The open kitchen
There is no pass and no curtain. Every motion happens at the counter, so the cooking has to be honest from the first cut to the last spoon.
A kitchen for twenty seats, run in the open from the first cut to the last spoon.
One grass-fed animal a week, read whole, with a place found for all of it.
One herd of dairy, milk in and whey back out, so the loop never breaks.
We keep the menu short so the sourcing can stay honest.
Cook in the open, source in a circle, and let the season set the pace. We keep the menu short so the sourcing can stay honest.
Everything that reaches the counter passes in front of you first. A cut is read for what it can become, a trim is set aside for stock, and the fat is rendered for the candle on the bench. Less arrives at the room, so more of it is used.
The counter, in three acts.
There is no pass and no back of house. The whole of the cooking happens at the counter, so each step has to hold up in the open.
There is no pass and no curtain. Every motion happens at the counter, so the cooking has to be honest from the first cut to the last spoon.
We take a single grass-fed cow each week and find a place for all of it. The prime cuts reach the counter; the rest becomes broth, fat, and the stock that carries next week.
Milk from one herd returns as butter, fresh curd, and aged whey. Nothing leaves the loop, and the whey we draw off feeds the ferments behind the counter.
The sourcing ledger
Six lines feed the counter, and every plate can be traced back to one of them. Nothing arrives without a name attached.
A single grass-fed cow from one farm in Iwate, taken whole and butchered at the bench.
Milk from one Tohoku herd, churned to butter and set to curd, with the whey kept back.
Leaves, herbs, and the hives that sit on the building directly above the counter.
Day boats out of Sagami Bay, what the lines bring rather than what the order asks.
Roots and brassicas from two growers who farm without spray within a morning's drive.
Vinegars, kojis, and lacto brines built from yesterday's trim and the dairy whey.
The hearth is lit once and tended all night. Heat becomes time, ash becomes seasoning, and the wood is the same orchard prunings that would otherwise be burned for nothing.
From the counter
You watch the whole animal become dinner, and somehow nothing about it feels like a performance.
A seat at the counter is held the moment you are ready.