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As we head back to Brooklyn, back to Aska, Berselius tells me that, “Every day is its own day. You start from scratch each time. You can have a good day or a bad day, but every plate of food you put out, it’s gone.” In that sense, cooking is like any kind of performance, all of the work and effort and energy that Berselius and his talented crew exert no longer belong to the artist once they are released to the world. And the success of the work is always contingent on the perception of the audience. At Aska, the stage is an open kitchen where you can see Berselius plating perfect herring and pearl-like potatoes before sending it all out to the people gathered in the 18-seat dining room, perched under a mural of a descending bird-of-prey. Both the public and critical reception for Aska has been overwhelmingly warm and positive. A dinner reservation is highly coveted and hard to come by, but there is usually room to sit at the long bar, so anyone can come in from Wythe Avenue and linger over a Warm Swedish Punsch and some Scandinavian bar food.