Happy Birthday, Supper Club

Approximately one year ago, Justin F.J. Phillips and I had dinner together at a restaurant called Pisticci. We split an appetizer and a bottle of Barolo, sampled each other's entrees, had coffee and tiramisu. Through it all we talked literature (Melville and Cormac McCarthy, specifically, if I remember right), dog walking, and hilarious CCNY gossip. Then, at the end of the meal, we said to each other, "We should do this again as soon as possible, except we should invite all our friends."

Thus was Supper Club conceived. It gestated two weeks, then was born a block away at Toast. Since then Justin and I have hosted it every second Thursday, time and obligations permitting, at different restaurants around the city. Last night we returned to wonderful Pisteech for SupClub's first birthday, and here are the things that happened.

1. We had prosecco with the first course; Justin and Jeff ransacked the comedic potential of the word "brut."

2. Veronica narrowly avoided eating a piece of mango, to which she is violently allergic, and described the side effects of the allergy in graphic detail.

3. Amy gushed and gushed and gushed about doing readings, and Summer's reading group, and all the talent that surrounds her. I blushed.

4. I dove across the banquette and caressed Leah's knee. She and I carried out an improv that involved us never having met before that.

5. Alison told us what she was going as for Halloween: a "hoodie shark." (You take your hoodie and put teeth inside the hood, eyes and a fin on top of it. Simply put, this is genius.)

6. Jeff said he would lend me his Mark Richard that I haven't read. We discussed the myth of place, the delicious cartoon-y sensibility of many of our favorite writers, and literary violence. We agreed we both suffer badly with attention-deficit disorder.

7. After the check came, Shay cut up the table's decorative centerpiece, a tiny pumpkin, and passed us each a slice of it "for dessert." Mortified on the restaurant's behalf, I gave him a stern lecture.

8. While we calculated the check, Justin counting bills and I scribbling figures on a napkin, Justin asked me a question and I snapped, "DIDN'T I TELL YOU HOW BAD I AM AT THIS?" Later, he bought me a bourbon.

So, yeah, Supper Club is the best. It's kept going because people like us, all of us, are often way too busy to sit down at a nice or even a regular restaurant -- but they will if they have an excuse to, even if that's only to avoid being gossiped about hilariously. It has gone off so well, and I am so proud of it. Here's to many more second Thursdays of face-stuffing merriment.