CUNextTuesday asked me to type up the Supper Club rules and make them ten copies. Not nine, not eleven. CUNextTuesday says, ten. Still I have the hunger, and can’t remember eating since three nights ago. This must be the original I typed. I made ten copies, and forgot the original. The paparazzi flash of the copy machine in my face. The starving distance of everything, a copy of a copy of a copy. You can’t eat anything, and nothing can eat you.
The Rules of Supper Club
#1 - The first rule of Supper Club is, you do not talk about Supper Club.#2 - The second rule of Supper Club is, you DO NOT talk about Supper Club.
#3 - If the scheduled hosts beg illness/fatigue/homework/childcare woes, their night moves to the next week.
#4 - Two types of wine a night.
#5 - One pasta item at a time.
#6 - No picky eaters, no inhibitions.
#7 - Suppers will go on as long as they have to or until the hosts begin yawning ostensibly and checking the time with great intent and frequency.
#8 - If this is your first night at Supper Club, you have to cook.
One Summer's eve, during an estrogen heightened and wine soaked Eat, Pray, Love post-viewing party (seen mainly for the Eat part by everyone but myself), Supper Club was palatably founded. Between nibbles of Mango Ginger Stilton and tatters of delicate prosciutto, 5 of us ladies agreed on an arrangement of each hosting a main meal for the group (including our significant others) in our respective abodes on a Tuesday night rotation. The non-hosts would then come bearing gold, frankincense and myrrh. Or wine/beer/salad/side dish/dessert. On rice paper, this seemed entirely plausible and a complete no-brainer. One would be rescued from having to prepare supper one night a week for at least 4 times before their turn came around again.
I'm not sure about the rest of our friends involved, but all of a sudden, Ryan and I felt like actual adults (finally). Here we were, getting together with two handfuls of our Fullerton cronies and having spirited, M for mature conversations over food and drink. Sharing our homes, sharing good times. Attempting frantically to expand a typically 4-person dining area into one that would accommodate 2.5 times that amount of people.
Remember that television show titled Thirtysomething? Well, we never really watched it. But from little that we glimpsed during bouts of channel surfing, we were sure that we had morphed into the real life version of that show. At least the numerous intimate gatherings part. But not the adulterous relationships part. Mostly the attractive people part. We had that part down pat (in my not so humble opinion). So much so that we could have just as easily transitioned into a Swingers Club.
So it became, that Tuesday, the most innocuous, inconsequential day of the week, were nights that we grew to anticipate salivating-ly. Always it was delightful to savor somebody else's culinary offerings and have them ooh and ahh in reciprocation at whatever it was that you also brought to the table. During the course of Supper Club we dined on sage pumpkin risotto, sun-dried garden tomato pasta, Mediterranean couscous, spicy shrimp, a smorgasbord of savory tapas, grilled bratwurst, fresh stewed Italian vegetables, Penne Bolognese, Chicken Tikka Masala, spinach paneer and a slew of other creations.
Currently, Supper Club is on hiatus due to schedule restructuring. Stay tuned for the next season.
I'm not sure about the rest of our friends involved, but all of a sudden, Ryan and I felt like actual adults (finally). Here we were, getting together with two handfuls of our Fullerton cronies and having spirited, M for mature conversations over food and drink. Sharing our homes, sharing good times. Attempting frantically to expand a typically 4-person dining area into one that would accommodate 2.5 times that amount of people.
Remember that television show titled Thirtysomething? Well, we never really watched it. But from little that we glimpsed during bouts of channel surfing, we were sure that we had morphed into the real life version of that show. At least the numerous intimate gatherings part. But not the adulterous relationships part. Mostly the attractive people part. We had that part down pat (in my not so humble opinion). So much so that we could have just as easily transitioned into a Swingers Club.
Somehow (most likely steered by my own gumption and ambition), I became the de facto dessert maker. It was my excuse to indulge my own sweet tooth and it inspired me to fashion pretty, little edible things. I busted out Nutella wontons, berry sabayons, plum crostatas, poached pears, Bananas Foster crêpes, whiskey-soaked raisin bread pudding and Gateau St. Honoré! Sadly though, I came to the gradual realization that the majority of my desserts needed more time for me to compose, were best served immediately and did not travel very well.
Especially disappointing were the Bananas Foster crêpes that we were all excited to flambé. After reheating them in the microwave, the crêpes became chewy and tough; the alcohol in the sauce lost its magical spirit and became frustratingly un-ignitable. Feeling utterly defeated, I topped the syrupy shoe leather with Vanilla Bean Häagen-Dazs, thankful that it at least helped to wash it all down and readied myself to perform the Heimlich on anyone that might need it that night.
My most elaborate dessert (which incidentally led me to win a lovely cookbook courtesy of 2 Savory Palates), the Gateau St. Honoré, seemed to be my most successful. It is a very elegant combination of puff pastry and choux pastry filled with pastry cream. It was my last ditch effort at redemption and I brought it to our session closer of CUNextTuesday. Since it was right around the holidays, I made it using seasonal pomegranates for embellishment. And then I put a bird on it!
Currently, Supper Club is on hiatus due to schedule restructuring. Stay tuned for the next season.
