Drinks & Lab
We don't make a performance out of it. We make drinks.
Most of what we pour can be written in one breath: rye, sherry, citrus. Gin, vermut, salt. Rum, lime, sugar, ice. The rest lives in the timing: how long the peel sits in alcohol, which barrel the wine touched, how much the ice should give up before the glass leaves the bar.
This is Sevilla, so wine and oranges are not decoration. They carry more weight than imported bottles with complicated stories. Peel, pith, blossom, leaf. Fresh, dried, burned. You will meet them in a quiet highball, in a short drink over clear ice, in a low-alcohol spritz that somehow still has something to say. Our vermut knows three traditions: one served with siphon and olives at marble bars in narrow streets, another from barrels in rooms unchanged since the civil war, and one we make ourselves with herbs from the sierra.
The menu fits on a single card. Most nights it changes.
Behind the glass, the Lab keeps changing the base layer. Vermut that tastes like the city at dusk. Bitters that smell like stone and orange blossom. Gin where you can actually name more than one botanical. Some liquids never reach the menu. They appear in one night, in one round, then disappear.
If you want colored smoke, you're in the wrong building. If you want a drink that makes sense of the day, you're home.