About
Thirty seats, no more
We chose thirty covers — not more, not fewer — so the kitchen can actually cook what arrived this week. When you run a fixed menu at scale, you chase consistency. When you cook for thirty, you chase what's good right now. That's the whole point.
It means we're full most nights and there's a wait sometimes. It also means the roast on Sunday tastes like Sunday's roast, not Tuesday's mise en place cooked five times over. The constraints are the thing.
Built around the growers
We work with three farms within a few miles — Blackwood's tomatoes and stone fruit, Riverend for greens and roots, and Brightside's herbs and edibles. We don't ask them what they have; we ask what's coming. They tell us what's about to peak, and we build the menu around it.
That's not a marketing story. It's why the food tastes like it does. A tomato that was picked this morning tastes nothing like one that travelled. The same herb bed that fed last week's dish tastes different two weeks on. We change the menu because the ingredients changed, not because we got bored.
When something doesn't arrive — a frost, a glut elsewhere — we adapt. That's the deal with working close to the land. And honestly, it's more interesting than running the same dish twice.
The rhythm of the week
Monday & Tuesday
Wednesday to Friday
Friday lunch
Sunday roast
A neighbourhood table
We're here for regulars who know the bar by name, for couples booking a quiet corner, and for people walking past who want a seat by the window. The wine list is short — small producers, mostly natural or minimal-intervention, things we actually want to drink. The bread is warm, the napkins are linen, and nobody will rush you.
We're open Wednesday to Sunday. Monday and Tuesday we're closed and the kitchen is ours. Book a table if you want certainty, or come at 5.30 on any open night and ask if there's a place at the bar. There usually is.