[POP UP] Hot and Steamy Shacklewell Nights - Dalston
The chefs wear whites and everything. The big leagues.
It’s funny how it’s only really been nine months or so since I started visiting East London’s supper clubs, and the speed with which they seem to be proliferating and evolving.
We were lucky enough to visit Shacklewell Nights’ first evening of service, run by Claire from Green Onions and Jonathan from a little restaurant you might have heard of called St John. The concept, in their words:
They have joined together to cook the very best of seasonal British food to be enjoyed by diners in the relaxed and informal surroundings of the old clothing factory.
So essentially we have a highly experienced supper clubber teaming up with one of London’s most respected proper-British-type restaurants. And probably more of a focus on the dining room too rather than just the food. Expectations were high.
Shacklewell is divided into about four or five large communal tables in a buzzy, top floor industrial building. Dishes are served per table, with everyone passing them round.
We started with an excellent brown shrimp, samphire and potato starter, dressed to perfection. Just enough bite to the shrimp. Fresh and summery.
Following that was a platter of beautifully cooked duck legs on a bed of white beans and bacon. Both of these dishes were very simple with big, bold flavours. Very St John. Very seasonal. Most enjoyable.
Pudding was a sorbet with vodka shot palate cleanser followed by a blackberry fool with the most perfect shortbread biscuit you ever did taste. A well rounded meal with great like-minded folks, run like a ‘proper’ restaurant.
So Shacklewell certainly isn’t a supper club. It’s way too slick. You’re paying for those top-end ingredients and proper-restaurant service (the room seats fifty I think). The chefs wear whites and everything. The big leagues.
Of course, now I’ve written this, Shacklewell won’t be popping up again for another two months. So keep an eye on the Twitter account, and if you fancy a lovingly prepared British four courser with a friendly, knowledgeable crowd then it’s well worth a visit.
Shacklewell Nights - Dalston E8 Bookings via their website £35 for four courses and some wine + BYO
[HOW TO] A Diner’s Guide (and Open Love Letter) to London’s Supper Clubs
…the social implications of just being there and meeting other diners creates a bonhomie that no typical restaurant experience can match
It’s been a short but delightful relationship so far. Having only heard of supper clubs whispered discreetly among those more in-the-know than I, it was October’s visit to Fernandez & Leluu that started it all off.
Tucked away on a secret Hackney side-street was their makeshift dining room. It was full of tables, plates, cutlery and character. We, being the first to arrive, scampered into the garden for some wine. As others turned up, exchanged knowing glances, we settled into a six hour gastronomic experience that was far superior to many of the more official eateries in recent memory. Since then we’ve attended F&L two more times and witnessed the founding of the excellent Trail of Our Bread (also in Hackney).
So after not really knowing what to expect, here’s a few tips if you’ve been thinking about signing up to the supper club experience:
1. It’s not a restaurant.
So don’t treat it like one. It’s someone’s house. Try not to break things, don’t expect fresh cutlery for each course, don’t expect each course to arrive with rapid fire precision. It’s highly unlikely anyone’s actually worked in a proper restaurant.
2. It’s really not a restaurant.
You’re not paying for a service from a business. You’re donating time and money to be part of a fun experiment. You’re the subject of someone’s passion. A supper club attendee has been chosen. Pre-selected. Almost vetted, really. So the social implications of just being there and meeting other diners creates a bonhomie that no typical restaurant experience can match.
3. Pay fair.
We’re British. Therefore we’re useless at dealing with, and asking for, money. On the off-chance you didn’t like the food, and even if you’re the sort of person who refuses to pay for things in restaurants, don’t dick the club out of its donation. Pay at least 10-20% over the suggested donation. Take plenty of cash with you, because if it’s really exceptional, then it’s still going to have cost you less than going to a restaurant.
4. Don’t be picky. Or flaky.
Well, to be more specific, if you’re the picky type, then supper clubs aren’t for you. We’ve had everything from frog’s legs to sashimi. Things that might make you go bleurgh. I’m one of those people that’ll try anything once, and my favourite menus are those that are just presented to me. I don’t know what’s best, I’ve not cooked it. If you can’t handle that as a concept, then you won’t enjoy yourself. But if you love the surprise of each dish arriving, you’ll have a brilliant time.
And for goodness sake, don’t cancel. Cancelling a reservation at a supper club is the baddest of bad form. Only cancel if you’ve lost a limb, or died. It hurts everyone else involved with the endeavour. Seating plans and portion sizes are the main victims, and they’re very carefully planned. If you’re taking a large group to a supper club then make sure none of your flaky mates are invited. It will reflect badly on you otherwise, and you’ll struggle to get another table.
5. Be nice.
Nicer than default restaurant mode. You can make friends at supper clubs. As previously mentioned, most of these folks haven’t had professional training. So compliment loudly and often. More than you’re used to doing. Ask for recipes, be specific about what you liked. Be honest about what could have been better.
But even more importantly than all that, remember that the geographic locations of these clubs is a secret. I’m no expert, but the legality of these clubs is dubious. So don’t add them to FourSquare.
6. Take plenty of booze.
It’s a long night. Don’t plan on having anywhere else to be. If you get out of there before midnight, you’re doing it wrong.
And pace yourself.
