A printed menu is, in our view, a small failure. It tells the kitchen what to do, instead of the other way around. It also asks the guest to eat in November what was decided in February.
At every Fairlink house, the menu is written by hand the morning of. The chef will have walked to the market, or the fisherman's landing, or the kitchen garden, and will have come back with a list. The list becomes lunch. By dinner the list will have changed — perhaps the goan oysters did not look quite right today; perhaps the long beans from the neighbouring farm are unusually good. The menu will reflect that.
What this asks of the guest is a small surrender — the trust that what you are eating tonight is the best thing in this kitchen, this evening. In return, the meal is rarely the same twice, and it is almost always honest.
