Written at eleven, eaten by midnight.

Half a dozen on crushed ice, shucked to order from five. The mignonette is sharpened with verjus and a little shallot, nothing louder.

Oyster hour 17:00–19:00

Sliced thin from this morning’s line-caught hammour, dressed while you watch.

Poached, iced, and peeled at the counter. Sweet enough to need nothing; gets a little anyway.

Bint Al Bahar’s safi, smoked over palm wood and folded with laban and black lime.

Winter’s crab, folded through spiced rice and fried to a whisper. Out of season we make them with prawn and tell you so.

Braised soft, blistered on the coals, glazed with dibs from Saar farms.

Scored, salted, and cooked over the middle of the fire. Carved at the table; the cheeks go to whoever argued least.

For two

Thick-cut kingfish over high heat, with a daqqus our grill cook refuses to write down.

The house rice: loomi, whole spices, and prawns from Sitra folded in at the end so they stay sweet.

Set soft, chilled hard, finished with a sea-salt praline that has no business working this well.

Fried when you order them, not before. Worth the eight minutes.

Made to order