A Table in the Park

At around seven, as the light in the park turns soft, your table is already waiting: white linen beneath the old trees, the Black Forest beyond and somewhere behind you, the sound of the stream.

We serve what the kitchen and cellar are most eager to share that day: bread still warm from the oven, preserves and cheese from the region, something hot beneath the cloche, and a wine grown within sight of your table.

Then we leave you to it. The evening is entirely yours: the park lays just this one table each night. If you need anything, we are only a message away.