Course II of XII
Oyster, warmed over the coals
brine · ember · chili
A tasting counter of twelve seats
CINDER
twelve courses. one element.
The Counter
Twelve seats. One hearth.
Nothing between you and the fire.
CINDER seats twelve each evening at a single charred-oak counter. Every course is finished within arm's reach, over a wood fire that is lit at dawn and read all day like weather. There is no gas line in the building.
Course IV of XII
Coal-roasted langoustine
coal · butter · lemon
Course VII of XII
Squab over grapevine embers
vine · honey · plum
Course IX of XII
Wagyu, seconds over binchotan
binchotan · molasses · marrow
Course XI of XII
Birch-ember crème
birch · cream · burn
The Full Carte
Twelve courses. One element.
The menu turns with the woodpile — birch weeks are sweeter, oak weeks are patient, grapevine weeks bite. This is the carte as the fire currently allows it.
- IHearth breadblistered rye flatbread, brown-butter drippings, ash salt
- IIOyster, warmed over the coalsfermented-chili butter, sea lettuce
- IIICedar brothconsommé of fire-roasted bones, smoked over cedar at the pass
- IVCoal-roasted langoustinesmoked beurre blanc, charred lemon
- VLeek heartsburied in embers overnight, cured yolk, toasted hazelnut
- VIEmber beetsalt-crust beet from the coal bed, elderberry, whey caramel
- VIISquab over grapevine embersburnt honey, black plum
- VIIIBurnt lemoncharred-lemon ice, juniper smoke — a pause
- IXWagyu zabutonseconds over binchotan, black-garlic molasses, marrow butter
- XRaclette, scorchedunder the fire iron, rye crumb, ember jam
- XIBirch-ember crèmeburnt custard, birch syrup, torched meringue
- XIICinderchocolate coal, cinder toffee, smoked caramel — the last candle is blown out
Courses marked in ember are photographed above. Twelve courses, two hours and a half. Dietaries are welcome with notice; the fire is less flexible about vegetarians on squab weeks, but it has been negotiated with before.
Fire Notes
The man who cooks with weather
Ilmar Kask has not turned on a stove in eleven years. There is none to turn on: when he took the lease, the first thing he removed was the gas line.
He reads wood the way sommeliers read vintages. Birch burns sweet and fast and is for mornings and desserts; oak holds an even temper for hours and does the patient work; grapevine is violent, brief, and reserved for the squab. The coals are raked into districts — white ash for warming, orange for roasting, a black-red seam at the back he calls the anvil.
«Gas is a promise. Fire is a negotiation. Twelve people watch you lose an argument with it every night — that honesty is the entire restaurant.»
The menu is written each morning after the woodpile is inspected, and never before. What survives the inspection is what you will eat that night.
Reservations
The book is written in pencil.
Twelve chairs, a short list of names. Leave yours — when a seat opens in your month, we write to you. Nothing is charged today; the fire makes no guarantees.