What hosts are saying about Beth
I attended the Northern lights supper club in Brixton, and had an amazing time. From the warm welcome by the girls, Bex and Beth, to the well thought out and tasty food. Not to mention the Icelandic Vodka, which should be served at every future event! It is the chance to dine, drink and meet people in the cosy and informal atmosphere that makes this a winner, and the large amount of work sourcing the ingredients, decorations and set up is all from the heart. Plus its all for charity, so what's not to like?? Skål!
I've never felt so at home as a stranger in an 'alien' land. My sense of affinity with my would-be supper pals fomented some time before myself and husband even arrived at this twinkly wonderland: A bunch of cheerful foodies were opening their home to twenty-four Londoners they probably didn't know from Aron. They would be preparing a procession of locally-sourced delicacies in their own kitchen, then feeding them to us for many hours. The profits from this £30-a-head bundle of joy would then go to charity. What's not to warmly anticipate? There were literally no disappointments. Of course the guests were chatty, open and often hilarious; no-one grumpy could possibly sign up to something like this. On arrival we were dosed with a mess-mug of steaming gløgg (a super sweet Swedish dried fruit and port-propelled mulled wine) and ushered to a heated garden where the mingling began among the snowed up ivy and tiers of illuminated Bonsai spruces. I felt like I'd arrived at a small, tasteful wedding at a remote Nordic lodge. The attention to detail was captivating: Even a trip to the loo was fun, with Sami and other trad-clad Scandinavian 'relatives' smiling out from all the picture frames lining the staircase. And a sly stroll past the kitchen window gave a preview of the behind-the-scenes industry: around half a dozen chefs variously slither-slicing home-cured gravadlax, arranging piles of plaited spiced bread and rustic rye crackers, and precision-plating assorted pickles and rollmops. It was getting a bit too exciting. The chilly fisk-u-copia I'd sought out on a recent Northern Lights hunt in Norway was soon to be relived. I urgently seized a place at the lovely long candlelit table, clothed in white embroidered linen and cute glass goblets, and started to get to know my neighbours. All well and good. Then arrived my aptly paired oily dill fishes, with vinegary radish, cucumber and beetroot, and a sweet dollop of Swedish mustard sauce. A huge basket of Rugbrød (Danish crisp rye bread), was passed around. I ate each element of my 'Entre platter', along with a new friend's rejected 'glasmastarsill' (Swedish glassblower's herring). What was wrong with her? Then followed what an aproned host bonnily described as a 'cheeky shot' of 'Skal with Reyka': purest Icelandic vodka. I don't normally like voddy, but I registered the quality for the 15 seconds it misted my mouth like a hot spring. Then I spooned down a hurrah of a bowl of stewed hare, chestnut and juniper with Danish 'brun kartofler', a sort of fondant potato filled with a thoughtful meaty stuffing. My palate was then successfully cleansed (twice) by a bright minty cucumber sorbet, laced with the herby Skandy tipple Aqvavit. 'Dessert platter' was a sharing board of rarities arranged around a centrepiece of that alluring sweet plait I spotted in the kitchen window, cardamom-charged 'pulla bread', which had been given a crown of mini-flags in tribute to the five nations we were celebrating. Out of everyone nearby I was the most delighted with the presence of fudgy cubes of 'Gudbrandsdalen mesost', a cheese which the Norwegians conjure by first caramelising whey. For me it has everything: it is sweet, sharp, rich and deep. This was a bit of a Marmite item on our table, with some picking off the adorning chunk of toffeed pecans to coo over without its uber-dairy partnership. I artfully perfected the combo by stacking on a raspberry from the scatter of fresh fruits. My continuing journey around the board was thrilling: on the northwest corner were pizza slices of homemade Leipajuusto, Finnish 'squeeky cheese'. These were drooled with sherbety jam made from Arctic cloudberries, the peach melba-coloured clustering fruits which are so revered in those parts. As I downed my last mouthful: a chestnut-cream-filled brandy snap, I pondered my chances of becoming obese in one night. Applause for the lovely people who pulled together to create such a fine evening. Unfortunately, we failed to maintain the standards of decorum later on, after recruiting two of the most exuberant guests for more drinks back at our home, conveniently located just around the corner...
What a fabulous evening. We ate our way from Paris to Venice, Belgrade and Istanbul – four courses of truly delicious food. By the time we reached dessert, already blissfully full, we were all just gazing at the team of lovely people who were feeding and looking after us, in awe. There was not only rose ice cream and quince, but afterwards, Turkish coffee – served in the garden – with dates filled with orange water and pistachio. Heaven! Yet another delicious detail, on a night where it felt like everything had been thought of. We could not get over how they managed to make it all so decadent - everyone came away feeling they'd been seriously spoilt - while still raising the amount they did for Kids Co.
Where to find Beth
Google Map service not available