Warm glasshouse tomatoes
Picked at six, on the plate by seven, dressed in their own leaf oil.
We cook from a glasshouse beside the pass, picking at first light and plating that same evening.
The glasshouse
We cook a few steps from where everything is grown.
Let the garden lead, and cook only what the morning gives. The kitchen wraps around a working greenhouse, so a cook can carry a crate from the beds to the pass before it has lost the cool of the morning.
Lasai grew out of a small glasshouse on a quiet hillside above Rio de Janeiro, planted long before there was ever a dining room. We learned to cook by watching what came up each week, and the kitchen still works that way. The beds are picked at first light, sorted at the pass, and turned into supper while the leaves are still cool from the morning. Nothing travels far here, and very little is left to wait overnight.
Through the year
The harvest writes the menu. We follow the beds, season by season.
Spring
Pea shoots and broad beans
The cold frames wake first. We cut tender shoots and shell the earliest beans for plates that taste of the thaw.
Summer
Tomatoes and stone fruit
The glasshouse runs hot and heavy. Vine tomatoes come in by the crate, and plums ripen against the south wall.
Autumn
Squash and late chillies
Heat lingers in the far beds. We let squash sweeten on the vine and string up the last of the chillies to dry.
Winter
Roots and bitter leaves
The kitchen leans on the cellar and the cold frame, roasting roots low and slow and dressing sharp winter greens.
All year
Herbs from the warm beds
Verbena, lovage and fennel never stop. They are cut to order, minutes before a plate leaves the pass.
Under glass
A morning in the beds, between the watering and the first crates carried in to the kitchen.
Greenhouse light
Light does most of the work
From dawn the glass holds the warmth of the day and pours it over the beds. We let that light ripen everything slowly, then add only fire, salt and a little patience at the stove.
From this morning's beds
Charred heart of cabbage
A whole young head, cooked slow over the coals until it gives.
Peas in their pods
Steamed shut and opened at the table over cultured butter.
Ember roasted beetroot
Buried in the embers, peeled at the pass, finished with aged honey.
Glasshouse herbs and curd
Tender cuttings over curd set while still warm from the morning.
The room and the rows
A kitchen that tastes of the garden it stands in.
Come and eat the morning, while it is still cool from the beds.