Things Are More Than ok ok: A Conversation with Léonie & Linnéa
"I don't live in a world where the guest is always right,” Léonie tells me, sitting back in a velveteen-upholstered chair in Gunnarsons pastry shop on Götgatan. It's not the seat I had originally picked out for us. I was sitting at a marble table when the co-owners of ok ok restaurant, Léonie and Linnéa, walked in to meet me. It’s Léonie who immediately points to a booth across the room and says, “I want to sit at that one. It’s got soft backing and brings me joy.” She isn’t wrong – it is immediately more comfortable.
Léonie asks me what I want to snack on, and when I say nothing, she shrugs and says, “Well, I’m going to get you something anyway.” Already, I’m introduced to her defiant attitude and unyielding generosity. It quickly becomes apparent that she’s a natural raconteur and hospitality’s proud polemicist. Linnéa, on the other hand, is noticeably more reserved. An artist by nature (with a bachelor’s in ceramics), Linnéa’s power lies in her observant disposition and deep-thinking demeanour. Despite being co-owners, both women steer their own ships: Léonie leads the kitchen, and Linnéa runs the floor.
In addition to the tongue-twisting alliteration of their names – Léonie Lilla and Linnéa Lilla – the two women stand out in a crowd. Linnéa’s dollface is shaped by baby bangs, a signature winged eyeliner and bleached strawberry-blonde hair (a change from its usual bright orange shade). Covered in tattoos that stretch along her neck, Léonie is instantly recognisable with her unruly grey curls and a strong Canadian accent – an audio marker of her time spent in Toronto. “I was born and raised in Lausanne, Switzerland,” she tells me. “My father is of Italian origin, but my mum is Swiss. I've lived in many countries, one of which is Canada.” Léonie made the move to Stockholm eight years ago after a decade-long stint working as a chef in Toronto. “I've always had this strange fascination with Sweden. The image from outside is very utopic,” she says. Despite initially living further north in Luleå, she met Linnéa – a Stockholmer since birth. “I was born not far from here, just down the street actually,” Linnéa adds.
A fishmonger’s daughter, Linnéa inadvertently grew up in her father Lennart’s shop, Gärdets Fisk och Deli. You only need to look at Linnéa’s Instagram to see her proclivity and penchant for seafood – something she attributes to her upbringing. “I've never been a picky eater,” she says. “I was very obsessed with food, even as a child.” The latter comment leads us to a segue of anecdotal tales from Linnéa’s childhood – eagerly spurred on and encouraged by Léonie. “Please tell her the cookbook story! I fucking love this story so much,” she says, grinning.
Léonie sits back and gives Linnéa the floor. “I don't know how old I was, maybe seven or eight, but one of the things that I wished for on my birthday was this cookbook with Indian food,” Linnéa recounts. “I used to lick the pages in it because I thought it looked so good!” She moves onto an even earlier memory, one that occurred in kindergarten. “I told everyone that I wanted pineapples as a birthday gift...like canned pineapples. So, a lot of my friends showed up with them! It’s pretty funny,” she says. “If you know Linnéa, this is not strange. It totally fits her character!” Léonie chimes in.
“One of the things that I wished for on my birthday was this cookbook with Indian food. I used to lick the pages in it because I thought it looked so good!”
The backdrop of Linnéa’s childhood is the heart of our story. Standing in her father’s place on Värtavägen 27, within the very same brick and mortar, is ok ok– the restaurant she now runs with her wife. “The first time I actually met Lennart was in the fish shop,” Léonie says. “I had a meal with him sitting in the kitchen where I'm cooking now, which is really weird.” Running a small, independent business is a grueling feat for anybody. Tenfold if you’re doing it alone. Between taking orders, bagging up salmon and preparing daily dishes, it started to become too much for Lennart. In early 2021, he approached Léonie and together they decided to venture into a restaurant that focused on something entirely new. “It was never complicated with Lennart. I don't think the man can even make things complicated,” Léonie says. After a 15-year tenancy, Lennart eventually stepped down and passed the baton over to Linnéa and Léonie. Despite it being a new generation, and a succession in legacy, you’d be dammed to think Lennart the fishmonger was forgotten that easily. Far from it. “It’s been five years and there are still people calling for the fish shop,” Linnéa says.
