Everything meets fire before it meets a plate
Lamb, root vegetables, bread and one fish when the river obliges. Written up at four, cooked until ten, no printed menu anywhere in the building.
What the grate turns out
Two people work the fire all night and neither of them uses a thermometer. Lamb goes on at five and comes off in stages, so a late table gets a different cut from an early one.
Vegetables are buried in the embers whole and dug out when they give. That takes as long as it takes, which is the honest answer to how long the wait is on a full Friday.
Bread is the only thing we make more of than we sell. Whatever is left goes out to the benches at ten with butter and salt.
To start
Bread, embers-cooked roots, pickles from the shelf behind the bar.
The main event
Lamb, carved by the piece, priced by weight.
To finish
One sticky wine, one baked thing, no more than that.
When the fire and the bar are working
Open
Open
Open
Bread, cheese and pickles