An Open Mind Is the Secret Ingredient of Supper Clubs
The custard’s reputation precedes itself. A sweet combination of fresh corn, cream, eggs, vanilla, sugar, a pinch of salt and a splash of orange blossom water was enough to make me place a hold on my calendar in the hopes I would snag a spot at Beta, the Jackson Heights–based pop-up. It wasn’t until I reserved my place at the table through Tock, an online culinary experience platform (where you pay for the meal in advance), that I learned The Custard, in fact, would not be making an appearance on that night in July.
Here is where we need to address the obvious—the obvious to me, at least. Supper clubs, famously, can be a living hell for a certain kind of person. My mother, for example, whom I called on my walk from the Roosevelt Ave stop, would probably rather happily claw her own eyes out than chat with six strangers eating an experimental menu.
For the unfamiliar, a curated pop-up forces you to engage with other guests differently than an “actual” restaurant would. Think about the necessary schmoozing at wedding receptions or the feeling of being a plus-one at your partner’s company picnic: You are all here for the same reason—though from all walks of life—and this is supposed to be fun. (The guest list on the evening I attended included a hedge fund manager, a quiet couple from Fort Greene and a filmmaker with his mother who was in town to see his queer Asian documentary.)
But for the kind of person who is open to new experiences, those looking to devour as much of the world as humanly possible, or to find companionship in a borough full of 2.3 million people, Beta could be your bliss.
Drew Shives, Matthew Taber and Amir Dholakia—the three ex-Jean-Georges chefs behind the roving restaurant concept they call “Beta”—first connected at ABC Kitchen, where their kinship was instant.
Beta is a test of sorts, expressing the spirit of “what it means to cook with curiosity and intent.” This mostly happens inside of Shives and Taber’s Jackson Heights home—which I would simply call a house had it not been so welcoming (a paramount detail considering you are to dry your hands with their personal towels in the restroom)—that they share with Andy Marra, Shives’ fiancée, who is not officially involved with the project, though you can tell the gentle way she pulls the supper club strings and cheerleads her friends to continue chasing their dreams. The whole package is—objectively—beautiful.
The night I attended Beta for the second dinner seating, the chefs, despite finishing off an intricate nine-course meal less than an hour earlier, weren’t breaking a sweat. Their custom-embroidered Hedley & Bennett aprons appeared untouched.
It was a scorching day, but the juneberry shrub was ready to welcome the first attendee. The corn biscuits baked and ready to slather with garden butter (butter mixed with reduced tomato and garlic chive juices) and summer squashes sat poached in chili dashi with Lady Choi brown butter, hazelnuts and Challerhocker cheese.
Beta keeps the menu mostly vegetarian (and almost vegan, using alt-ingredients like smoked soygurt paired with eggplants that were grilled and lacquered with blueberry kosho tare), save their small love affair with fine dairy, as demonstrated by the doenjang cheese in the gougères and the lemon posset with blueberry compote and cardamom oat crumble. But who could blame them with their ability to expertly source?
It is fancy-meet-familia. Their high-end dining resumes fuse with their various cultural backgrounds by way of corn, mustard and tomato buns poised to be dipped in chili oil, and Korean melon granita scraped to serve with poached quince.
For those unsure about partaking in a pop-up, at no point did I feel forced to interact with others. At the very least you can nod along while Taber explains the menu and pours the wine you bring (all Beta events are BYOB), until it is time to leave with a full, plant-based, happy belly.
For those looking to dive head first into everything Beta can be, I recommend you soak in the richness of these chefs’ prowess. Take note of how they prepare cucumbers four ways—pickled, cured, raw and juiced—and ask questions when the dish includes “doughnut peaches” and “perilla.” (Why the flat ones? What IS perilla?) Be a scientist about the way the food sits on the plate, and analyze the vessels for each course—and the way it is divided. Understand how, as someone with seven dollars in your pocket, you can come together with a Midtown man who manages multi-millionaires in Manhattan and walk away feeling better than when you walked in. Know it is a sweet combination of Beta’s brilliance and the power of breaking bread.
For any kind of person, it is advised to block off a Monday night the next time Beta pops up (do note tickets tend to sell out quickly) and open your mind to, perhaps, an unpredictable experience. If you follow this format, perhaps you will reach the same idea of Beta as the only note I wrote on a piece of paper that night: “Effortless.”
