After moving to Finland, I somehow stopped having the kind of barbecue I used to know in China. The last time I really felt I was "doing barbecue" was probably a year ago, by the seaside. Last Saturday, I finally gave in and invited a few good friends. Three families, six adults, three kids, and one baby later, we had our first proper barbecue at Teurastamo in Helsinki.
In Finland, gathering ten people for one activity already feels like a small event.
In Finland, barbecue itself is nothing special. Parks and forests often have free public grills, and some even provide firewood. If you want, you can really just show up and start grilling.
Open from 9 a.m. to 10 p.m., completely free - just bring your own charcoal.
For Finns, that is normal life: a few sausages, some bread, ketchup, maybe a coffee after that, and the whole thing is basically done in ten minutes.
Finnish barbecue style is a lot like Finnish life: simple, low-key, and not trying too hard.
Our version is a completely different story. Marinate the meat, chop the vegetables, skewer everything, then check whether the seasonings are actually in the cupboard or whether you still need to run to the Asian supermarket. That is why a barbecue for us always feels like a real event.
That day, everyone gathered at our place first, and then we walked about ten minutes to Teurastamo. The place itself is interesting. Built in 1933, it used to be Helsinki's main slaughterhouse. After it shut down in 1992, it sat empty for years before being turned into something much softer: a shared kitchen, hangout space, and public barbecue area. The red brick walls, iron gates, and tall chimneys are still there, so the place keeps its industrial edge. It reminds me a little of Shanghai's 1933 Old Millfun.
When we arrived, it started raining for a moment. Then it stopped just as quickly, leaving a heavy layer of clouds overhead. We had carried back two big bags of charcoal from the nearby supermarket, so once the fire started, the whole scene slowly came alive: flames rising, charcoal cracking, smoke drifting into the air.
We had a real "chef" in the group. You could tell just by the way he approached the fire.
The six adults naturally split into jobs: one person stayed by the grill turning skewers, one handled fruit and vegetables, one kept adding charcoal, and one kept fanning the fire so it would not die out. Nearby, a Finnish family was doing barbecue in the fastest possible way: sausages, patties, coffee, done. The contrast was hard to miss. Our three kids ran around on the grass, and the baby just lay there quietly, watching the scene as if she had come to supervise.
Yimo stayed quietly in the stroller while the kids came over to look at her.
The most interesting part was a foreigner nearby who saw our setup and came over to chat. He even helped us add charcoal and fan the fire. It was a small thing, but those are the moments when cultural distance feels very thin.
The friendly foreigner tried helping in front of our "chef" - a little awkward, but very earnest.
The smell of grilled meat, the kids shouting around the grass, the friends helping each other, and a stranger stopping by to lend a hand - all of that mixed together. For a while, it really did not feel like we were far from home.
Not bad. It almost looks professional.
We even brought oysters this time, which felt a bit excessive in a good way.
There was nothing fancy about the setup and nothing complicated about the plan. The rain had just cleared. The fire was warm. Someone kept fanning the charcoal so it wouldn't die, one of the kids knocked over a drink, the baby lay quietly in her stroller watching the smoke drift up.
That was it. Nothing more. And somehow that combination was enough.
I like this candid shot a lot. It is calm without being stiff.
If you are ever in Helsinki and someone invites you to one of these free public barbecues, say yes. It takes five minutes to figure out the grill and then you have the rest of the afternoon.
I put a lot of thought into this post—would love to hear your thoughts!