I came, I saw, I ate … and I was impressed. I’ve now been indoctrinated into the cult of the underground restaurant. Was it what I expected? Better. Would I do it again? Invite me. Will I divulge the website and secret password? Only if so blessed by the host/chef.
To pick up on my last post:
The last detail and a large part of the UR mystique—the actual address of the event—was emailed just a few hours before the first seating. The destination was a home on a middle class street in a must-stay-unnamed suburb. In that email the host/chef also noted the last course had been changed and went on to describe the substitution in mouth-watering detail. I learned later that the chef had, in fact, been sending out teaser emails all week, describing each course in similar fashion. (As my girlfriend and I snagged the last 2 seats on short notice, we were at a bit of a disadvantage, as early-booking guests had a second-date familiarity with the dishes, able to greet each with a “Wow, and there it is” smile of approval.)
The home was owned by a younger man … artwork was scarce, except for the large piece above the fireplace by that up-and-comer Samsung. Guests were seated in the large dining room which comfortably held the main table (seating 6) and two 4-tops, a perfect arrangement for diners not averse to the bed & breakfast style of service or folks like me who actually prefer eating at the bar, wedged in between strangers. The rest should book this experience with friends … because the spirit of communal dining here is just as important as having a passion for food.
Immediately after we were seated, from behind the kitchen door, came the unmistakable “thunk” of a pot hitting linoleum, perhaps indicating the cancellation of the first course. Normally the sound that follows is a four-letter word, but when the next utterance was a cook’s muffled chuckle, we knew it was Hacuna matata.
Describing the five courses could fill a lengthy post (and I won’t even do the CliffNotes here) but will I dispel one notion: the menu items were not “underground” in any way … no baby seals were harmed in the preparation of this dinner. I should also note that creativity and skill were evident right down to the most insignificant course, the intermezzo—an intense tomato-water sorbet resting on a bit of basil gelee. Neither ingredient could have comfortably stood alone but the combination was pure magic. Simple bliss.
The cost was $45/pp for the 5 courses, which included abundant wine … a little pricey in that the intent of the UR concept is to eat and drink well “at cost.” I was informed it would have been significantly less if the delivery from Giggem Party Rentals could have been avoided. (As this group books more dinners, small wares are being purchased and the cost will be reduced.) Tips for server, chef and entertainment were suggested and envelopes for each were provided on each table.
The first seating was eventually encouraged to adjourn to the front porch, swapping places with the wide-eyed “Was it worth it?” members of the second seating. There, the subject of the legality of UR’s was broached, conveniently with an attorney. It was his contention that they are perfectly legal, similar to a party where participants merely buck up to “contribute to the cause.” The intent of UR’s apparently is not to make a profit but only to break even. All well and good for the guys in the kitchen perhaps, but tell that to the host’s housemate, a musician, who had to be happy picking up a hundy and a half doing what he’d done countless other times for free … playing the guitar in his living room.
The bottom line: I felt privileged to be part of something so vibrant and cutting-edge. I felt like I had just discovered a cool new website and noticed I was visitor #50. — George Mahe
