Smoke, masaand slow agave
A dark London room where one fire and a wall of mezcal turn British produce into Mexican cooking.
The smoke gets into everything here, and you leave grateful that it did.
Three slow steps, and the smoke does the rest.
The agave roast
Every flight begins underground. We work only with palenques that still roast the agave heart in an earth pit lined with stone and ember, so the smoke is woven into the spirit rather than added to it later.
Masa at first light
Corn is nixtamalised overnight and ground on volcanic stone before service. The tortilla that reaches your table was a dry kernel at dawn, which is why it tastes of more than corn.
The mezcaleria wall
Behind the room a wall of agave rests in low amber light. We pour by the maker and the village, and we will sit with you to find the bottle that matches the night.
Agave poured by the maker, walked from soft valley espadin to wild mountain tobala.
Espadin, valley roasted
Soft and green, with a clean campfire finish. A gentle place to begin the night.
Tobala, wild mountain agave
Rare and slow grown, full of dark fruit and damp earth. Poured in small measures.
Tepeztate, twenty five year agave
Vegetal and herbal, the agave left to grow for decades before the roast. Intense and rewarding.
The maker's flight
Three pours chosen on the night, walked through from valley to mountain by the room.
Smoke and citrus highball
Espadin lengthened with grapefruit, sea salt and a breath of mezcal smoke.
Burnt agave Old Fashioned
Aged spirit, agave syrup and a charred orange peel over one slow stone of ice.
One fire, lit before the first guest.
Every service begins by lighting a single hearth. We cook over its embers until it dies down, so smoke becomes a seasoning and heat becomes a clock that keeps the whole room on its own slow time.
Glimpses from the dark
The fire is lit and the agave is poured. Pull up a chair.