Samphire & sea fennel
We walk the tide line when the season allows. If the rocks are bare, we do not buy a substitute from a crate.
HouseShore
The shore
A kitchen that keeps the tide’s hours.
Rock shelves, a small landing, and water that turns glass in the late afternoon. We walk the tide line for samphire and sea fennel when the season allows.
Tide line
Sauces stay thin. The fish should taste like itself.
Lemon is charred, not boiled into a glaze. Chili is pickled in house and used with a light hand. If a boat is late, that fish is not on the board.
Herbs come from a plot behind the oven. Sea fennel comes off the rocks when the season allows. Salt is finished on the plate.
The board follows the sea
Calm water, or a rough day.
Tap to see how the kitchen answers the weather. We would rather change the meal than serve a tired fillet.
The water turns glass in the late afternoon. Whole fish of the morning goes on olive wood. Sea bream is cut raw with charred lemon. Sea fennel, when we can walk it, sits on the plate with the oil.
On a rough sea day the board leans toward coals: tomatoes, squid, and bread. The grill still runs. The boats do not decide a printed menu overnight.
The wall
The promenade is public. Our terrace starts at the stone.
The promenade is public. Our terrace starts at the low limestone wall. If you are walking from Holon, the bus drops two streets up. On a windy evening we seat the inner row first.
We would rather change the meal than serve a tired fillet.
What we walk for
Three things the tide decides.
Nothing here is a printed garnish. If the rocks are empty, the plate is too.
Charred lemon
Lemon is charred, not boiled into a glaze. Chili is pickled in house and used with a light hand.
The inner row
On a windy evening we seat the inner row first. Say so when you write and we will not put you on the spray line.
