THEY have code names, mysterious meeting places, a cult following and the intoxicating whiff of illegality. But there is a delicious difference between these clandestine sorts and other secret societies: The food – and wine – is divine.
Underground dining – well-cooked meals one pays for that are held in private homes – is the latest foodie craze about to cross over into the mainstream.
Food lovers from New York to San Francisco have been hip to such supper clubs for a few years, but it’s not just chowhounds sitting side by side at the long tables anymore.
It’s for someone “who’s probably tired of bars and getting ripped off at restaurants and who’s looking at a nonintimidating way to meet folks,” says Jeremy Townsend, 31, who formed Ghetto Gourmet in Oakland, Calif., but who now lives in Brooklyn.
It’s an esoteric singles scene, and this no-tip dining has reached a tipping point.
Homeslice West’s Becky and Hayden, two cooking fanatics who only use first names and who hold dinners in Upper West Side apartments, are pitching a television show. Townsend says he’s being courted with book and film deals. New York Bite Club, which already has hundreds of members, sifts through hundreds of applications each week. Michael Hebberoy, founder of “One Pot” in Seattle, has a Web site Kill the Restaurant (killtherestaurant.com) and a book in the works. The title explains it all.
But most stealth chefs didn’t get into the game for the glory. Some already work in the restaurant biz, or used to. And many just love to cook but went broke making lavish meals for their friends.
“My personal goal in life was to convince people that anyone could have a dinner party regardless of apartment or kitchen size,” says Zara O’Neill, 35, who runs Sunday Night Dinner with Tamara Reynolds, 39.
Throw in the bill, though, and not everyone’s so keen on the concept.
“I like the idea in so many ways, but then just when I think I’m sold on it, I think, They’re just charging for a dinner party,” says one Manhattan male foodie.
They’re just covering costs, advocates counter.
“Initially, we had five people, and I showed them the receipts from the grocery store. I added 20 percent and split it between them,” says Townsend. New York Bite Club’s Michelle (not her real name) says that, though private, her dinners actually make a certain cuisine more accessible. “You can experience food you won’t get in a restaurant unless you spend $400.”
And what for some is a tradeoff, for others is a draw: You have to be comfortable with a little bit of sub rosa – and a lot of strangers.
“We foster the kind of environment where you can meet strangers,” says Anna Balkrishna, co-founder of the Chowdown, which replicates the underground dining model at the club APT. O’Neill thinks people like “being forced to hang out around the dinner table.”
A recent night at 4coursevegan.com began with e-mail directions to Chef Matteo’s basement loft in Williamsburg. There, a table full of vegans, flexible vegetarians and one meat eater talked and stuffed themselves with organic gourmet food. At the night’s end, two chatty couples, one from Nashville and one from Manhattan, shared a cab.
Most of the organizers admit that having people pay for dinner in a private home falls into a gray area when it comes to the rules and regulations of the New York City Health Department. Just like McDonald’s, they’d be subject to health inspections and other rules. To stay on the right side of the law, the organizers have “suggested donations” rather than fixed prices. The New York Bite Club set up a membership for admittance to its private events.
“It’s really vague what you can and can’t do,” says Townsend. “Anybody can come and cook for you.”
Again, for legal reasons, guests usually bring their own alcohol.
“I don’t feel like we’re doing anything wrong,” says O’Neill. “We’re entertaining friends, and they’re giving us money to cover our costs.” At the New York Bite Club, Michelle screens applicants by Googling them and sometimes talking to them.
Soon, they may not have to be so secretive. In-home restaurants are common in Europe, South America and Cuba, where they’re now actually sanctioned by the state.
Hebberoy, who was inspired by the Cuban model, began his events to demonstrate that “you could create this experience of making food and selling food in an interesting way without investors, a p.r. firm, without licenses and without a million dollars.”
We’ll drink to that.
marymhuhn@nypost.com