Salt-baked celeriac
A whole root baked in a clay of its own leaves, carved at the pass, dressed in a dark broth drawn from its trimmings and a year of cellar onion.
A small tasting room above the Spittelberg lanes. We cook one menu a night, built the morning it is served from whatever the markets, our growers, and the season have decided to give us.
There is no à la carte and no list to choose from — only the table we have set for this particular evening.
Courses move with the week, but certain ideas stay. None of these sit on a fixed card — they are simply the kind of cooking you can expect from us.
A whole root baked in a clay of its own leaves, carved at the pass, dressed in a dark broth drawn from its trimmings and a year of cellar onion.
Alpine char from a single Styrian farm, gently cured, set in a cold buttermilk of last summer's dill with a spoon of its own roe.
Carrots roasted slowly in meadow hay until they taste of smoke and sugar, with fresh sheep's curd and a little burnt honey.
Every service begins at the market and ends at your table the same evening. Lukas Brandt and a kitchen of six build the night's courses around what arrived that morning — roots and brassicas from growers we have worked with for years, fish from the Adriatic coast, game in its short season.
It is a quiet kind of cooking. We are less interested in the spectacular plate than in the honest one: a vegetable given the time it asks for, a stock reduced until it needs nothing added, a single clear flavour held steady from the first course to the last.
Twenty-four guests, a single sitting from half past six. The whole room moves through the menu together, at the pace the kitchen sets. Plan on an unhurried three hours.
Around fourteen small courses, written that afternoon and never repeated exactly. We are glad to cook around allergies and anything you would rather not eat, given a day's notice.
A pairing of mostly Austrian and low-intervention wines, poured by the glass — or a considered alcohol-free pairing built from house ferments, teas, and pressed fruit.
We release tables four weeks ahead. The room is small and an evening often fills quickly — but we hold a few seats back for the day itself. Write to us, or book online.