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Whatever the coals gave that day.
Nothing is fixed. The haul decides the morning, the fire decides the rest. Prices move with the season and the weight of the day.
The list is written each morning. Let the fire choose for you.
Nothing is fixed. The haul decides the morning, the fire decides the rest. Prices move with the season and the weight of the day.
One path through the coals, set by the morning haul. Served to the whole table.
Cow milk butter, cold smoked over oak.
Glass eels, ember oil, a breath of garlic.
One prawn, thirty seconds on the wire, sea salt.
Charred whole, its own ink, nothing more.
Cured in house, warmed at the edge of the coals.
Raw goat milk, smoke worked through the curd.
Old dairy cow, salt, oak, rest. Carved to the table.
Sheep milk set over ash, scorched to glass.
Single plates, by weight and by season. Chosen at the counter.
Bone in, basket grilled, pil pil of its own juices.
Buried in coals, peeled back to the sweet heart.
Wild gathered, iron pan, a film of smoked fat.
Warmed in the shell, salt water, ember crumb.
Sliced thin, hard sear, raw garlic, oak salt.
Onion and ramp, blackened skin, soft within.
Trout roe over warm cream, oak ash on top.
Poured by the glass or the bottle. Built for smoke and iron.
Green, salt, a sharp edge against the fat.
Field blend, ash and dark fruit, low and long.
Wild ferment, poured high, raw and bracing.
Bone dry, flor aged, salt that lifts the grill.
Sloe and anise, served cold to close the fire.
The list is written each morning. Let the fire choose for you.