A year of the fire: what each season does to the board

One fire, four restaurants. The hearth never changes, but what it cooks turns over so completely each quarter that a January regular and a July regular would describe two different rooms. Here is the year as the board tells it.

Spring: the burn and the lake

Morels come off the old burn above town and go straight over coals; there is no better use of April. The char run their coldest and firmest. Everything green is small, bitter, and perfect against drippings toast. Spring is short here, and the board treats it like a guest who cannot stay.

Summer: the bench opens its hand

Ostler Creek sets the pace: beans, herbs, the first tomatoes dried over the dying fire. The patio takes half the covers and the flatbreads never stop. Summer is the only season the fire plays a supporting role, and it sulks beautifully.

Fall: waxwing season

The orchards hand over everything at once, the waxwings arrive to take their row, and the board goes amber: wood-oven fruit, the last corn charred in the husk, the spit running long. Smokefall, the hour, happens earlier every evening, until it happens during service, which is the point of the name.

Winter: embers and the cellar

The preserves crocks come upstairs. The beef from Ironbell does its best work braised in the dark end of the hearth. Fridays and Saturdays stretch past ten into embers hours, skewers and amaro for the ski crowd off the hill road. The fire is the town's second stove all winter, and we like it that way.