17:30 until late
Orme is forty-two seats on Grove Lane, one wood oven, and a menu rewritten every Tuesday around what the growers and boats bring in.
The room was a printers' workshop for sixty years. We took the walls back to brick, kept the draught, and built the fire into the middle of the floor where it can be seen from every table.
There is no music above a murmur and no dish travels further than four metres from the oven. The menu is short on purpose: eleven things on a good night, seven on a bad one. What arrives is whole, cooked hard, and seasoned properly.
Cook what the week gives you, then say so plainly on the page.
“We keep one fire and change the menu when the market changes. That is the entire idea.”
Service starts at five thirty and ends when the last table leaves. Nothing is plated before it is ordered, which is why the turbot takes twenty-five minutes and why we would rather you knew that in advance.
We buy whole animals and whole fish, cook on the bone, and keep a ledger of what each grower sent and when. On the rare night we run out, we say so and pour you something from the counter.
Shot on film by a regular, unposed, in the hour before the doors open. Nothing here has been lit for a camera.
Send a request and we will confirm by email within two hours during opening times. For same-day tables, telephone — the bar keeps six seats back from six o'clock.