A restaurant with no roof, on purpose.

There is no room.

Most of Palm Beach eats indoors under air conditioning, in a box with a view of another box. We put the tables outside, on the boulevard at Paseo Herencia, and let the island do the work that a dining room usually has to fake.

The trade wind comes off the water all evening and does not stop. It is the reason you can sit outside at eight o'clock in the Caribbean and be comfortable, and it is the reason the grill smells the way it does from three tables away.

The street is not something we put up with. It is the thing we sell.

Reviews mention the noise. They are right — there is traffic, there are people, and a boulevard on a Friday in Palm Beach sounds like a boulevard on a Friday in Palm Beach. If you want silence and a tablecloth, there are three hundred restaurants on this island that will sell you those. This is not one of them.

Seven o'clock is the whole point.

The terrace faces west. Service starts at five, which means the first hour and a half of every evening is the sun going down over the water at the end of the street, and everything on the table turning the colour of the reduction.

This is not a metaphor and it is not a marketing line. Sunset in Aruba runs from about 18:17 in December to 19:06 in June, and the sky at the top of this site is computed from the real position of the sun over the restaurant right now. If it looks like golden hour on your screen, it is golden hour on the terrace.

Come as you are. Bring the dog.

No dress code, because there is no room to dress for. Children are fine. Dogs are fine, and there is water for them. The bar takes walk-ins all evening and nobody will move you along.

Sit down at nine and stay until we close. The kitchen runs until eleven and the last table is not a problem — it is the point of having a terrace instead of a seating rotation.