Existing in the blurry space between dinner party and restaurant, supper clubs also cultivate a kind of priceless exclusivity: it’s informal, but if you don’t know the cool kids, you’d never know to go.
The guests were thrilled. Around the living room, they chatted happily, helping themselves to communal plates of spicy sthridhlja, a type of hand-pulled noodle, and brothy crab tortellini. Some had worked with Grothe in the restaurant industry; others were dedicated foodies used to scouring the city for new dishes.
After college Grothe got a job as an industrial safety manager at Tyson, a high-pressure job that boiled down to “telling grown men, ‘Hey, guys, please do not stick your fingers into those moving plates,’” she said.
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