Whole Leek in Ash
14Buried in the embers until the outside is sacrificial. Peeled at the table, brown-butter hazelnut underneath.
Fire first. Everything else second.
A wood-fire bistro with no gas line and no regrets. Everything on the board has met the flame — some of it briefly, some of it for forty-five days' worth of waiting.
Book the counterThe Board
The menu lives on one board because the kitchen lives around one fire. It changes when the market does — the heat never does.
Buried in the embers until the outside is sacrificial. Peeled at the table, brown-butter hazelnut underneath.
Three hours in oak smoke, finished on the plancha. The yoghurt is scorched on purpose. Trust us.
Thrown straight onto the coals in their shells. They open when they're ready, not before.
Blistered against the firebox wall. The drippings come from whatever's been turning over the flame that afternoon.
Pressed under a fire-warmed brick over birch coals. Skin like glass, smoke all the way to the bone.
Dry-aged in-house, cooked close to the embers and rested longer than you'd like. Salt, fire, patience. For two, technically.
Honey taken right to the edge of bitter, set over toasted rye crumb and ember-smoked cream. The fire does dessert too.
The Room
No music over the fire — the fire is the soundtrack. The best seats face the coals; the rest face the people facing the coals.


We cook with one ingredient: heat. Wood gives it, iron holds it, time shapes it. There is no dial in this kitchen — only distance from the coals, and the judgement to know it. Everything else on your plate is just something brave enough to stand near the fire.
— The kitchen at CINDER
Book
Two services a night, Wednesday through Sunday. The counter puts you an arm's length from the fire — close enough to hear it think.
Walk-ins take the bar. The fire doesn't take reservations from anyone.
Want something like this for your brand?