Knocking at the Pale Blue Door.

“If you follow your nose and open your ears and let the breeze carry the waft of smoke and the whiff of moonshine, the promise of love will drive you on and with furtive looks you knock three times, a heavily lacquered hand reaches out. Light, love and laughter spill out into the night sky before the city falls back into it’s slumber, only turning slightly in it’s cold and guilty bed.”

I only lost my London virginity two months ago. Now, living blindly between Fulham and Chelsea (a microcosmic middle-class bubble with rather an overabundance of mulberry handbags) I have spent my days in this beautiful city exploring the overpriced joys of the King’s Road. So it was rather a breath of fresh air when my boyfriend (a real Londoner) decided to surprise me with a truly mind-boggling experience down a dark side-ally in Hackney. Don’t panic, I’m not about to regale you with an inappropriate story of that sort. However, I feel I might struggle here, as words will never truly convey the intense sensory overload I experienced over the threshold of Tony Hornecker’s “Pale Blue Door”.

The artist Tony Hornecker spent 6 years transforming his home - an old warehouse garage - into a wonderland of obscurity, and has since been hosting a number of ‘pop-up dining clubs’ each year. Alcoves, balconies, outré deckings and hidden installations are the backdrop for a cosy, boozy and reassuringly homemade three-course dinner. This is not just a touch of the alternative, but a full-blown immersion into Tony’s surreal world. It is an experience like no other.

The evening was supposed to be a surprise, and the only clue I was given came in the form of a teasingly cryptic description on Tony’s blog (above). As we timidly shuffled down the dark alley, a warm light spilled out of the rickety wooden door, the handle of which being a giant pair of antlers. Naturally. Inside, the atmosphere was intimate and welcoming, decorated with the most eclectic selection of items I have ever seen. A giant portrait of Colonel Gaddafi occupied one wall, while the latter half of a chicken protruded from another. It was the embodiment of everything fairytale and otherworldly. The place was so reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland that – particularly after my third glass of wine - I was genuinely concerned that a trip to the toilet might involve falling down a hole in the ground.

The roast beef dinner was served in a variety of containers, including gravy boats and oversized cups and saucers. So too was the wine, with glasses varying from pint to thimble size. A little confusing at times, but more novel than bothersome. Our host, a Miss Amanda Pet, scantily clad in a tight sequin leotard, made regular interjections, and apologized more than once for “testicle slippage” - whatever that is.

 As the evening drew to a close, we began to wonder about matters of etiquette. Tony had cooked us a delicious meal after all; I could see him cooking from where we sat. We had been welcomed into his world, his home, and the two of us had the overwhelming urge to thank him personally. And yet, this was a restaurant – albeit an extraordinary one – and hunting down the chef to shake him by the hand seemed a little absurd. Our compromise involved a series of stumbled ‘thank-yous’ as we passed him on our way out, putting his own freshly-washed dessert bowels back into the 60’s dresser.

Once in a while you discover something that you will never forget, The Pale Blue Door is undoubtedly one of them and i cannot recommend it enough.

(Images via http://tonyhornecker.wordpress.com/)