One animal. One ranch. 18 months of preparation before a single plate is served.
The rancher raises it. The chef cooks it over live fire from property wood. The bladesmith forges the utensils from its bones. The cheesemaker ages a wheel with its rennet. The leather worker binds the book in its hide.
Nothing is wasted. Everything is accounted for — consumed, transformed, or returned to the soil.
Ten guests. The artisans sit at the table as peers. An empty eleventh chair.
The menu cannot exist in any other month on any other land. Nothing repeats. Nothing like it.