomatoes on any of its menus. It’s strictly native nosh, much of which is foraged in local woodlands by Redzepi and his team of master chefs. That’s what makes this experience so exciting; it’s a leap into the unknown.

Fortunately, and not just for my nerves, the prawn was the only “live” dish of the meal, but none of the subsequent offerings was any less thrilling.

In fact, the prawn was merely an appetiser, one of many which arrived at our table faster than you can say “Viking invasion”.

Other delights included radishes submerged in edible soil, served in a terracotta plant pot; deep fried moss, which had a crispy texture like seaweed but with the taste of a good fried slice; and lightly pickled and smoked quails eggs, presented on hay.

Without pretension I can honestly say each mouthful was a revelation; ingredients I would have never chosen had they been presented on a menu but would now opt for again and again.

Eight canapés demolished and we were asked whether we had the appetite for the seven, or 12-course menu. In my mind there was no question, it was all or nothing. And before you baulk at the idea of 12 courses, these aren’t Harvester-sized portions. There is certainly a nod to Redzepi’s time spent at the Michelin three-star French Laundry in California, where chef Thomas Keller works on the principle that tastes deaden after three mouthfuls.

I would like to say I adhered to the same rules when the bread basket arrived, but freshly baked sourdough spread with goat’s butter or crackling-topped pig’s fat was difficult to resist. As the number one fan of salted French butter I did miss my usual poison and found the texture of the pig’s fat too cloying; I suppose had I been born into a generation that ate bread and dripping it would have been a nostalgic treat.

To accompany our 12-course feast we opted for the sommelier’s selection of wines, mainly from Northern Europe, particularly Germany and France. For non-drinkers, there are pressed juices to complement each course.

A delightfully fresh dish of pickled cucumbers with dill granita cleansed the palate and sounded a gong for the start of the meal.

Each dish, no matter how small, was accompanied by an enthusiastic explanation from one of the kitchen staff.

They are a friendly, informal bunch of young chefs who, with their tousled hair and tattoos would not look out of place on the main stage of the Glastonbury Festival.

In the same vein, the interior is rustically charming; think Arne Jacobsen chic, exposed beams and stone floors. It made a refreshing change from the stuffy chintz of some other Michelin-starred haunts. There was no army of cutlery and, in a very primal and satisfying way, we were encouraged to eat with our fingers. I am sure if I had licked my plate they wouldn’t have minded.

Forgive me for listing the dishes which followed out of sequence but the spectacle (and more plausibly the wine) has clouded my memory.

There was beef tartare topped with wood sorrel, juniper and tarragon; a perfectly roasted langoustine, parsley and oyster dipping sauce; slithers of dried scallops with Viking grains and squid ink; pickled vegetables and bone marrow; a just-poached Norwegian scallop served in its shell with horseradish cream; pike with root vegetables and caper beurre blanc; reindeer’s tongue, apples and more unpronounceable local herbs.

My particular favourite was an onion dish, a sort of deconstructed French onion soup featuring a family of delicately cooked vegetables, Swedish cheese and sago pearls – pure heaven.

The flavours are light, elegant and, while packed with flavour, don’t bulldoze your taste buds. This is seriously clever cooking using an exciting array of ingredients.

I would like to say I was too full to surge on with dessert, but in true piggy-style I was actually craving something gut-bustlingly indulgent.

The air-light carrot flavoured sponge, featuring sheep’s mousse and herbs, didn’t quite hit the spot and tasted a bit like kissing an alpine air freshener. However, the subsequent ‘cheese course’ – a dish of Norwegian brown cheese, freeze-dried blueberries and beetroot granita, was sensational, followed by coffee and petit fours.

The chocolate-coated marshmallow – Denmark’s favourite confectionary and similar to a Tunnock’s teacake – was given a makeover with the addition of creamy yogurt curd to the mallow mixture, while the toffees had to be popped out from rounds of bone having been created with sugar and bone marrow, rather than the traditional butter.

It was an extraordinary end to an extraordinary meal.