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 we'd carried up the stairs, and the conviction that an evening is more than the food on the plates.
Three years on we've seated almost two thousand strangers across nine cities, and we've learned that the chairs are sometimes the most important part.
This deck is the small handbook we send our hosts before each edition. It is also, quietly, an invitation.
A long winter dinner in a converted printing room above a bookshop. One shared roast, an unhurried wine list, and a single intermission that may, if the weather agrees, become a walk to the harbour and back.
An evening I keep describing, badly, to people who weren't there.
Every Long Table evening is by application. We read each one, and we usually answer within a week. The next room opens for Brooklyn on the seventeenth of January.