The product of summer: the tomato, finally itself

There's the January tomato, pale and rushed. And there's the July one: heavy, fragrant, brimming with sun. With us, it's the one we wait for all year long.

Seasonal cooking isn't a slogan: it's simply letting every product arrive in its own time. The open-field tomato, we barely "cook" at all — we respect it. A drizzle of oil, a pinch of salt, a fresh herb, and it's enough on its own. The rest of the time, we make it burst in an iced tomato water, we slowly confit it, we slip it raw into a plate to share.

That's the whole spirit of the house: the same product, handled with care, moving from the grocery to the table, from lunch to evening. We choose it from growers we know, not far from here — because a tomato that has travelled, you can taste it.

The best move, in summer, is often the one you don't make.

On the July menu, you'll meet it at lunch in the dish of the day, and in the evening among the plates to share — following the market. And if you want to extend it at home, the grocery has everything for a beautiful summer apéro: a fine oil, a few anchovies, a fresh cheese, a bottle that fits.

Summer is short. The season, though, doesn't wait.