The Art of Eating In - Cathy Erway [103]
At some point during these festivities, the idea for SOS was born. We were all four of us single, and all eager to meet new people as well as cook and eat together more. I wanted to create a supper club, but with some sort of twist. The name “Singles-Only Supper Club” popped into my head. The idea was, we would invite only guests who were single, in the hopes of seducing them with aphrodisiac food. Each one of us would invite one guest of the opposite sex whom we were interested in dating. The person should not be someone we knew very well—least of all, someone we had a history with. This would be something of an exercise in working up the guts to ask someone to come to a small dinner party. Also, the other guests wouldn’t know what we were up to—except that we were having a small dinner party. No mention of the real meaning behind the acronym SOS would be uttered around them.
We even tossed around the idea of reviving the “key party,” a phenomenon of 1970s upper-class circles that involved a bowl where the men would place their keys. At the end of the night, each woman at the party would reach into the bowl, scoop up a set of keys, and go home with the owner of them. The ritual was often played out with married couples seeking a little sexual adventure, so it was risky business when it came to personal feelings. But while we were willing to take the risk of causing jealousy and ill will among ourselves, we weren’t willing to take the risk of going home with one another. As much as I loved Matt, I wasn’t about to sleep with him. At least, not under my normal, non-aphrodisiac-influenced circumstances.
Through e-mails over the next week or so, we tightened down the idea further. I sent an overly formal e-mail to my coconspirators, Karol, Matt, and Jordan, laying out the game plan and offering my apartment for the first dinner. I came up with a code name for myself in all SOS-related correspondence and encouraged the others to do so, too—just another ridiculous element of our scheme.
I also came up with a menu for the first dinner. It began with a salad featuring fresh, lightly blanched asparagus. It was in season, first of all, but most important, my research had identified it as a supposed aphrodisiac food to many cultures. Second, I’d make a lobster risotto—just because it was luxurious and something I’d always wanted to try—with another aphrodisiac food, fennel. For the main course, I decided on beef cheeks, braised in a red wine sauce for hours, and served with a pomegranate juice reduction on a bed of mashed butternut squash. (For some reason, the words beef cheeks struck me as racy.) Pomegranate and butternut were both known to raise heart levels and enhance “performance.” There would be a dish involving eggplant, another supposed aphrodisiac. For dessert, a buttery-sweet amaretto ice cream would be in store. In many cultures, it’s thought—and this is likely due to the word’s similarity to amore, or love—that the almond liqueur or almonds in general were romantically inspiring.
Underground supper clubs may sound like novel, urban inventions, but they have more in common with period feasts than with anything restaurant-like. The tradition of feasting, elaborately and over long, leisurely hours, has moved for the most part from fine homes to restaurants. Even wedding banquets are rarely held in homes today. Modern supper clubs aim to bring the grandiose dinner back into a private setting.
In The Invention