The top is one continuous teak slab, pulled at the stacks by selectors with thirty years of judgment, then kiln-dried twenty days so its moving is done before the first cut. Our designers set the base back from the bark line; an artisan planes it, sands through five grits, and oils it. That oil wants a fresh coat each year — a ten-minute rag job, not a refinisher's.
Consoles are the piece most often faked — a photo of grain glued over a hollow core that sounds wrong when you tap it. This one weighs what a tree weighs, takes two people to place, and arrives finished: no diagram, no leftover screw. The daily launch gets a headquarters, and the bark line becomes the first thing the house shows anyone.