A small Haitian kitchen and herbal tonic bar. We cook one thing a day, slowly, the way it was taught.
A neighbour walked in, asked for a sardine sandwich, and posted it. By Saturday we had a line down Washington Ave. We almost ran out of bread.
— The week we became a bank run, March 2025
Earth Shine started as a herbal tonic bar — bitter roots, soursop leaf, fresh ginger, things our grandmothers handed down. The food came later, because the tonic asked for something to sit beside.
Everything we make begins with a plant. Some are pulled the same morning from a farm upstate. Some travel further. None of it is fast.
Taste the tonic →Four dishes we cook every week, plus whatever Maryse felt like making that morning. The menu changes. The intent does not.
Tinned sardines from the Atlantic, soft butter, pickled scotch bonnet, a fistful of cilantro, country bread we get from the bakery on Bergen.
A warm cereal that sustains. Coconut milk, toasted millet, charred pumpkin, soft herbs. The bowl we eat ourselves before service starts.
Eight hours of bone, root vegetable, plantain, thyme. Served with a thick crust on the side. The dish that tells you it is November.
Ackee fruit, callaloo leaf, scotch bonnet, a fried egg if you ask. The plate that gets argued about in the kitchen the most. We have not settled.
Above the kitchen there is a small dining room with five tables, two windows, and a wooden ceiling that creaks when somebody upstairs laughs too hard.
We open it at six. We close it when the last plate is finished. No reservations. Walk up the stairs.
I grew up in Jacmel. The kitchen was three women and a stove. We did not call it a restaurant. We called it Kombit — what you do when the work is too big for one pair of hands.
Earth Shine is the same idea, smaller, on a different block. If you sit down here, you are part of it for as long as the plate lasts.
— Maryse
We feed weddings, wakes, birthdays, and small celebrations that need a kitchen behind them. Write to us — hello@earthshine.bk.