Week forty-eight

Something I knew I absolutely had to do this year was go to, what's known as either an "underground restaurant" or a "secret supper club"; both the same thing, basically a restaurant in someone's home, where you pay a reasonable price for dinner, you bring your own booze and you get to meet some lovely people  because you're no doubt squished together on a selection of odd tables in somebody's lounge.

Now I have to admit that I have been to one before, last year, Mrs Marmite's.  However, I felt it was an important venture for the blog for the simple reasons that there are so many different ones and also that a lot of people still seem to not know about them.  Just this week I'd mentioned it to a couple of friends and neither of them had heard of this modern day dining revolution.

The trend seems to show no signs of slowing down at all, with several websites dedicated to listing the newest and best secret supper clubs in London and all over the world.  There are currently at least 100 of them in London alone, all with different themes, cuisine and unusual settings.  

Along with Mrs Marmite's, The Pale Blue Door was one of the very first secret supper clubs to pop up and I kept hearing quite a lot about it, however for whatever reason I didn't go, paradoxically due to all the hype and also from the poor food reviews.  The irony is, its not known for the food but for everything else that goes with it.

So after a lot of fannying about I decided my one visit to a secret supper club would be to the not so secret Pale Blue Door, hidden down a cobbled Dickensian street in Dalston and created by artist and set designer, Tony Hornecker. I went with my friend Nicole and it was great because since both of us had heard uninspiring things about the place, we went with no expectations.  Therefore we were both pleasantly surprised by what we found behind the door.

Tony's flat is small and compact and yet filled with warmth, atmosphere and endless stuff.  Its a theatre workshop cum dressmakers cum props cupboard, with the most amount of ordered clutter everywhere.  Old prams, vintage suits, dresses, strange clocks, fairy lights and endless trinkets line every bit of wall and ceiling space imaginable.  Coupled with low, flattering lighting this place is pretty wacky but a little romantic too.

We got in and barely squeezed into our table by clambering over 2 other couples who blocked us in for the night.  But, it was cute and fun and an instant talking point with the other 2 couples.  While waiting for others to arrive, we were brought a vodka, cranberry and lime cocktail to sip while scanning the flat's jumble of mismatched furniture, secret rooms and staircases.  I suddenly started seeing people sat at tables in all sorts of corners and teetering on balconies.  There wasn't space to swing a cat.

But somehow or other Jonny Woo, an outrageous 6ft something drag queen in heels and oversized Mickey Mouse hands burst into the room showering us with innuendos and risque behaviour.  He introduced the evening with a song, miming to a 1950's style cabaret number.  It was salacious, terribly unsexy and very funny.

After a few leg kicks and uncomfortable positions Jonny Woo disappeared and our starters of roasted squash, red onion, basil and goats cheese salad arrived.  Nothing terribly ground breaking, but it was nice, good healthy sized portions and everything was cooked well and tasted good.  After we had all finished the starters various people started getting up to go to the bathroom - the man sat to the left of me almost had to do lunges to get past me.  We bonded after that.  

In between dishes Jonny Woo entertained us again with some rather lewd and witty poems about petrol....or gin....or....I can't quite remember as I couldn't take my eyes off his ghastly make-up and purple dress, or for that matter, the heads popping through the makeshift windows on the balcony.

Our main dish was beef wellington with garlic and oil mash, carrots and cabbage, again, nothing terribly inspiring and it wasn't the prettiest of dishes but it was hearty, well seasoned and tasty. The desert was a black forest gateaux with kirsch cream, which unfortunately was drenched in alcohol so wasn't that tasty, but whatever, like I said, The Pale Blue Door isn't about the food.

After some final escapades from Jonny everyone was left to their own devices and I made a beeline for the table up on the balcony.  I wasn't quite sure how to get there but I made it through a trap door and some rickety stairs and on the way found another party at a secret table.  The balcony or mezzanine is actually Tony's bedroom and although I would find it very claustrophobic, I felt like a child again scampering through a den and hiding away from the adults.

If you want to go to an underground restaurant for the exceptional food, don't go to the Pale Blue Door.  However, if want to go somewhere for a thoroughly fun evening that combines burlesque, comedy, hearty food, great company and a little naughtiness, then Tony's house is just the place.  There are still some dates available just before Xmas so if you fancy it find out all the details here.

For week forty-nine I'm going to a jam and chutney making course.  Just in time for crimbo too.