The rooms
One house, nine rooms, and no staff.
Every room answers a part of the same evening: who is coming, what they cannot eat, what the oven will really do, what is already in the cellar, and what you will write down afterwards so the next dinner is calmer than this one.
Room 01
The Service Plan
The room the house was built for. Enter the number of guests, the hour you want to sit down, what you can actually cook on, and what you want to cook. The house returns a timed back-of-house sheet: what starts when, what holds, what cannot hold, what needs the oven and the minute it frees, and the last ten minutes before serve.
- One oven, one hob and a single fridge shelf, planned around honestly
- The dishes that cannot wait, named as such
- A sheet you can print and pin up
Room 02
The Guest Ledger
Every guest, their constraints in their own words, what they were served, the date, and what they said. Before a new menu the house reads the ledger and tells you what it sees: a repeat, a conflict, the guest who has had the chicken twice.
- Allergy, intolerance, dislike, diet and religious restriction kept apart
- What each guest was served, and how it landed
- One standing line: this is a memory aid, not a safety guarantee
Room 03
The House Book
The moat. Every dish cooked, the date, who sat at the table, what worked, what failed, what the oven actually did against what the dial said, and the bottle that was opened. Searchable, because memory is demonstrated, not displayed.
- The oven's real behaviour, recorded against the dial
- Your own photograph of the plate, taken before it went cold
- A memory the house opens a conversation with, once
Room 04
The Cellar
You enter your own bottles: style, region, producer if you know it, vintage only if you typed it, how many, and which shelf. Pairing is recommended by weight, acid and texture, from what is already in the house. Empty slots suggest a style to buy, never a product.
- Structure, not scores
- What you own, not what a shop wants to sell you
- No invented vintages, no quoted points
Room 05
The Family Recipe Vault
Your own recipes: typed, photographed, or pasted exactly as they appear on the card. The house standardises the weights, the order of the method and the timings, scales them, and cook-checks them against what you have. Provenance is yours; the house never invents it.
- The original card, kept as it was
- A standardised version you can cook from
- Heir seats, so it does not leave with the kitchen
Room 06
Rescue
It split. It over-salted. It is dry. It is forty minutes late and they are at the door. Short, decisive answers, each one starting with the most likely cause. Text only — the house cannot see your pan, and says so.
- The first cause to check, before the fourth
- What to do now, and what to say at the table
- No reassurance that is not earned
Room 07
The Substitution Court
Ask what happens if you swap X for Y and get an honest verdict: what improves, what changes, what breaks, and whether to do it at all. A court, not a suggestion box.
- A verdict in three parts
- The swaps that quietly ruin a dish, named
- A record of what you changed and how it went
Room 08
The Menu Card
A printable card for the table and a matching back-of-house sheet for the kitchen. Typographic, not decorative: the courses, the date, and nothing that needs explaining.
- One card for the table, one sheet for the pass
- Type set by the house, in the house palette
- The member watermark, on every copy
Room 09
The Academy
Three levels — Solo, Couples, The Salon — for cooking for guests rather than for a photograph. Evergreen lessons, citable, in the same five voices, refusing what they cannot do.
- Ordering the work before the shopping
- The ten minutes before service, rehearsed
- Cooking for a table that is not yours
The house is AI, and says so on every screen. It cannot see, smell or taste.
Take a seat at the table