Eat Me Magazine's supper club: Not your average Monday evening

It's a Monday night in August. In an eccentrically-decorated converted pub in deepest Dalston, a model reclines on a chaise longue. The other models on the shoot are still having their lips painted, their hair fluffed and their clothes selected. 'Just move your leg a bit to the left', says the photographer. 'And now look towards the door...' No, this is not the latest Britain's Next Top Model photoshoot, but Eat Me Magazine's first supper club. And the model is me.

OK, let's rewind. As I made it very clear when the make-up artist asked 'Are you a model?' (you bet I was flattered), I'm an editor and writer. So what was I doing posing in an expensive dress for a magazine? A few days earlier, I spotted a tweet from new high-end food and culture magazine Eat Me (try asking for that in WHSmith and imagine what's going through the shop assistant's mind) asking for volunteers for their first supper club, which they would be photographing and filming. Always up for free grub, I applied. Although I didn't initially make the cut, I received a reply a few hours before the scheduled event: someone had dropped out, could I make it to Dalston that evening with a pair of black heels? You bet I could. At 7pm, new Peacocks heels in bag, my colleague Stephan (who had also been selected) and I turned up at aforementioned converted pub with no idea of what was in store. Two minutes later I had a Bloody Mary thrust into my hand and was whisked upstairs into hair and make-up.

Along with the 4 other chosen Twitterati, Stephan and I were groomed and styled in this season's finest (well, I think I got the better end of the deal in a sparkly Full Circle dress and Topshop jewellery) before posing for individual photoshoots. Desperately trying to decipher what Tyra means when she says 'Smile with your eyes', I grinned like a fool and hoped for the best. I had been to my first supper club just a few days before, but already turning up at a stranger's house for dinner seemed like a doddle compared with trying to conceal my double chin and appear alluring on camera in front of the magazine's staff and my fellow diners. The fact that we were all in the same boat and the two Bloody Marys I had gulped back helped somewhat though, and when the magazine turned up on my doorstep this morning I was pretty pleased with the result. OK, it probably wouldn't pass the Tyra test ('Girl, you look expression-LESS!' would probably have been her assessment), I could only spot one chin on the black-clad glamazon staring back at me.

4 of the made-over supper clubbers. I'm second from right.

Daunting photoshoots over with, it was time for dinner. We supperclubbers sat down to a vegetarian feast which kicked off with quenelles of feta and olive, poached peach salad, roasted aubergines and apple sourdough bread. It's a good job I made notes, as Eat Me's article focuses on the supper club phenomenon rather than our Dalston dining, which I think is a bit of a shame given they had a captive audience to observe. How will the supper clubbers interact? Which personalities will dominate? Will talk inevitably turn to food? Will awkwardness prevail, or will the guests move the party to a nearby pub once the dessert's been devoured? Once the ample starters were dispensed with, I'd had sufficient wine to share the story of how a tramp tried to sit on me on the Madrid metro. Always a crowd pleaser, that one. As most of the folk who'd spotted Eat Me's tweet were in the food industry somehow, once the tramp topic was done conversation did indeed turn to food, with a bit of borderline pretentious cheese chat and Michelin star bla bla I couldn't really participate in. However, everyone was pretty easy to chat to, and the sense of shared experience was even greater in this case than at your average supper club.

After our starter came a cucumber and citrus cooler, a violent green-coloured drink designed to cleanse the palate. Sophisticated stuff, this. This was followed by a reblochon and courgette tart accompanied with a broccoli and stilton gratin and roasted beetroot in a champagne reduction. Not being a beetroot fan, I'd rather have drunk the champagne to be honest, but the tart and gratin hit the spot and the peg holding my waist-cinching belt in at the back soon began to shift. The cheese theme continued into the next course: dessert was a whiffy cheese selection and stacks of sticky baklava. Preferring my cheeses in the Lancashire or manchego-type forms, I quickly moved the pungent plate away from me and tucked into the baklava instead.

