Relae chef Christian Puglisi: There's nothing like a (Sicilian) Dane

To the casual observer, Sicilian-born and Denmark-raised Christian Puglisi has had a fairly meteoric rise after finishing his apprenticeship, from stagiaire at El Bulli to sous chef at Noma before starting his own restaurant, Relae, in downtown Copenhagen. He can't sit still, and refuses to be boxed in by anyone – especially himself.

Since opening his Michelin-starred Nordic fine diner in 2010, he's gone on to open casual offshoot Manfreds, and Baest, a pizza restaurant where the mozzarella is made from milk from his own small herd of jersey cows, who graze at his organic farm just out of town. Don't call Baest an Italian restaurant, though. "There's nothing in there that says it's Italian. It's more of a big f--- you to tradition, but that's how I like it," says Puglisi.

"Look at Italian food – it becomes something that you protect, rather than develop. I think to give something to the next generation we need to add something, not just pass it on. Italian cuisine will suffer in years to come if it doesn't allow itself to breathe a little bit and move things forward."

The anti-establishment vein runs deep through everything Puglisi does, and perhaps that's why he finds it so hard to be still. That said, he wants to slow down for a while. The chef is putting on the brakes, stepping back from the day-to-day running of Relae to go a little more free-range between all of his projects. "I spend most of my free time trying to figure out how to spend my time," he says. "It's good, but it also brings great responsibility. I have to spend that time right, and also keep myself sane. I need to be very conscious about what I do all the time."

Part of the reason he's stepping back is because he doesn't want to be the sort of chef who appears at their restaurant just to be seen. "Just being a guy that waves, being present for the sake of being present, makes no sense whatsoever," he says. "I cannot be everywhere, and I don't want to pretend that I am. That's really unsatisfying to say your only contribution is that you're here."

He bristles at the thought that diners need to see him in his restaurants, that the experience is dulled without a chef of his profile being visible. "Who are you to tell me where I need to be? You should sit down, eat your food, enjoy your night out, and not give a f--- about what I'm doing. How can that be such a big deal for you? If it is, I think maybe you have a wrong approach to your night."

I realised that it was an advantage that I was mixed. Because I could see things from the outside

Christian Puglisi

He also rejects the idea that restaurant lists mean anything more than a number on a page. After being named the 69th best chef in the world by one particular media outlet, he took to Instagram to vent. "It's not sports, it's not politics. It's not about votes, it's not about ratings. It's about eating, living, cooking and kicking ass," he said in his post in November last year. "There is no sense in turning the great art of gastronomy and conviviality into a constant competition for acknowledgement, rankings and likes."

Although he's been a darling of the World's 50 Best Restaurants panel (Relae received the sustainability award two years running, has been a steady performer at 45 in 2015, 40 in 2016, and 39 in 2017, until this year when they placed at 71), he doesn't care about that either. After this year's list was released, he posted: "As a great contemporary poet would put it, I got 71 problems and the list ain't one."

There's a term in Italian for a personality like Puglisi's – testa dura. It loosely translates in English as "toughnut", or "hard head". Maybe it's the internal clash between the hot Sicilian blood from his father and the cooler Scandinavian from his mother. Perhaps it's a result of being wrenched from Italy at an early age (his father, a citrus wholesaler in Sicily, went bankrupt and there was no other work for him).

It was a massive cultural shift, moving from Sicily to Denmark, and very much a defining moment for the chef. "Being an immigrant is very special – it puts you in a different mindset in many ways. I spent a lot of time thinking about it growing up, trying to understand who and what I am. I really wanted to be and feel Italian. But at some point in my mid-20s, I realised that it was an advantage that I was mixed. Because I could see things from the outside."

While his mother quickly integrated into the Danish way of life, his father put his head down and simply worked. He didn't learn to speak Danish until Puglisi had his son six years ago. "My parents represent a sacrifice. Because I've seen them work for me," he says. "For me to be in a good place and have good opportunities ... I have a great responsibility. Even though I manage my time and have that luxury, I'm not just f---ing around with it."

He says his parents have always been supportive of his choices, but also taught him to use his head and make those choices responsibly. When he decided to leave school at 16, his father told him, "If you want to quit, that's fine. But before you quit, you find a job." There was never any pressure on Puglisi to do anything but follow his own path. "I think [my father's intention was always] 'do what you want, but don't squander your time'."

It's a life lesson that's seen the 36-year-old drive his career, and his life, in a way that's authentic. It's also led him to create restaurants recognised on a world stage – whether he likes it or not. "It's what I bring with me in the food that I want to be a part of, cook and cherish, you know. I think for me, it's key," says Puglisi. "It's about being free. The idea of someone telling you what kind of passport you can have, what kind of person you are, what you should think … just provokes me."

Quickfire corner

Music to cook to: I don't do favourite things. I like blues a lot. Like, one-person guitar acoustic blues. But yeah, I guess that answers your question.

Midnight snack: Back in the day, it would have been kebabs. I've always wondered about what a lot of kebab meat actually is. Because, how do they make it in that shape?

Kitchen weapon at work: I don't know, to be honest. I think my hands. If you don't use your hands, it's not food.

Formative food moment: I remember having a thing at El Bulli that really blew my mind. They'd do this peach liqueur, freeze it with liquid nitrogen in a spoon so it was rock solid and they'd put it in a minus 45 degree freezer – everything was just f---ing extreme there – and then they would pop it into cream. It was so cold the cream would just crust around it, and then they would put it back in the freezer. And then in the freezer, the liqueur would just slowly thaw and be ice cold liquid because of the high alcohol and sugar, but the cream would stay put. It was f---ing mind-blowing, and the thought process of getting to that, you know? There's no tradition, there's just, "What if we technically go there and try that?".

Christian Puglisi visited Adelaide for Tasting Australia 2018. Myffy Rigby was a guest of Tourism South Australia.