American Side Hustle Pt. 2: On Supper Clubs

I spent a good sum of my childhood learning to entertain.  My mother taught me the importance of aesthetic, and how to utilize those low hanging magnolia branches and blooms in coffee table arrangements.  By eight, I knew what kind of conversation to make with tennis friends, that a swimsuit was not appropriate underwear for church, and how to make just about anyone feel welcome.  But more importantly, she raised me to be smart.  She raised me to read, to chill my white wine, and to avoid my father’s friends after three neat scotches, because you’ll never really have the right rebuttal to a pat on the head and being addressed as “little lady.”

And so we grow up and out of whatever kitchen we were raised in, and find ourselves behind a much larger range, but now with a full set of knives in our backpack when someone calls us “little lady” on the sidewalk.  They’re silent little weapons, though, giving off just enough heat to push us on the walk to work and back home again.  We wake up each day and throw our feet against the tile, the shower on, and wait for the kettle to launch its only song and cheer us on to work.  We steel ourselves and slip into our steel-toed boots and promise ourselves that today is the day we will ask for more; we will demand the attention of the room; we will work at equal pay.  It’s an inside joke with yourself, really, but not a very funny one.  We sit in restaurants run by men who have shamed us and shuck out our pretty pennies to eat from someone else’s menu, wondering if our C-cup breasts really do get in the way in their kitchen.  And sometimes you walk home hardly full but broke, wondering when the love in food was lost- was it somewhere down the twirling, snaking shuffle of the servers, or did it start even earlier, in the syrupy quiet of the early morning kitchen, or better yet, in you?

There are many lovely, loving, familial kitchens here in Athens that have fostered and incubated an astonishing amount of talent, but at a point, everyone wants to serve their own menu.  Supper clubs bring it all back home, quite literally, and remind you of why you chose to be here, and why you’re still hungry.  They eliminate any question of anonymity and the guests experience an all-encompassing, full sensory presentation.  Sight, smell, and taste are all standard dining experiences, but in conjunction with the personal aesthetic of someone’s home, they all feel amplified and unforgettable.  A roughhewn dinner table or a hand stitched placemat are all tiny details alluding to the home chef’s “every day”, and, if you’re looking, all come out in the dish you’ve been served.  It is an absolute delight to experience, and even more fun to serve. When writing and running off of your own menu, the possibility that is food swoops in full force, and to me, brings that teenage feeling with it- that excitement, hope, and big love.  Whether I’m just cooking dinner for my partner or catering a 100+ person wedding, the satisfaction of seeing my recipes, my menu, and my work run start to finish is the best reminder of what I fell in love with in the first place, and honestly, encouragement to that ever waning bank account.

Many names and sweet faces come to mind when I think of the food-love that’s been shared outside of a commercial kitchen, but most predominantly that of Joel Penn, and his recently launched Tasty Beast Supper Club based out of his home kitchen.  I was fortunate to work with him on many caterings and local events while at the National, and he’s now taken his talents to Heirloom Café and Fresh Market as their newest chef.  Like many friends I’ve made in the kitchen, Joel always had his own unique aesthetic in platings and pairings, and I’m so excited to see that translate into Heirloom’s kitchen, and for the lucky handful attending Tasty Beast dinners.  I’ll spare y’all a redundant interview and share this lovely write up by my dear friend and roomie-to-be, Joanna Webb for our friends at Broad Collective, if you’d like to hear more on Penn’s concept and start up behind the supper club. (http://www.thebroadcollective.com/tasty-beast-supper-club-on-my-mind/)

We need supper clubs.  In a large and loosely spinning world of anonymity and mass consumption, we need the details and our name on a hand written place card at the dinner table, sometimes.  Food is beautiful and wonderful because of its capability to nourish both ends of the spectrum- it feeds both the cook and the consumer.  We need you to eat what we want to cook, to let us dote upon you with broths and brines and small stacked towers of herbs and greens piled high, presented like the treasures that they are.  We need you to be our audience, to remind us that sometimes, we are not in the way, but are in fact, the main attraction.  These intimate gatherings also leave room to remind us of the importance of the big picture aesthetic, rather than as it’s rolling off the line, plate to plate.  The restaurants and people I love in Athens leave me full in so many ways, because it is an attention to small scale detail that translates to a full circle idea of beautiful living, and leaves a lingering, rosy feeling of a community that knows your name.  You don’t need to keep a tally of the kitchen burns you carry on your forearms to foster credibility, just cook well and with kindness.  The magnolias on the kitchen table are every bit a part of what you’re serving, and when you find the right element in which to serve it, you are never in the way.  Supper clubs keep us human, but more importantly, keep us family.