Brace

Capri has always been a place of refinement. White tablecloths, seafood elegantly plated, wine lists assembled with considerable care. What it lacked, until Brace arrived, was a kitchen willing to put a live flame at the centre of its identity and trust that the island's diners were ready for something less selected. That wager has proven correct.

The wood fire dominates both the cooking and the room. Cuts of aged Italian beef arrive from the grill with the char marks that only live fire produces. The crust sealed by heat, the interior pink and resting, the simplicity of the execution conveying more skill than most elaborate preparations. Whole fish from local waters are treated with the same directness: butterflied over coals, dressed with nothing more than good olive oil and sea salt, served when the skin has colour and the flesh lifts from the bone without resistance.

The vegetable accompaniments respond to fire in their own way. Ember-roasted peppers arrive with anchovies and capers. Whole artichokes are charred until the outer leaves blacken, protecting the interior from anything other than a gentle smoke that permeates the heart. Wood-roasted tomatoes concentrate in the heat until their sweetness becomes something close to a condiment. These are not side dishes. They are arguments for a way of cooking.

For a birthday dinner, the calculation is clear. Brace has the energy that formal Capri restaurants deliberately suppress. The smell of the fire, the sound of the kitchen, the visibility of the grill. And that energy makes a celebration feel like a celebration rather than an occasion to be observed with careful restraint. Bottles of southern Italian red wine circulate with the generosity that the format demands, and the evening arrives at its natural conclusion without anyone having needed to perform.