Dumpling that bites backel mordisco
includedA glassy steamed pocket hiding a fermented chilli oil with a genuine attitude problem. Sweet hello, furious goodbye.
- gluten
- soy
- sesame
Three menus, fifty seven dishes, zero intention of leaving you indifferent. Prices are honest, allergens are listed, surprises are guaranteed.
Our full tasting assault, written as a play in fourteen acts and served to the whole table at once. The running order is rewritten between lunch and dinner, and sometimes between courses, so no two nights hold the same script. You are not ordering a menu, you are agreeing to a plot you cannot see coming.
Signature tasting, one sitting, no negotiating Fourteen acts, 215 euros
Loud, small, and built to wake up a palate that thought it knew what was coming.
A glassy steamed pocket hiding a fermented chilli oil with a genuine attitude problem. Sweet hello, furious goodbye.
A spherified manzanilla olive that bursts into warm sherry and anchovy, looking nothing like it tastes.
The classic Basque skewer turned up loud, with guindilla, smoked anchovy, and a pickle brine that snaps.
Crisp tomato glass, frozen tomato water, garlic air, and a drift of olive oil snow over toasted brioche.
Cold, raw, and faintly hostile. The Atlantic and the Mediterranean, arguing on one plate.
Cold Galician oyster under a green apple snow and a flick of wasabi so bright it counts as a personality.
Urchin, cured egg yolk, and a black garlic caramel that flashes between salty and sweet like a strobe light.
Raw day boat scallop, yuzu, and a green chilli granita that arrives colder and ruder than anyone ordered.
A single sweet carabinero warmed for nine seconds, dressed in its own roe and a drop of fermented lime.
The middle of the riot. The grill takes over and the plates grow teeth.
Heritage tomato roasted hard, draped in burnt chilli oil and a sharp cultured cream that talks back.
Sweet corn charred until it brags about it, brown butter, and a lime leaf oil that paints the whole bowl green.
King oyster mushroom grilled black, glazed in soy and pedro ximenez, smug and dripping.
Koji rice cooked in shellfish stock, finished with a fermented lime that picks an argument with everything around it.
The course people photograph, then finish before the photo loads. Yes, it arrives mid flight.
Suckling pig glazed and suspended over a slick of fermented chilli that hums for an hour after you finish it.
Charred short rib, kimchi butter, and a smoked honey that drips onto the plate and refuses to apologise.
Line caught turbot lacquered in soy and chilli, crackling at the edges, soft and smug in the middle.
Where sugar misbehaves. Sour, salt, smoke, and heat smuggled into pudding.
Burnt white chocolate, raspberry that veers sour, and a pink peppercorn that sneaks up on the back of the throat.
Classic Spanish flan spiked with smoked caramel and a chilli salt that makes the second spoon braver than the first.
Dark chocolate cremoso, mezcal gel, and a worm salt that is exactly as wrong as it sounds and exactly as good.
Rose water ice cream under a shatter of raspberry sugar glass and a pinch of citric acid.
Dietary needs, allergies, or a sworn hatred of coriander: tell us when you book and we will plot around it.
Book the riot