Wood-fired British-Mediterranean cooking, by candlelight.

Fed on Monday, baked at four each afternoon in the oven’s first heat.

Pairs with a well-chilled fino sherry.

Blistered on the hot stone, dressed warm so the cream melts into them.

Pairs with Vermentino di Gallura from Sardinia.

Charred until the outer leaves crackle, then softened at the hearth’s edge.

Pairs with Albariño from Rías Baixas.

Cooked on one side only, on a cast-iron plate at furnace heat.

Pairs with an English Bacchus from Sussex.

Aged 35 days, rested in embers and carved at the table.

Pairs with a Rioja Reserva.

Cooked whole over oak coals with fennel in the belly. The skin blisters, the flesh stays milky.

Pairs with Assyrtiko from Santorini.

Charred hard, roasted soft, set in a romesco we make every morning.

Pairs with an orange wine from the Veneto.

Brined overnight with chilli and lemon peel, roasted until the skin turns glassy.

Pairs with a dry Provence rosé.

Rolled each morning. The ragu spends eight unhurried hours at the back of the oven.

Pairs with Nero d’Avola from Sicily.

Wild mushrooms and tarragon, finished in butter that smells like toast.

Pairs with a Loire Chenin Blanc.

Blackened on the coals, peeled by hand, dressed while still warm.

Pairs with a crisp Cava Brut.

Cut by hand, cooked twice, tossed in rosemary salt from the pots by the kitchen door.

Pairs with an ice-cold lager, honestly.

Burnt on purpose at the oven’s hottest spot, where the caramel flavour lives.

Pairs with Moscato d’Asti.

Grassy olive oil, soaked in lemon syrup while still warm from the oven.

Pairs with a glass of Pedro Ximénez.

Silky, bitter, just salty enough. Best eaten slowly, with a very small spoon.

Pairs with a ruby port.

Wrapped in foil in the embers until they slump. The crumble goes on last.

Pairs with an amontillado sherry.