Sunday, three in the afternoon, fire on the sand

By two the coals are lit. It takes an hour for them to settle into the kind of heat that cooks a skewer without blackening it, so if you arrive at three and the grill looks quiet, that is the point.

The first things over the fire are the anticuchos. Beef rump and chicken, marinated overnight in aji panca, the smoky red Peruvian chilli that tastes of dried fruit more than heat. They cook in minutes. Then corn on the cob, turned until the kernels blister, finished with chipotle mayo and parmesan. Then whatever came off the boats that morning, whole, with lemon basil.

The shape of the afternoon

Three to five is families, swimmers, people who have walked round the island and want a plate and a juice. Five to seven the tables fill and the music comes up. The sun goes down behind Bali at around six thirty this time of year, directly in front of the beach, and for ten minutes nobody talks much. Seven to eight is the last skewers and the first round of Pomelonas.

We stop the grill at eight because it is a small island and a quiet one, and because Monday exists. The bar does not stop quite so promptly.

Sunday is the day we recommend booking. Send a WhatsApp in the morning and we will hold a table facing the water.