Salon memorandum / craft notes

A fever dream between Sottsass and a pressed-flower apothecary.

miris.bar treats every drink as a built object: measured, assembled, numbered, then softened by scent. Coral arches hold roses. Teal semicircles cradle fern. Saffron zigzags cut through midnight burgundy like a whispered dare.

The lounge does not trade in spectacle for spectacle's sake. Its geometry is loud because the botanicals are delicate; its old-world serif voice is refined because the room itself misbehaves. The resulting cocktail language is bitter and bright, structured and fragrant.

Seven botanicals. Three spirits. One story. Each pour is a small construction site where fragrance becomes architecture.