On LILLØY, food begins long before it reaches a plate. It starts in the damp hush of the seaweed beds, in the herb garden that clings to the windward side of the island, in the quiet partnership between weather and soil.
The island offers what it can, when it can. Everything else is borrowed from nearby landscapes, carried across short stretches of water by people who know the growing seasons better than anyone. This is the foundation of the plant-based cuisine at LILLØY LINDENBERG: simple, elemental, and deeply tied to place.
Walk the gravel paths after the morning tide, and you’ll notice how much grows in seemingly impossible conditions. Tough little herbs bending just enough to survive the wind. Berries that gather their sweetness slowly under a watchful sky. And, of course, the seaweed. It moves gently with the current, a crop that requires no cultivation, only respect. For generations, coastal communities have relied on it for nourishment. Here, it returns to the table with quiet pride.
Off the rugged coast of Western Norway, the sea and sky converge around a tiny private island: LILLØY LINDENBERG.
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Guests can choose how they want to take part in this rhythm. The Island Stay is for those who enjoy self-sufficiency, where the Island Shop offers ready-to-cook ingredients curated by chef Antje de Vries: jars of preserved herbs, freshly cut kelp, broths, grains, and vegetables from nearby farms. Everything is selected so guests can cook slowly, with intention, letting the island set the pace.
Others prefer to be guided. A Private Island Chef will shape the experience for you, transforming local seaweed and seasonal produce into a thoughtful culinary journey. Plates are simple, but never plain. A sauce made from roasted kelp. A broth infused with pine. A loaf baked in the heat of the Aga stove, its crust carrying the faint scent of smoke from the open fire outside.
For those drawn to community, there is The Kelp Club, where guests, locals, and culinary wanderers gather for long suppers. It is an experience shaped by conversation as much as food. Dishes arrive without ceremony: slow-cooked roots, grilled cabbage sweetened by the flames, island gelato churned by hand. You may arrive a stranger, but by the end of the evening—whether you stay the night or return to the mainland—you’ll have shared something that feels grounded and genuine.
The flavours here are clean and close to nature. Breakfasts made from foraged herbs and warm grains. Lunches that lean into what the soil and sea allow. Dinners carried by the slow heat of the Aga stove or the open fire outside, where the smoke settles gently over every dish. Even the drinks follow the landscape: herbal teas, local coffee, crisp island aperitifs, ciders pressed in small batches, biodynamic wines chosen to match the simplicity of the food.
Step into the Botanical Library, and you’ll discover the stories behind it all. Shelves lined with old herbals and new research. Seaweed studies. Sketches of Nordic flora. It’s a reminder that the island’s cuisine is not invented—it’s remembered.
Here, at the edge of the fjord, food is a way of belonging—to the island, to the moment, and to the simple pleasure of eating what the world provides when you listen closely.
