Where ten strangers, one cook, and a long evening meet under low light. Twice a month, by application.
We started Long Table in a borrowed kitchen, with six chairs carried up the stairs, and the conviction that an evening is more than food.
Three years on, two thousand strangers seated across nine cities. The chairs are sometimes the most important part.
This deck is our host handbook. Also, quietly, an invitation.
A long winter dinner in a printing room above a bookshop, with one shared roast and an unhurried wine list.
An evening I keep describing, badly.
Every evening is by application; we read each one.