Cancellation policy.

Look. We love you. We do. But we need to talk about cancellations, because every empty seat you booked and abandoned is a small tragedy with our name on it. We bought the fish. We prepped the fish. The fish was ready for you. Where were you.

So here are the rules, and we are saying them through gritted teeth and a warm smile. Cancel a normal table? Fine. Just tell us with a bit of notice — same-day is fine, ten minutes before is bold, and silence is the thing that makes the kitchen stare into the middle distance. A quick message and all is forgiven. We're not monsters. We're just emotional.

Big parties — that's anything over a dozen hungry souls — are a different beast. We block the room, we order extra, we mentally prepare for joy. If you cancel one of those last-minute, or pull the legendary no-show, expect to lose your deposit, because somewhere a perfectly good grouper gave its life for a table that never arrived. We will not let it have died in vain.

Running late? Tell us. We'll hold your table for a reasonable while and pour you something when you stumble in apologising. Ghost us entirely and the table goes to someone who wants the fire-side seat — possibly someone walking past right now, looking hungry and trustworthy.

That's it. Cancel kindly, cancel early, and we stay friends. Cancel cruelly, and the only one truly punished is the fish.

With love, mild rage, and a great deal of leftover seafood,the haus.