I knew I would have fun tonight. What I didn’t expect was to meet my best friend Ange in her male Jamaican version. And by that I mean that instant Vulcan mind meld. Just saying the name “Idris” leads to a spirited discussion of The Wire, complete with quotes, straight on to Cage aux Folles, (try and keep up please), a few asides about Christine Baranski and Cush Jumbo and then back to mothers and children (didn’t I mention that before) , all under the sighing, patient gazes of a daughter and a long time girlfriend. I only hope everyone else at the table had has much fun as we did. But that is the beauty of the Literary Hour. No one is going to willingly attend a dinner party of strangers in a very out of the way terraced house in north London unless they have some joie de vive in them. And tonight there was plenty. In fact, to suggest that my new friend, Mick, and I had a monopoly on the merriment is mean spirited. There was laughter from up and down the sizable table. We came to have a good time, and we did. Everyone.
I know, I have written about The Literary Hour before, in my post about dining in Naria. But this is my blog and I can repeat myself if I please. I wrote about the Northern Line twice. The Northern Line!! Twice!!! Surely I can talk about the best supper club around more than once. So, who is this Literary Hour? A group of friends who decided to cook and read to each other. And when they realized that that was rather fabulous, invited the public to join. I had forgotten how gorgeous it is to be read to. Not listening to an audio book, but to be read to. By an actual person in the same room, from an actual book being held in hands. No wonder wise people are always going on about reading to children, it is, it really, really is something special. Hearing those words delivered personally, just to you. I think I would show up pretty much anywhere if someone agreed to read to me. And to be given a delicious meal on top….well, how much luxury can a girl expect.
Tonight’s theme was Sherlock Holmes, the Arthur Conan Doyle one, not all the subsequent offerings. I have never read Doyle. Either has my daughter Lizzie, who shared the evening with me. I know next to nothing about the character other than his cocaine addiction. Happily it didn’t matter. The passages read were in reference to the courses served. So it wasn’t plot that mattered but words. Oh how I love words. How I love gorgeous, full-bodied, fantastic words. Tonight, in one of the passages, a man was described as “confectious.” Oooh, my brain began instantly to sizzle with the knowledge that I too know several men I could call “confectious”. It isn’t a compliment, by the way.
But what about the food, I hear you all saying. It is a dinner club, after all. Well the food was tremendous. Delicious. Fantastic. Starting with oysters and a Bloody Mary shot (a wedding breakfast), kedgeree, a wonderful sampler of pates, quail stuffed with dates and then…..oh I do love a good sense of humour, a plastic syringe of froth with poppy seeds….”heroin?” one of the guests shouted out. Not quite, but a tasty little joke, nonetheless, though it did take us all a bit of time to willingly shoot it into our mouths. Yeah, yeah…all the comments were made. Move on. There was also a mystery to solve. The murder of Irene Adler. The clues were clever but the culprit was obvious. Just the way I like it!
A lovely milk and honey tart to finish with coffee and tea on offer. At which point Lizzie and I said good evening and started our long journey home. But wow, what a place London is. That I can attend a party completely across (and I mean far!) town as possible, be served incredibly delicious food prepared in a kitchen that must be a quarter of the size of my own, be read to, BE READ TO, and meet people I instantly like so much that I stop talking and laughing only long enough to put food in my mouth, and am back home again before the midnight hour. But that is the genius of the Literary Hour supper club. Bringing people together with a shared passion for books, very good food and a sense of fun. How could it not be a great night. A really, really great night, indeed.