naked notes

 

I run an underground supper club. Yes, that is my real name on the byline. I know, I know, I am supposed to use a fake name, and use euphamisms. What kind of cool hostess lets the unwashed masses know what’s up? After all, I can’t trust you with the address until I am sure you are worthy, can I?

 

Well…guilty as charged. Decidedly uncool. Chances are, if I met you on the street and if we ended up talking about food, I would openly invite you.  And I know what you’re thinking: people still cook dinner? For other people? In their apartments?  Didn’t that go the way of key parties in the ’70s, and sundried tomatoes in the ’80s? Isn’t that something that only aging Upper East and West Siders do in their classic sixes?

 

Yes and no. Yes people still cook for others, and no, it is not solely the righteous privilege of those with real estate worth more than they paid for it in the first place. In these days of increased free time because of job loss, Fabulous Furlough Fridays and tightened wallets and belts, the home cooked dinner party is the perfect solution; one that is guaranteed to make everyone who attends closer.  And the best news of all is that if you are invited to one, you are being given an experience that cannot be had in any restaurant—even in our beloved New York City.

 

The short version is this: about five years ago my new friend Zora and I started cooking together on Sunday afternoons. We invited a few friends over for dinner. Pretty soon, the friends all wanted to invite friends, and how could we say no? After all, the more people there were, the bigger the chance that an African Dance Party would break out in the kitchen during the post dinner dishwashing. The next thing we knew, we were both broke at the end of the month, but we were having a fantastic time planning more and more complex dinners (thwarted creativity! So helpful….), and we wanted to continue. So we asked for a donation—just enough to cover costs. We asked for $15. They gave $20. And then they told more friends, and the next thing we knew…. We were running a supper club. A couple of times a month for the last five years, friends and strangers have come to a dinner party in either my home or Zora’s. It has been an amazing ride.

 

A couple of dinner parties started it all. When we started cooking there was only the Ghetto Gourmet and us. Now it seems like there are undergrounds not only all over the city, but all over the world. I just read an article in the Times Travel section about a bunch of them in Berlin. And in a roundabout way, what I think that means is that pretty soon, we will all be having regular old dinner parties again; friends and neighbors feeding each other, sitting around the table, drinking and talking, solving the world’s problems and sharing stories until late into the night. Watching the candles burn down and the wax pool about.  Laughing so hard you wake up and your side muscles hurt and you can’t even remember what you were laughing about.

 

It is funny, when you think about it, that it took restaurants becoming theatre and chefs becoming bonafide celebrities that made people want to create restaurants in their living rooms. And because that was an intimacy rarely afforded in this huge, crazy city—dining in someone’s HOME, it became very coveted. And when people started seeing how fun it was, they began to reconsider the simplicity of a home cooked meal shared with friends. Think about it—most of us grew up eating at the family dinner table. But when was the last time you dined with friends—in someone’s home? Trust me, it is restorative in ways you won’t believe until you experience it for yourself, and a very small amount of the total equation is the food part.

 

Now that you know the background, next post I will discuss some tips on what to do if someone actually does invite you to a dinner like this.

 

Category: NY Eat IN

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