There is a homage to Lennart not just in the loyalty of customers, but in the way both women aim to serve them: wittily, honestly, and with no nonsense. “He’s this warm character. Both funny and nice. Right away he’d ask you what team you're cheering for in football, and depending on your answer, you might not get service from him,” Léonie chortles. His pride and joy resided in his regulars. A man who knew a lot of people, and in return, was known himself. “Those in the area really appreciated him, because he was fun to talk to,” Linnéa tells me.
As the undercurrent of their business ethos, the couple continues to keep their community torch lit. "I think that people are starting to get really attracted to smaller places like ours because they get more personalized service,” Léonie says. “They are dealing with two owners, so they’re almost never faced with someone who doesn't know them.” Likening it to the theme song of the '80s sitcom Cheers, Léonie is no stranger to small-town living. "I did my apprenticeship in a small town,” she tells me. “When it's not ski season, the population goes down by 90%. From the police chief to the butcher, everyone knows each other.” There is an effortlessness to Léonie and Linnéa’s attentiveness – an invisible nota bene system that goes unnoticed but never unappreciated. “We seem to have two different ways of recognizing people,” Léonie says. “I'll remember what allergy they had; Linnéa will remember what cider they enjoyed.”
I’m intrigued by the origins of the name, to which Léonie gives me this response: “ok ok is universal. Wherever you are in the world, you can say ok and people will understand it. I also lived in Southeast Asia, where a lot of things get repeated twice, one of which is 'ok ok.'” It’s fitting then that the menu follows suit with its Asian influence. Reservations guide the preparations, meaning nearly everything is made fresh on the day. Publicized as a restaurant that trades in “cider, food, and bad jokes”, I can’t help but feel like ok ok sells itself short. It’s so much more than that. The best way to eat at ok ok is with an open mind. At least, that’s how I approached it when I went to dine there a few days later.
“Ok Ok is universal. Wherever you are in the world, you can say ok and people will understand it.”
They’re not lying. The restaurant is small – an exclusive 22-seat space, to be exact. Down the stairs and lined along the counter sits a motley collection of ciders, ranging from hazy brews to bright berry blends. Service is in full swing; I get a quick thumbs-up from Léonie and a smile from Linnéa. The red glow from the neon sign casts a romantic light over its patrons, flooding the restaurant with a subdued rock aesthetic. Candles burn on tables and bulbs hang low from the ceiling. A whole wall is dedicated to comic strips, whilst another showcases Linnéa’s artwork – a red thread that's traceable from the restaurant's drawings and merch to their ceramic bowls and plates. Here, her artistry takes on new forms.
The menu is compact but complex. The short selection of things they do offer, they do well. This is what we order: thin beef soaked in a fish sauce vinaigrette, snack cucumbers laid on a bed of cashew labneh, the best crispy potatoes I’ve ever consumed, a plate of fried chicken marinated in a sticky soy sauce, a citrusy house-special salad, and lastly the beloved vegan rice gnocchi, updated in a garlicy green almond cream sauce. Besides their rendition of the Basque cheesecake (more on that later), the gnocchi is a signature dish that’s caused quite a stir. “It used to be with gochujang sauce... and they all cried like big babies when I changed it,” Léonie tells me. “Then they tried it and were like, 'Holy fuck, it's even better than the last one!'” The acclaim doesn’t end there. “I once had a guy offer me a large payment for the recipe because he wanted to have it at his wedding... I was like, 'Dude, no.' One day I'll make it public though, because I do think it's one of the best dishes I've ever made.”
For all her renegade attitude, Léonie is deeply concerned with perception. If there’s one thing she wants her food to be known for, it’s an unwavering commitment to consistency. “I think that one thing my regulars can say throughout the last five years is that ok ok has been consistent. That's my pride and joy,” she says. While she appreciates super-structured dishes and elaborate food (“I never hope for that to disappear”), she prefers to strip everything down. That means rarely having microgreens. “Everything that's on the plate should ideally have a purpose and be eaten. If I do have a microgreen, it's because I truly believe that it will enhance a dish in the right way.” When I ask her how to describe her food, she says "honest." Why? “Because the product is honest. I'm charging you an honest price for honest work.”
The sentiment of honest, hard work has been at the core of our conversation. Neither Linnéa nor Léonie are shy to share their exhaustion or admit the gruelling reality of running a small business. “It’s not a sprint. It's not a walk. It's a marathon,” Léonie says. Following their recent opening of Eat Your Feelings – a summer kiosk in Nytorget selling soft-serve and cheesecake – the couple tells me that they’re desperate for a vacation. A recent post they shared on Instagram during the summer garnered particular social praise. It was a selfie of them both with the caption ‘Closed for a mental health day’. “We had no reservations and we were both almost in tears,” Léonie tells me. “We were like, ‘Nah, fuck this, let's go and have a steak for lunch and a bottle of wine.’”
Maybe it’s because we’re all starved of authenticity that we appreciate this un-glossed version of reality. Give us the grit and grime. “It gets very psychologically tiresome just being the two of us,” Léonie tells me. “Any time we've gone through difficult times, if it’s restaurant-related, it soon becomes a hard time in the relationship too.” “One doesn't go without the other,” Linnéa adds. “One week I'm like, ‘This is the best thing I've ever experienced in my life. It is such a high to know that the person that I'm relying on is 100% with me.’ And then other weeks, it’s just pure fucking rage. It's waves – there's no other way to put it,” Léonie says. As they describe the hardships and the pressures that come with working together, they’re incredibly retrospective about their achievements too. “It can't be normal that a couple stays through this kind of shit. We're solid. I'm a fan of us,” Léonie adds.
The effort of their hard work shows when you dine at ok ok. As we feast on the fruits of their labours, I can’t help but be in awe of their dynamic and delivery. Their movements in and out of the kitchen, back and forth from tables, are like synchronised dancers who’ve rehearsed a thousand times. One minute they’re having clipped exchanges, and the next they’re sniggering at an inside joke – the way you only can with the person you love. They don’t pander their guests, and yet, perversely, they’re loved and respected even more for it. I overhear them tell a girl she’s got great cow-print pants in the same vein as they scold a man when he admits to never leaving Södermalm to try other places.
At this point, I’m two glasses deep and six dishes down. While Linnéa is busy setting up for a late seven-person walk-in, Léonie brings us our dessert: a crispy banana with chocolate, nuts, and ice cream, alongside a smetana burnt cheesecake served with an apple wine compote. Léonie tells me she once had someone ask her if she was from Basque Country after having tried the cheesecake. “And they were Spanish! I can die happy now,” she says. As we scarpetta the last morsels from the plate with our fingers, I feel deeply satisfied and oddly looked after. I stretch and purr, like a tabby cat who’s just had its belly rubbed.
After we say our thanks and leave, I’m reminded of a conversation I had with Léonie and Linnéa in the pastry shop those few days ago. They told me that people come to ok ok and express how it’s the best meal they’ve ever had in Stockholm. “I'm not exaggerating,” Léonie declares. “They say, ‘This place is so special and unique. How come I've never heard about it before? This is a hidden gem!’” Her response is absolute: “Please stop gatekeeping us! We don’t want to be a hidden gem! Tell your friends: it's just a gem.” I get my phone out and text my friends a glowing review.
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Värtavägen 27, 115 29 Stockholm