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01

Our story

One fire, one street.

Hearth started with a borrowed oven and a stubborn idea: cook what's good this week, over wood, for the people who live nearby. The room has grown; the idea hasn't.

Hearth began in a borrowed kitchen on Maple Row in the winter of 2019, with a single wood-burning oven that the landlord swore would never pass inspection. It did, eventually. We cooked for friends first, then for the street, then for whoever the bell brought through the door.

The idea has not really changed since. We cook over fire because it makes things taste of somewhere. We write a short menu every afternoon, because the best of the market changes by the day and a long menu is a long way of saying no to freshness. And we keep the room low and warm, because dinner should feel like being let in, not seated.

Most of what we serve travels less than a hundred miles to reach the pass. The greens come from a market garden two valleys over; the fish off boats we can name; the wine from growers who farm without shortcuts. We pay fairly for it, cook it simply, and try not to get in its way.

02

What we hold to

Four things we won't rush.

03

The fire

Slower. Harder. The whole point.

We cook over wood because it makes food taste of somewhere — of smoke, of patience, of a particular evening. It's harder to control than a dial, and that friction is exactly what we're after. The fire sets the pace, and the kitchen keeps up.

04

At the pass

The people who feed you.

The diary's open

Save us a seat.

The diary opens 30 days out. Walk-ins welcome at the counter.