Where fire meets the living dough
A kitchen is defined by what it lets in. Ours lets in plants, fire, a living culture and nothing else.
Four hundred degrees of memory
Clay and Guanacaste firewood: the oldest technology in the Americas is still the best. Clay holds heat the way earth holds water, and gives it back evenly, no spikes, no cold spots. Ninety seconds inside and the flatbread comes out sealed, with the charred edge no electric oven knows how to fake.
Four gestures, one whole night
Rice, sorghum, tapioca, potato and psyllium. Six minutes of paddle in the mixer: no kneading here, because there is no gluten to wake up. The structure is woven by the psyllium alone, gelling with the water.
A portion of the living starter, cultured on rice and sorghum, goes into the bowl instead of yeast. Then the cold room: all night, slowly. Acidity and depth are earned in hours, not shortcuts.
In the morning, scale in hand: 250 grams per piece, pressed into the 45×22 oval. Oiled hands, no two alike. Each flatbread takes the shape it wants to take.
Ninety seconds on the clay at 400°C. The dough that slept all night wakes up at once: bubbles, charred edge, and that sour, toasted aroma only real fermentation gives.
Gluten has never walked in
It is not a menu option: it is the whole kitchen. There is no wheat flour in the building, so there is nothing to separate, no utensil to mix up, no trace to chase.
If you are celiac or have specific questions, ask us anything: we know every ingredient in this kitchen by first and last name.
Before the first fire, every tool in this kitchen spent one night in the waters of Ditkevi lagoon, atop Chirripó. Whatever is cooked here, is cooked with that upon it.
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