Last week, a slightly terrified friend was telling me how petrified she is about cooking dinner for a group friends. "Ive got eight people coming over! What am I going to do?" she wailed. "I dont know how Ill cope."
Dinner parties have replaced going out to restaurants as the latest foodie trend thanks to the recession and while dining in is definitely cheaper, someone has to draw the short straw and do the cooking.
I could sympathise with my friend - a year ago, I"d have felt exactly the same way. But then, last spring, I began running a secret monthly supperclub from my flat, catering for up to 30 people at a time. So, for me, eight diners wouldnt really present too much of a problem. In fact, without sounding too smug, itd be a breeze.
Secret supper: Alison Billenness serves up food to guests after her chef husband, Gavin, set up a restaurant in their living room
Supperclubs, where you book to go round to the host"s house and payfor your meal, have become somewhat trendy of late but mine came aboutmore by accident than design. Indeed, until recently, I was a graphicdesigner, albeit one with a passion for food, cooking and generallystuffing my face.
So when I became disillusioned with the day job, I decided it to try to take my passion to the next level.
Two years ago I put my money where my mouth is and quit my quitecushy, reasonably well paid career and exchanged it for an extremelypoorly paid, difficult one as a trainee chef.
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After about 12 months sustaining more than my fair share of cuts andburns (if youd seen my hands and arms youd have been sure I was intoself harming), I reached the stage where I wanted to start trying outmy own ideas and writing my own menus.
Then, last New Year"s Eve, with10 people round the table for supper, some of my friends suggested Ishould charge for the food I cooked. It was a huge compliment but Inever really thought it a feasible idea...
I knew I didnt have the experience, and certainly not the money, toopen a restaurant of my own, but I came up with a radical idea. Withthe blessing of my wife Alison, I decided to turn our own one-bedroomflat in south east London into a pop-up restaurant (one that appearsfor a short time and then disappears just as quickly), advertising iton Facebook and the internet - to see if anyone would turn up. And sothe Savoy Truffle Supperclub was born.
Challenge: Gavin must adapt his menu in order that the dishes can be prepared in his tiny kitchen
The fun bit for me, as well as the biggest challenge, was coming upwith the menu. It was spring and I wanted the menu to reflect what meatand produce were in season.
I spent days thinking about what I wouldserve, refining ideas and testing out canap�s and sauces in our tinykitchen would people be too full for their main course after apoached egg floated atop a bowl of asparagus velout� with a parmesancrisp? And would it be a tragedy to blitz up all those lovely greenspears into a soup rather than serve them fresh? Actually, yes, Idecided, on both counts.
We were going to need about four times as muchcutlery as we already had, a couple more tables, lots of chairs,glasses, napkins, water jugs and candles. You name it, if you found iton the table in a restaurant, we needed it.
Alison spent the build-upto the big night begging and borrowing tables and chairs from friendsand schlepping from shop to shop in search of just the right kind ofshot glass for serving sorbet in (a straight, cylindrical double-shotglass, in case you were wondering), buying napkins and extra glassesfor water and wine.
Logistically, transforming our flat into what passes for a restaurantis quite an upheaval. We have to lug our three-seater sofa into ourbedroom along with the armchair and all the other living room typestuff that take up too much valuable ;restaurant space.
The same goesfor the kitchen as I need every inch of surface space: bottles of fancyherb vinegar and jars of marmalade, even the toaster are all re-housedin the boot of our R-reg Vauxhall Astra unless they are essential forthe night.
It was always my intention to push myself and raise the standard of mycooking. I wanted people to go away feeling wowed by the experience andthat theyd eaten food they wouldnt have at home. I guess I just likeshowing off. But as the first evening drew closer, I must admit Istarted to feel the pressure.
It suddenly dawned on me that when youreinviting strangers into your house and charging them for food youreally do have to deliver this is the big difference between cookingfor mates and cooking for paying customers. Strangers won"t feelobliged to be polite about your food.
On our first night, 14 brave foodies made their way to our door for afive-course meal sitting at shared tables. Wine flowed (guests broughttheir own) and the atmosphere was pretty jolly.
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