One menu, written each morning. Read aloud at six. Served under the vine at half past seven.
What the sea offers, what the garden holds back until it's ready, what came in from the village that morning. The menu is a record of all of it.
It starts in Greece and doesn't stay there — chosen bottle by bottle, tasted before each one earns its place. It has been building for years and shows it.
The terrace seats forty, sometimes fifty when the evening calls for it. One service a night — no second turn, no hurry to finish. The table is also available for private events, arranged in advance. We close at the end of October.