Supper Club, with an Art Twist and Puppers
Some supper begins with "What's on the menu?" This one began with " Go forage in the garden, and then pick up a paintbrush."
For one evening, the dinner table transformed into something between an artist’s studio, a community table, and a playground for curious adults (and a few enthusiastic dogs). There were no easels, no daunting canvases, and certainly no expectations to create something pretty. Instead, the table itself became our sketchbook. A sketchbook that invited its participants to be explorative, to be immersed in the moment, to forget their screens, and to just move their brushes in sync with what their eyes saw on and around the table. Outcome didn’t matter; what you drew didn’t matter; what mattered was the intent to be observant and a nudge to perhaps try drawing something that they haven’t before.
But there was a rule too?
You MUST paint before you eat a course.
As bowls of vibrant salads arrived, ribbons of carrot, juicy cherry tomatoes, creamy cheese dips, herbs still carrying the scent of the garden, everyone paused and observed. Before the first bite, they looked. Looked to observe and to reflect and to paint. A tomato wasn’t just a tomato anymore; it was a burst of vermillion with a tiny star-shaped crown. A cucumber became gradients of green. And the riot of colors unleashed.
Soon the tablecloth (aka the watercolor scroll) was blooming.
Paint wandered between plates. Watercolour puddles mingled with lemonade glasses. Someone painted a carrot before tasting it. Someone else became fascinated by the veins of a fallen leaf. Between courses, conversations drifted from recipes to childhood memories, favourite vegetables, forgotten gardens, and why drawing somehow makes us notice what we’ve overlooked all our lives.
By dessert, nobody was asking, “Am I doing this right?”
Instead they were asking,
“Can I borrow some more green from your palette (and probably also plate)?”
That felt like success.The menu itself was designed for observation as much as nourishment. Bright seasonal produce, herbs, crunchy textures, handmade crackers, fresh dips, colourful drinks—every dish invited curiosity before consumption. The meal became both dinner and still life.
Then, just when everyone thought the evening had unfolded all its surprises, our four-legged guests stole the show. Armed with pet-safe paints, curious noses, wagging tails, and absolutely no understanding of artistic restraint, the dogs, accompanied by their humans, created their own abstract masterpieces. There was enthusiastic sniffing, accidental paw prints, joyful splodges of color, and an audience cheering every unexpected mark. It was impossible to decide who enjoyed the activity more—the humans or the dogs.
The paintings, unsurprisingly, were magnificent.
By the end of the evening the long paper scroll/runner across the table had transformed into something impossible for a single person to claim. Watercolour vegetables sat beside botanical studies, playful doodles beside careful observations, fingerprints beside brushstrokes, tiny stories beside splashes of colour. It wasn’t one artwork.
It was twelve conversations made visible.
That’s perhaps the quiet philosophy behind this supper club.
Drawing slows us down.
Food brings us together.
Making something with our hands reminds us that creativity isn’t a performance—it’s participation.
You don’t need to know how to paint.
You don’t need to know the names of colors.
You don’t even need to stay inside the lines.
All you need is an appetite—for food, for people, and for paying attention.
Because sometimes the most memorable thing on the table isn’t the meal.
It’s the conversation that gets painted around it.
