Dining at Herbfarm requires serious commitments: dinner lasts approximately four hours, includes nine courses, and costs a pretty penny. The space is cozy, with a sort of grandmother’s-cottage kind of feel: think overstuffed, vintage chairs in zany, mismatched patterns. Communal dining tables are covered with dark green and gold tablecloths.

There is a farm here; herbs grown on-site contribute to each meal. Menus change weekly and have very cohesive themes, some of which can be literal (like “A Banquet of Basil” in which many of the dishes feature the titular herb), but most of which are nice snapshots of the seasons (“A Menu for an Autumn Sketchbook” may be a delightful blur of squash, squab, currants, and spiced apple). Wine pairings are excellent, plucked from Herbfarm’s larger-than-life list. Winos can dive in and play around a bit, making their own selections from the list.

Dinner starts with a walk in the garden, and after you’re seated, there is an (awkwardly formal) explanation of the dishes, with words from the chef, the sommelier, the resident field mice...Herbfarm kind of overdoes everything, and the delicate tableware and autumnal sketching can start to feel like a bit much. Or actually, much. Not just a bit. But it’s truly an unique experience.

Or is it? Several chefs have cribbed the Herbfarm’s moves to great effect: Art of the Table does a short pre-meal run-down, and the Corson Building offers garden meandering and communal dining. And both are a lot cheaper.