And with that, it was time for the Eat Me team to get stuck into the washing up and the supper clubbers to swap their chic togs for their civvies. Sadly, I didn't get to keep the dress. I'm sure Tyra would have, but humble editors have no such luck. No lifelong friends were made, no pub visits ensued, but it was a fun evening with great vegetarian food and plenty of wine to wash it down with. And it's not every day you get to dress up, have your picture taken and get a free meal now, is it?

• The results of the photoshoot can be seen in issue 3 of Eat Me, available to order here.

Supperclubbing #2: Sunday afternoon in The Shed

Not since the days of happily devouring beef paste sandwiches in my grandad's summerhouse during the school holidays have I dined in an outbuilding of any kind. My tastes may have changed somewhat with meat now off the menu, but I'm still open to the idea of eating in wooden huts at the bottom of the garden. So when a vegetarian meal was announced at Newington Green supper club The Shed Likes Food, I jumped at the opportunity for a bit of secret shed-style dining.

Keen cook Nicola and her boyfriend Andrew open up their garden shed (think fairy lights and artwork on the walls rather than rusty tools and tins of paint) as an informal underground restaurant every month. Unlike at many supper clubs, the hosts eat with their guests, giving dinner at The Shed much more of a relaxed dinner party feel.

My fellow pescatarian friend Rachael and I arrived at The Shed on Sunday afternoon, with first-time supper clubber R feeling unsure of what to expect and me feeling like a relative veteran with one previous underground restaurant attendance under my belt. However, I realised instantly that The Shed would be pretty different to my last experience, with just 11 diners (including our hosts) as opposed to 28. All seated around one communal table topped with a cheery gingham tablecloth, conversation was instantly easy. Two brave souls had turned up without the social crutch of an accompanying friend which, along with a glass of wine or two, certainly helped to encourage chat.

The style of Nicola's food also added to the convivial atmosphere, with a mezze-style sharing theme going on. First up was a platter of yummy dips: tzatziki, a chunky lemony houmous and a zingy beetroot dip which even managed to win me over after a lifetime's avoidance of the puce-coloured vegetable. Accompanying this trio of delights were dishes of crudites and home-made flatbread, as well as a stack of incredibly moreish feta, mint and courgette fritters which I'll certainly be trying to recreate at home. After a little digestive and conversational interlude, along came our main courses: a harissa, chickpea and aubergine stew, its spice giving a warming feeling which felt like a nod to the approaching autumn; a dish of meltingly-soft rice with onion, lentils and a yoghurt topping; a red cabbage salad and another of mixed leaves. With the sharing plates piled high, portions were as generous as we wanted them to be and second helpings positively encouraged - a definite winner in my book. As the plates were passed from guest to guest I was surprised at how much this felt like a dinner party among friends: apart from the odd inevitable lull in conversation, chat flowed freely beyond the realms of small-talk and even descended into comedy accent impressions as the afternoon wore on into evening.

Moving away from the Mediterranean feel for dessert, Nicola served up a proper English pudding in the form of a delicious peach and raspberry crumble with custard. This was a perfect conclusion to an afternoon of unpretentious but excellent home-style cooking in the relaxed atmosphere lent by The Shed, our friendly fellow diners and our lovely hosts. To add to The Shed's charm, Nicola only charges enough to cover the cost of ingredients - £10 each in our case, which makes it a positive bargain on the supper club scene. If you're keen to try an informal supper club with great food in a fun setting, get yourself on The Shed's mailing list. I promise there's not a beef paste sandwich in sight.

• The Shed Likes Food advertises its supper club dates through its mailing list. The price varies but will be advertised in advance. BYO wine (no corkage charge). 

Supperclubbing #1: Fernandez & Leluu sets the bar high

Supper clubs, underground restaurants... Call them what you will, these dining experiences in the homes of keen amateur chefs are currently taking London by storm. After arriving from Madrid, I was keen to get in on the action, and when two last-minute places came up at Fernandez & Leluu's highly-regarded supper club in East London, I jumped at the chance and dragged my friend J along for the experience. Usually held on 3 nights each month (a consecutive Thursday, Friday and Saturday), Spanish Simon (Fernandez) and Vietnamese Uyen (Leluu) open up their home to serve around 30 diners a themed menu which changes every month.

On the bus journey there, aside from the Croatian-inspired menu emailed to us in advance, we had no idea what to expect. How many other diners would there be? Would our dinner companions be achingly cool and intimidating, know-it-all food snobs, downright weirdos or just fairly nice and normal people? Crossing our fingers frantically for the latter, we took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The friendly waitress for the evening greeted us warmly and ushered us into an inviting, trendily-decorated lounge/dining room leading onto a garden, where the other diners were mingling. Accepting the offer of a glass of wine, we made a half-hearted attempt to join in, wishing we'd arrived more than ten minutes in advance of dinner in order to get more of a chance to chat. A quick glance around the garden revealed that our fellow diners were not a scary bunch of trendy NHS-esque specs and skinny jeans wearers, in fact they seemed (sigh of relief) like normal folk, largely in their twenties and thirties.

At 8pm we sat down to dinner on our table of eight and were served an amuse bouche of mackerel pate in a chicory leaf, accompanied with artisan bread. The smooth homemade pate gave us a taste of things to come: delicious. Our international bunch of table-mates (from England, Italy, America and Norway) agreed, and we eagerly anticipated the arrival of our next dish, black squid risotto. Immaculately presented in a contrasting white dish, the black rice was topped with a dollop of chilli-flecked ali-oli and a baby squid. The flavours mingled beautifully; Simon had created a far more sophisticated dish than the similar Spanish arroz negro I've previously tried. The next stage in our feast was melon with parma ham and 'prawns ceviette' (two king prawns elegantly draped over a shot glass filled with a sublime mint and chive (I think!) dip). Whatever the sauce was, it was so damn tasty I couldn't resist using my fork to scrape the last of it from the glass (sorry Mum, I promise my manners are usually much better, and if you'd tried it you would have understood).

As our BYO wine flowed, the courses kept coming, allowing us to sample a wide range of Croatian-style cooking. Conversation with our fellow diners was a little more challenging as everyone seemed to have come in pairs (well, at least I hope the couple sitting behind us had...), but I gleaned some useful supper club tips from the girl next to me, who rated F&L as the best she had attended so far. The advertised 'fish and chips' turned out to be tuna sashimi with wasabi and slender hand-cut chips - I'm not usually a huge raw fish fan, but I think this plate-lickingly good dish (don't worry dear readers/Mum, I didn't!) might have converted me. Next in the hit parade was octoupus carpaccio with capers: the thin slices were full of flavour and their texture nothing like my last octopus experience, a tough tapa of pulpo a la gallega. The savoury delights were rounded off with pulled lamb for J, and chargrilled aubergines with a hint of chilli for my pescatarian self, both accompanied with a cold new potato and onion salad. Feeling pleasantly full but not stuffed, there was still room for the dessert of panna cotta, given an original taste with a slight orange flavour.

As we lingered over dessert, each group was presented with a personalised envelope to make their donation: a discreet way of collecting payment in-keeping with the intimate experience of dining in an undergroud restaurant. The minimum donation for Fernandez & Leluu's nights is £35 per person, which I had thought on the steep side before arriving, but given the quantity, outstanding quality and impeccable presentation of their dishes, it actually turned out to be great value. If you were served Simon's food in a restaurant, you'd be just as impressed but no doubt have to fork out far more for it.

Feeling rather tired after our Friday feast, we sloped off home, unfortunately not getting chance to chat to our hosts. However, I have no doubt I'll be back - when I can get in again that is. With their September nights sold out already, it seems that F&L's venture is going from strength to strength, and based on our experience I can see why. If you're a fan of great food who wants to try an unpretentious supper club with a welcoming atmosphere and attentive service, you better get yourself on their mailing list quick.

• Our dinner at Fernandez & Leluu cost a £35 minimum donation, including a glass of wine on arrival. Bring your own bottle of wine - there is no corkage charge.