En Plein Air: The Table That Paused, But Never Left
We’ve always believed that a thoughtful, well-executed meal is worth celebrating, especially in the speed of everyday life. That idea started small: a backyard neighbor dinner in the fall of 2015, just a handful of neighbors under the lights strung through our old Fair Oaks garden. But as the years passed, it evolved into something much more intentional.
By 2020, we had commissioned a 12-foot table built from a salvaged 120-year-old horse barn door. With that came En Plein Air, our Supper Club. It wasn’t a restaurant or a business exactly. It was more like an offering, a long table, high-quality seasonal ingredients, great wine, and endless conversation under the stars. What started as a neighborhood tradition slowly grew into a gathering place for anyone looking to reconnect, with food, with land, with one another.
Lindsey ran the bread, desserts, and cocktails. I cooked, self-taught but shaped by years of curiosity, time spent in global kitchens, and mentorship from Rick Mahan, chef-owner of The Waterboy. Our daughter helped serve. Friends and neighbors pitched in. And my endlessly generous mother-in-law, sous chef and menu consultant extraordinaire, helped make the chaos feel calm. It was a team effort every time, a beautiful kind of organized disarray.
For over 15 years we’ve cultivated relationships with farmers and growers throughout the region. We’ve walked their fields, shared meals at their tables, and built a family rhythm around eating with the seasons. Every week we visited one of the state’s largest farmers markets and adjusted our menu based on what was most alive that week. Sometimes we swapped ingredients the night before if a fisherman in Bodega Bay called with something unexpected.
The ethos was always clear:
Respect ingredients and the people who produce them
Cook 100 percent in season, no exceptions
Source only what we’d feel proud to serve our kids
We love making kombucha and sourdough, cooking outdoors, and talking about how food connects us to history, culture, and place. At its best, this supper club let people gather that might not otherwise meet and build something temporary but unforgettable.
Then life shifted.
I stepped more fully into education and coaching. Lindsey and I decided to move forward with a long-planned kitchen and living space remodel. The supper club, which had come to occupy every spare inch of our home and schedule, had to take a back seat. The momentum we built and the community response were more than we could have dreamed.
Now, as we settle into a new rhythm and our home begins to take its next shape, we’ve started dreaming again. That salvaged barn door table still sits in the garden. The desire to gather, to cook, to share is still here, maybe stronger than ever.
The supper club isn’t gone. Just paused. And when we return, it will be with full hearts, empty fridges, and the same joy that started it all.
