Hart’n’Stone
There are places where perfection isn’t ostentatious.
It’s in the air, somewhere between the first greeting from the kitchen and the last spoonful of a dessert that lingers longer than you’d expect.
The Hart’n’Stone in Hartberg is such a place – quiet, clear, focused.
A restaurant that bears its name like a credo: hard in its demands, built of stone, yet with the warmth of an open hearth.
Martin Steinkellner stands in the kitchen as if it were a resonance chamber.
He hears ingredients speak.
How a piece of celery offers resistance when it’s perfectly cooked.
How butter begins to whisper when it reaches the perfect moment.
It is this attention that makes his dishes so subtle yet so compelling.
Here, it’s not about choreographies for Instagram, but about honest craftsmanship – about what happens between patience and instinct.
The cuisine at Hart’n’Stone thrives on contrasts:
Venison Liver | Chanterelle | Currant
by Martin Steinkellner
Here, his philosophy aligns with that of Herbeus Greens:
Both believe in the invisible craftsmanship behind the visible.
In the responsibility to work where one is rooted.
In the power of short supply chains that need no marketing because their taste speaks for itself.
And in a regionality that doesn’t operate with borders, but with relationships – between earth and plate, between producer and chef, between kitchen and guest.
When you stand at the bar at Hart’n’Stone in the evening and the light falls on the stone walls, you feel that nothing here is staged.
It is the calm of a team that trusts each other.
The concentration of a chef who prefers to refine a dish rather than talk about it.
And the quiet knowledge: If you let the product take center stage, you don’t need grand words.
