N showed up and we strolled out, eliciting an accusation from the barista to the effect of luring ladies out of his establishment with bottles of wine. We walked through the super-pleasant evening to M’s place where a [totally licit] supperclub was going down.
Now, I’ve heard of these dinner parties, back in the bk they were the new word on the street, or the word under the street as it were. Articles were written in a wide sweep of anonymity and often involved dumpster-diving foodies though not always. These are usually donations-only deals so that they can’t be considered a real restaurant, sometimes in a backyard, or a secret location—an abandoned factory, a storefront, a rooftop. With or without permission I couldn’t tell you. The point was the bringing together of a random group of people who shared a common love of food, city, and company, most of them strangers, all willing to meet and chat with each other, especially over little shared vino.
In the atl B and K have attended a flash-mob-styled shindig (Rogue Supper Club) in the middle of Atlantic Station, an Underground Mkt caters (now aboveground) to snacking foodies, and Urban Cannibals was recently hosting a sunday night supperclub centered around the same principles. This backyard dinner though, was going to be wonderful.
The chef, M, has a commercial kitchen in half his house as he also works as a caterer, the backyard has a fairly new pavilion and picnic tables. No alcohol is served but corkscrews are available. The appearance of the cops (“a neighbor complained” they said) caused a few hearts to stop, but they nosed around for a bit, asked a few questions, and I THINK it is going to be ok. M and C seem quite on the up and up but you know, there is almost always a way to find something to get them for, a loophole through which they’ll have to desist (and then where will N get his Thursday night dinner?!). Dinner, yes, was served at last (really it wasn’t that long) and was still good despite the distraction during cooking time: cheesy flatbread, chicken pieces, and cream puffs which I always love. Though i have to admit here that they were custardy, not my favorite cream-filled kind a la Fortunato Brothers back in the bk (ah… Fortunato Brothers no one makes em like you do!). the wine, the company, the cool evening, combined to make me feel a little silly, and a lot like myself. The next morning the cool evening had worn off and though I am pretty sure I did not even drink my share of those 2 bottles of wine I sure felt like it—which is just as it should be (: