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“Hunter's stew is also known as hunter's pot or perpetual stew. It is made in a large pot, and the ingredients are anything you can find. The idea is that it is never finished, never emptied all the way- instead it is topped up perpetually. It is a stew with an unending cycle. It is a stew that can last for years. It dates back to medieval Poland, first made in cauldrons no one bothered to empty or wash. It began with the simmering of game meat- pigeon, hare, hen, pheasant, rabbit- just anything you could get your hands on. It would then be supplemented with foraged vegetables, seasoned with wild herbs. Sometimes spices or even wine would be added. Then, as time went by, additional food scraps and leftovers were thrown in- recently harvested produce, stale hunks of bread, newly slaughtered meat, or beans dried for the winter months. It would exist in perpetuity, always the same, always new. Traditionally the stew has spicy, savory, and sour notes. An element of sourness is absolutely necessary to cut through the rich and intense flavor. It is said to improve with age.”

“After an hour or so, I went to roast a round of tuna steaks. The kitchen was dense with spices and smells. I'd massaged the tuna with cumin and ground coriander, plus lots of chili, serving it with new potatoes and carrots. We mopped up the sauce from our plates with thickly cut bread. We tossed any bones onto the floor, throwing them over our shoulders as was now tradition. The fat and the tomatoes left a thin red tide line around our mouths, which we dabbed at with tissues. After the tuna we had a smaller course of spaghetti puttanesca- served in sundae bowls we'd found in the kitchen. The pasta was a little overcooked, but the fiery anchovy sauce was delicious, finished with an extra drizzle of chili oil, its carmine flecks spitting and popping from the pan.”

“She had made a cheddar-and-parsley roulade. Lina had made a lentil goulash, plus almond-and-white-chocolate blondies. Emmeline had made two different types of risotto. Erin had made lamb-and-asparagus mini pies and a strawberry-and-spinach salad. Renni had made bread-and-butter pudding using chocolate croissants. Andrea had made a hearty beef goulash plus zucchini with feta and mint. Sash had made a giant pumpkin cheesecake. The kitchen was a kaleidoscope of smells.”

“A few days before the club, Stevie and Erin produced the wares of their dumpster dives. New potatoes, udon noodles, shiitake mushrooms, raspberry doughnuts, baked meringues, feta cheese, frozen peas, farfalle pasta, tomato puree, tinned salmon, plus a load of day-old radishes. "The most important part of any dumpster dive," Erin said, moving her hand expansively over the food, "is showing off what you have found." I processed the food as she'd taught me: cleaning the packaging with diluted bleach and soaking the vegetables in a vinegar-water solution. In the large chrome restaurant kitchen, I spread it all out across the counter and thought about what I'd make. We had bought just one extra ingredient: enormous cuts of T-bone steak. We thought red meat should be a prerequisite for all Supper Clubs. An element of spontaneity had also been agreed on, with no set menu, no dietary requirements- just eat whatever's in front of you and be sure to eat it all. The plan was to spend all night at the restaurant, waiting hours between courses. I made grilled potatoes and spiced salmon for the first course. I roasted radishes and topped them with crumbled feta for the second. Cold noodle salad with shiitake mushrooms and peas for the third, and T-bone steaks cooked rare, with a side of garlic-tomato pasta, for the main course. For dessert I made a strange sort of Eton mess, with chunks of torn doughnuts and smashed meringue covered in cream and sugar.”

“The food we managed to gather was considerably more limited than we'd been led to believe. An excess of individually wrapped panettone and reindeer-shaped chocolate- the dregs of Christmas. Baskets of savory biscuits and variations of chutney. Kitsch American stuff like packets of Froot Loops and jars of marshmallow spread. Large decanters of flavored oils but nothing to dip into them. There weren't even any cheeses or cured meats. But the alcohol was good: bottles of champagne and prosecco, Żubrówka in sculpted glass jars. We sat on the hard floor. Stevie had brought blankets and paper plates, plastic cups and cutlery. It felt like a picnic at the end of the world. I made a plate of Gruyère cheese twists and port-and-fig chutney. I slathered salted caramel dip over savory oatcakes. I had a slice of hazelnut panettone. I finished with some shortbread and sea-salt truffles.”