A Reclineable Feast

Last night, Cathy, Gerry, and Christina and I went to a place called The Supper Club for dinner. Oddest, most interesting dining experience perhapsever. We'd heard about this place, but were not really prepared for what it was all about.

After cycling through town to a district near our hosts' home, me on a big clattery Amsterdam rig with a rack over the back wheel, which is where Cathy got to sit, not entirely enjoying herself but not behaving TOO badly, we entered off an alley and were immediately immersed in an obscenely trendy joint, whisked up stairs, coats checked, through a bar and upstairs to a 'table.' The place had the layout of a club, a large open floor downstairs with stairs going up on either side, a long row of tables on the balconies running the length of the floor. No chairs, though, just large bed-like cushions loaded with pillows and some small steel tables placed at intervals on the cushions.

We'd be eating lying down.

(If only Thanksgiving were like this!)

When we got our table and, well, laid all around it, our waiter, an absolutely flaming young man with shaved head, full sleeve tattoos and an unidentifiable accent, came and flopped into the cushions next to us and took our order. He brought beer and water to start--the menu we had no choice on. 5 courses and we chose to not have him tell us so the whole meal would be a surprise. And it was. In many ways.

Cheers all around as the tables around us began to fill. We ended up quite cozy with the tables next to us--after all, we're essentially all lying in bed together drinking and listening to some chill club music (a DJ had a full setup downstairs, and a video guy manned projectors and spotlights upstairs).

We started with some sort of foccacia, a crisp bread topped with dainty salad greens, a sort of amazingly delicious prosciutto drizzled with a rich creamy sauce. No silver--we were brought rubber gloves to eat it with. Again, I couldn't help but think of Thanksgiving. The foccacia and beer were followed by a bottle of red wine and a soup, some sort of bisque of squash or pumpkin with tiny prawns, absolutely delicious, served in a small water glass. So you drink it. Of course. Then more wine and, to help digestion perhaps, a full-on drag show. He-she regaled us in full finery with a tasteful selection of Whitney Houston numbers, the climax of which was accompanied by a tantrum on the bar downstairs where she threw glass after glass to the floor, shattering in all directions, to the massive applause of everyone in the room. It was really quite spectacular.

We resumed our repose and were then served more wine and a fish course, which was a filet of something done in a butter sauce until even the thin skin was crispy and delicious, presented atop a bed of some sort of cabbage, also infused with butter and wine, a rich and filling tiny plate of food. This time, we had silverware to use. Everyone around us was now full into the experience, lounging and laughing and drinking and smoking and making nice with those lying next to them from different groups. I couldn't help but think how odd this whole thing was, how totally indulgent and over the top, yet how fun. More wine, then, and another drag show preceding the main course, this time a not-so-wonderful turn through some Madonna faves by a "singer" who I'm not convinced was not cheating, her being perhaps an actual woman. Funny how that was disappointing.

More wine, and the food: a breast of duck in a wine reduction, served over a thick cream-potato something, again eaten with fork and knife, which is no small trick when you are lying down. We were stuffed, absolutely filled to the gills with food and wine, and so the final drag show of the evening was lost on us, until we got our dessert, a mousse of some sort served also in a glass with a utensil made of crisp pastry and chocolate. Magnificent.

After the dinner was done (which wasn't until quite a bit after midnight, the whole meal having taken over 4 hours) we attempted to move the party downstairs to the basement club, but the crowd was so thick, the movement and heat so unavoidable, that we, being old and lame, made our way back through and out the door, waving goodbye to our waiter and heading out into the night. We stopped off at a very nice pub for a nightcap, then dragged our swollen bellies home to bed. A night that I sincerely doubt I will ever duplicate, but a night that I will also never forget.