There’s a moment in the kitchen when an idea becomes a dish. It starts quietly, usually with a single ingredient. For this plate, it was watermelon. The team had been tasting different melons that day, looking for something crisp enough to hold its shape but sweet enough to matter on the plate. When the watermelon hit the board, the idea came quickly: give it more depth, give it aroma, give it character.

So we soaked it in vermouth.
Not enough to overpower it. Just enough to let a soft botanical note rise out of the fruit. The watermelon stayed cool and clean, but now it carried a whisper of herbs. It suddenly felt alive in a different way.

Next came the tuna. We wanted something that would contrast the chilled watermelon without fighting it. The tuna only needed a quick kiss of heat to build a light crust while keeping the center tender. Warm on cold. Silk on crisp.

From there the rest of the dish fell into place. Guacamole added a soft, creamy layer. Ginger–lemon–peppers brought a bright edge that lifted everything around it. Garlic alioli grounded the plate with richness without weighing it down. And dried corn delivered a quiet crunch at the end of each bite, the kind that makes you pause for a moment before taking the next forkful.

The dish is simple in appearance, but every part has a purpose.
Cool fruit. Warm tuna. Citrus heat. Creamy balance. A little crunch to finish.

It’s a plate you eat slowly, not because it’s heavy, but because every bite shifts slightly depending on what you pick up. It’s fresh. It’s direct. It’s honest about what it is.

And that’s why it stays on the menu.