Klaras Table came about somewhat by chance. I've always needed a creative outlet, and for many years I thought music was what I was meant to do. When I moved away from home to attend a music-focused upper secondary school, I got a job in the restaurant industry, and even then, something clicked.

Cooking and writing music have more in common than you might think. I discovered that applying the same approaches I already knew actually worked.

Flavour, aesthetics and a longing for beauty had always been there. I just needed to find the right medium.

I've worked in restaurants, learnt my craft by watching and working alongside others, and over time discovered that my approach to aesthetics works particularly well with cakes.

While a highly aesthetic approach can feel forced in a savoury dish, cakes are a very natural place for it. With a cake, you can go completely over the top with certain elements and leave others out, and somehow it all becomes harmonious.

It's felt like learning to speak a language. And the more I speak it, the more fluent I become. Today, I work at the intersection of food, design and aesthetics.

I'm endlessly drawn to figs. I think they're incredibly beautiful, almost alien-like fruits. I love how versatile they are. You can eat them with cheese, use them to decorate a cake or enjoy them for breakfast.

I return to them again and again in my work, come across them in literature and have fortunately discovered fig trees dotted around the city, in people's back gardens, where I've been permitted to help myself.

For me, it's important to create a table that invites people to stay a little longer. A place where conversation flows naturally when it wants to, but where silence never feels uncomfortable either.

The best way to achieve that is through beautiful, calm surroundings. Flowers, candles, a beautiful tablecloth. Making an effort without it feeling forced.

When it comes to food, I think about aesthetics, soul and the overall experience. My worst nightmare is a cake with four different mousses, jelly on top and crunchy elements incorporated everywhere, all in an attempt to show just how much you can squeeze into the smallest possible space.

Let the ingredients speak for themselves. Take a fig, for example, and treat it with respect for its shape, flavour and texture. Pair it with just a few genuinely good components that work together, like a quiet conversation.

The same goes for presentation. Materials, colours and shapes should complement the food and create a sense of harmony, without anything competing for attention.

This is the fun part. For me, composing a dish is very much like composing music. What feels right in the mouth? How do we create a sense of cohesion? What am I trying to communicate?

My process is very intuitive. Sometimes I almost go into a trance, working my way through flavours, shapes and textures. It's playful, and I don't necessarily know where I'll end up when I begin. I let my hands do their thing.

But it's also important to step back and evaluate. Sometimes I can tell in a split second that something works. Other times, it feels completely off. I've learnt to trust that intuition. I often know the moment I step back and see everything as a whole.

I'm interested in what ingredients can offer on their own. I'd rather work with them than overpower them. If a fig is ripe and tastes incredible, it doesn't necessarily need much help.

For me, it's about finding the balance between intuition and craftsmanship. Flavour and aesthetics are inseparable. One cannot exist without the other. You can't make a beautiful cake that tastes terrible. Everything has to work together.