Behind the Scenes: The Chaos, Coffee, and Candlelight of a Feast Evening

There’s something quite magical about a feast evening—the clink of glasses, the flicker of candlelight, the hum of conversation over six glorious courses. It’s a night of great food, flowing wine, and an atmosphere that (hopefully) feels effortless.

Except, behind the scenes, it’s anything but effortless.

Let me take you on a little journey through what really happens in the lead-up to one of our feast nights—long hours, late-night prep, and an unhealthy reliance on caffeine included.

Step One: The Menu – Or, How I Convince Myself I’m Organised

Every feast starts with a menu—which sounds very refined until you realise it’s mostly me staring at a piece of paper, muttering “What do people actually want to eat?”

The seasons help guide me. Spring? Light, fresh flavours. Autumn? Deep, rich comfort food. Winter? A whole lot of butter. Every menu is an adventure, and once I’ve cracked it, it’s onto sourcing ingredients. Local suppliers, markets, the occasional last-minute panic-run to the shop when I realise I forgot something crucial (looking at you, lemons).

The menu needs to flow. It needs to surprise. And most importantly, it needs to fit in my tiny kitchen without causing a small fire.

Step Two: The Prep – Because Who Needs Sleep?

Once the menu is set, the real fun begins—a.k.a, late-night cooking marathons.

You see, I have a day job. That means all the real supper club prep starts when most people are unwinding with a glass of wine. Stock reductions, slow-roasted meats, sauces bubbling away—it’s all happening while the rest of the world sleeps.

My kitchen transforms into a battleground of pots, pans, and timers, with me darting between them like a contestant on a very niche reality show. Some things get done well ahead of time; others, I tell myself I’ll do ‘tomorrow’—which then becomes ‘very last minute.’

At some point, Jess gently reminds me that I am, in fact, a human who needs rest, and I promise to stop soon. I don’t.

Step Three: The Magic of Jess and Her Flowers

While I’m drowning in prep, Jess is out in the real world, being a far more functional adult. Specifically, she’s out in the garden, picking the most beautiful, seasonal flowers.

Flowers play a huge role in our supper clubs. Jess curates bouquets that feel effortless (which, much like the food, takes an incredible amount of effort). They bring colour, fragrance, and a real sense of occasion to the evening.

Honestly, she makes it all look annoyingly easy. Meanwhile, I’m on my third coffee, covered in flour, mumbling about how I should have started prepping three days earlier.

Step Four: Transforming the Café (And Ironing More Than I Ever Have in My Life)

At some point, we have to turn the café into a proper supper club setting.

This means moving furniture, ironing tablecloths, and setting everything just so. It’s about creating an atmosphere—soft lighting, flickering candles, and carefully placed flowers.

And let me tell you, I have never ironed as much as I do for these evenings. It’s a level of domesticity I did not expect in my life.

Once everything is in place, the tables set, and the lights dimmed, it hits me: It’s all coming together.

Step Five: The Calm Before the Storm (Or, the Ten Minutes Where I Pretend I’m Not Stressed)

With everything finally ready, there’s a small, glorious window of calm—usually about ten minutes long.

I take a breath. Jess gives me a look that says, “See, I told you it would be fine.” I take a sip of something strong (for ‘quality control,’ obviously).

And then… the guests arrive.

Step Six: The Night Itself – And Why It’s All Worth It

There’s a moment, usually about an hour into service, when I step back and just take it all in.

The room is glowing, people are talking, laughing, toasting. Plates come back empty, glasses get refilled, and suddenly, all the madness and late nights feel completely worth it.

At the end of the night, when the last guest leaves, Jess and I collapse into chairs, raise a final toast, and acknowledge what we both know to be true:

We’ll do it all again in six weeks.

And I’ll definitely start my prep earlier next time. (Probably.)

Want to experience it for yourself? Keep an eye on our next supper club dates—just don’t ask how much sleep we’ve had when you arrive.