Brassica Supperclub: It's like vegging out on the lam

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http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/culture/detail?entry_id=44879

 

Brassica Supperclub: It's like vegging out on the lam...

 

Courtesy of Brassica Supperclub

 

Not soup. Super.

My dear friend and editor, Zoe decided to become a vegan some years ago for the

sake of a magazine article she was writing. I found the entire thing abhorrent

and counted the seconds until her six-month experiment was over. But six months

turned into a year and then another year until finally, I came to accept that my

friend Zoe is officially a vegan.

 

No meat, no dairy, no food or drink that any precious creature might have

suffered for.

 

" You're nuts! " I'd scream, diving into a pot of duck-liver mousse. " How on Earth

can you live like this? "

 

In celebration of Zoe's recent birthday, I told her to pick any restaurant in

town. " You sure? " She asked me. " Because I'm happy to go anywhere, but there's

this vegan supperclub that sounds fun. It'll be an adventure! "

 

I'm always up for adventure, if for no other reason than I'll have something to

tell you fine people. Zoe sent me a link to something called Brassica

Supperclub: An Underground Dining Experience and a list of dates she was

available.

 

As far as I knew, we were going to a vegan restaurant with things like nut

pizza. So you can imagine my confusion when I called the Brassica Supperclub

phone number and woke someone up. The groggy voice on the other end of the line

was just as confused as I was, grumbling, " Wha? Dinner? Who is this?!?! "

 

You know, they don't do this at Gary Danko.

 

I returned to the Web site and found an email address and the note, " Please

provide your preferred date, number in your party, and contact information. We

will get back to you shortly with a confirmation and the event location. "

 

Event location? What the hell is going on?

 

I sent an email requesting a reservation for two on a Friday night and received

an excited response, confirming that indeed, two of us were booked.

 

Okay. Where the hell do we go? And when?

 

A few days before our reservation, I received another mysterious email, this

time containing a residential address, a dining time, and a secret password.

 

" Dear Zoe, " I wrote my friend. " We are all set for your illegal, underground,

vegan, hippie, freakshow, orgy, nut pizza dinner. I'll pick you up at 7. Love,

Bethy. "

 

Zoe and I arrived early and decided to get a drink before paying to eat dinner

at a stranger's house. As we sat at a dive bar a block away, we wondered what

was in store for us. We knew that we'd be served four courses and we knew we'd

be sitting on the floor. We also knew that it was probably wise to arrive in

advance of the 7:30 dining time as there was a possibility we'd be seated at a

table with others.

 

This was out of the question as far as I was concerned. I felt snide comments

brewing within and didn't want to have to stifle them for the sake of what were

sure to be uptight, humorless, vegan strangers.

 

Nervously, we made our way to the address listed on the email and rang the

buzzer of a nondescript, Inner-Sunset home.

 

" Password, please. "

 

I don't know the rules on revealing the password here or elsewhere and I fear

the wrath of the Critical Mass crowd, so let's just say the password was the

name of a late 80s award-winning film. We were buzzed in and asked to remove our

shoes.

 

Zoe and I found ourselves in an immaculate, lived-in private home and were

ushered into the living room set up like a small restaurant with seven tables

about a foot off the ground. We grabbed the last 2-top and adjusted the provided

pillows.

 

" Well, this is certainly an adventure! "

 

It was made clear to us that guests were more than welcome to bring their own

wine, but guessing that arriving with a Big Gulp of Mountain Dew might be

frowned upon, Zoe and I stuck to the provided water and hot tea.

 

The staff of Brassica Supperclub was made up of three people, two of whom worked

in the kitchen and a lovely server, who peacefully explained the evening to each

of the tables. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of someone's living room, I

wondered what we'd gotten ourselves into as the first course was presented.

 

To my delight, there wasn't a nut pizza in sight. Instead, we devoured a

gorgeous bowl of zucchini soup. Soup is often said to be the best test of a

chef, something about attention to detail. And if that's the case, these vegan,

hippie, secret-password chefs might be onto something. Each bite was an

explosion of fabulous, organic, magical zucchini.

 

" My God, this is fantastic. " We gushed. " This is literally extraordinary. "

 

The courses came slowly as our lone server patiently presented and explained the

food to each table. We'd been there two hours before dessert came and while

sitting on the floor for ages isn't exactly like kicking back in a Barcalounger,

the food made our evening well worth the effort.

 

Zoe and I both checked out the facilities in an attempt to confirm that people

did actually live in what was presently a restaurant.

 

I snooped in their shower. They do.

 

I guess I'd never really given fancified vegan food a chance. Will I relinquish

my love of Epic Roasthouse and its glorious meat and cushioned chairs? No. I

f--kin' love that place. But I'll never look at zucchini soup the same way

again.

 

Dessert finally arrived, consisting of blueberries atop coconut " cream " in a

nutty pastry shell.

 

" This is divine! " I whispered.

 

Even my longtime nut-pizza companion was quite impressed. " Seriously! This is

wonderful! "

 

Dinner, it's safe to say, was a hit.

 

Nearing 10 pm, the Brassica Supperclub staff appeared in the corner of the

living room to a rousing round of applause. We were asked to spread the word,

tell our friends and of course, pay for our meal. But they don't bring you a

bill at Brassica Supperclub. There's a dinner plate by the big pile of shoes and

you're supposed to leave cash, $35 per person being the suggested donation.

 

I have no idea about the legalities of Brassica Supperclub, and quite frankly,

don't really care. Normally I'm uptight about such things, preferring my dining

experiences to be approved by some sort of Department of Health. But our

adventure was delicious and fun, a little bizarre and provided us with excellent

cocktail-party fodder.

 

Assured by our hosts that blogging about our experience is allowed, I

enthusiastically encourage you all to go. Your experience will be weird and fun

and gourmet and adventurous and very, very, very San Franciscan.

 

And hey, if I can do it...

 

Posted By: Beth Spotswood (Email) | August 05 2009 at 12:05 PM

 

 

 

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" Hobbes: Do you think there's a God? Calvin: Well, SOMEBODY'S out to get me. "