Friday 27 April 2012

The Journey to a Night to Remember

I don't normally write New Year's resolutions, or if I do, they tend towards the "I'll try to eat healthier, plan to exercise more, etc..." - all very non-comital and difficult to measure in terms of success. For some reason though, this year I wrote down an actual list - not just of the vague general statements like "Dance more," and "Balance work and life better," but at the bottom of that list was one very concrete goal - "Hold a pop-up supper club." Now, this is something I've always dreamt of doing, but why this year, of all years, I chose to put it down as something to achieve, only serendipity knows. 

The fates seemed to collide between Tom and I, as our friend and co-worker passingly mentioned the two of us should talk about food together one night at the pub. Fast forward a few weeks were up at the crack of dawn meandering Billingsgate Market, leaving with a lingering smell of salt water and more fish than any normal human would buy. A bison grass vodka-fuelled conversation after our fish feast led us to the casual idea of a supper club to help rid ourselves of our large catch of bream, and surprisingly, our sober minds the next day found a date in the calendar and with two weeks to go, set to work - the Bream Team was in motion. 

The Bream Team in the element (photo by Barry Craig)

When my flatmate Barry caught wind of our idea, he quickly became our guardian angel, not only supplying us with the most ideal venue at his photography studio Taylor James, who generously lent us their loft for the event, but helping with all the annoying little tasks that one always forgets. With venue, date and fish in place, the Twitter and Facebook call for guests went out, and amazingly, within 2 days our seats were filled! Granted nearly all were friends, but still!

The weekend before was one of testing, running through our initial ideas, tweaking, making notes and plotting what was to become a 5 course feast (our first go, every course had fennel...).


The week before was spent practicing and tweaking recipes (and thus eating LOTS of fig tarts), drawing the menus, tracking down plates and cutlery (found in a stockpile of mismatched china at Tom's parent's house) and getting all our ducks in order (literally!). We even cycled down to visit Tom's cheese guy to nab a few wedges for a smoking experiment. 

Smoking our cheese with sage and thyme
Once again the gods were in our favour when hunting for a table large enough for 16, as we drove by a giant piece of wood labelled "Please Take Me," just begging to be used for our supper (although getting it up and down 4 flights of stairs was less than simple...).

Strapping out makeshift table to the roof
On the day, I was in the loft early, setting up and dancing along to our playlist for the day as Tom jet-setted across London in his lean mean green Voyager, collecting our chairs and various accouterments for the evening's feast. 

A glimpse at our place settings, including the picture-only menu
By midday our kitchen was buzzing, fish scales flying and fennel shaving as we prepped for the night ahead... (to be continued)

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