DINING
One kitchen, two tables, and a third arrangement that is simply your own terrace.
THE ROOM
One long table and a few small ones, a rammed-earth wall on one side and glass on the other. The menu is short because the morning decided it.

Breakfast is the long meal here. It starts before the sun clears the rim, for the people going out, and it is still going at ten for the people who are not. Nobody is handed a card to choose from; the kitchen sends what the morning called for.
Lunch is kept deliberately small — a plate by the pool, or a packed one in your bag — because dinner is the event of the day, and the walk back up out of the wash is steeper than it looks from the top.
Dinner moves with the season. In the warm months it happens outside at the fire terrace, late, once the rock has finished giving back the heat it took. In winter it comes indoors, and the terrace becomes the place you go afterwards with a blanket to look up.

PRIVATE
The same kitchen, carried to your courtyard or your terrace, at whatever hour suits the day you have had.

AFTER DUSK
Coals, a short list of things cooked over them, and chairs turned outward. Blankets over the arms once the sun has gone.