A self-consciously avant-garde Romanian restaurant in the Old Centre, named after a 1942 essay by the philosopher Emil Cioran. The interior is whitewashed and bare — exposed beams, wooden planks, a single oil painting — and the menu is short and seasonal, focused on Romanian peasant ingredients given modern dressing.
Polenta with smoked cheese curds, hare ragout, slow-cooked pork shoulder, and the bread baked in-house are all reliably good. The wine list is exclusively Romanian and well chosen. It is one of the better fine-dining options in the city and reservations are essential, especially for weekend evenings.