Open 7am till whenever
The room people mean when they say they liked it here. Cushions on the floor, a guitar that belongs to nobody, and someone always making chai at the wrong hour.
The kitchen
There's no table service and no one is going to hand you a menu card. You walk up, you say what you want, and it arrives when it arrives. Usually that's fifteen minutes. On a Sunday in June it's longer, and it's still worth it.
The cook has been here since before the second floor existed. Ask him what's good rather than reading the board — the answer changes with whatever came up from the market that morning.
Kitchen opens
Last order
Cheapest plate
A rough idea
It changes. This is the part that mostly doesn't.
Vegan and gluten-free versions of most things — say so when you order
From the terrace
The valley does not stay the same colour for long.
From 7pm, weather permitting
Someone lights it once the sun drops behind the ridge, and it stays lit until the last person goes up. Bring something to sit on if the benches are taken. Guitars appear on their own.
For when it rains, which it does
Carrom, a chess set missing one bishop, three packs of cards, and a table that gets used for other things. Next door to the hut, so nobody has to go out in it.
Roughly weekly
Sign-up sheet on the counter. No sound check, no pressure.
The oven only makes sense if we make twenty. So we make twenty.
Down to the strip at five, back before it gets cold.
Projector, a bedsheet, and whatever the room votes for.
Leaves at 4:30 if four people sign up the night before.
The hut is open to anyone who walks up the hill. Book a table for a group of six or more so the kitchen knows.