Eating in at Ted & Amy’s Supperclub

Ever since I’ve grown chummy with the fine folks at the Whisk & Ladle supperclub, and especially after reading the investigative work into recent Brooklyn speakeasies in this winter’s issue of Edible Brooklyn, I’ve been fascinated with supperclubs. (More than enough to toss out the space between the two words for good.) Who knew that homes were the new hot spot for fine dining? Oh wait, I did. I just didn’t think there were so many other people who seem to agree. And in my own backyard, to boot. This week, I was welcomed to the beautiful Fort Greene kitchen of Kara, who along with Adam operates Ted & Amy’s Supperclub.

You’ll have to read why those namesakes make sense in their website. My friend Matt and I arrived at the supperclub on a very warm, springy weeknight and took our drinks out to the backyard patio. While chatting up other guests, we got a front-row view of the grill, which was just crackling with corn still in their husks. Adam, a former cook, was tending the grill and had already nicely charred some asparagus for an opening salad, and had rows of colorful kebabs lined up to go for the main course. The next few hours that followed were some of the most idyllic a sociable food lover can probably imagine. Before hopping on my bike for a short ride home, I had eight new friends, a full belly, and an invitation to come by and cook with them sometime. Does not eating out get any better than this?

corn with husks gets smoking on the grill

everything tastes better on a stick

Kara puts the final touches on grilled corn

dinner is served

and enjoyed by all

corn and mango salsa was stationed along the table beside bowls of tortilla chips

The combo platter: veggie, shrimp and chicken mango sausage kebabs, grilled corn with parsley butter, and I know that you’re thinking that black stuff on the bottom right is black beans, but it is not. It is truly incredible black beans, cooked with savory sausage bits and aromatics, to the silken texture of pudding. It was outstanding.

Panna cotta with honey and yogurt. Sweet and sour perfectly harmonized. Conversation-stopping deliciousness, until the discussion turned to how and when we were going to handle eating the blackberry on top — wait until the end? Burst its dark juices all over the cream? To each, his own. (I couldn’t wait.)