The Magic of Dinner Club

A few months ago, I had an idea: elaborate dinner parties, old buildings, guest chefs, live music, long dinner tables... I’m always coming up with these big ideas. Maybe I’m trying to make sense of who I am and what I do—Brand Designer, Web Developer, Foodie… Writer? Artist?—and tie it into the neat little bow of a single project.

It’s a big idea, so I decided to start small. That’s how Kath’s Dinner Club began: an open invite to a four-week dinner series at South Bend restaurants.

But why dinner parties? Better—why food? I’m often asked a version of these questions. Why are you so passionate about food? Where did this come from?

I usually stumble answering because the truth is I don’t know. I do have a few guesses. 

But first, saying I’m passionate about food doesn’t feel quite right. Yes, I enjoy food and like to cook, but I’m no chef. I’m not well-read on cuisine and don’t know all the terms for things in the industry. I would make a horrible restaurant critic. And while I did work at Bob Evans when I was fifteen, that certainly was not what sparked my passion for food.

What lights me up is the magic of eating together. The connection. The hum of a full dining room. Togetherness. Long conversations. Lingering.

My childhood is filled with these memories…

In the summer, my dads side of the family would go camping. There were nearly thirty of us. We’d line up four or five picnic tables end-to-end to create one massive dinner table that became the centerpiece of life for that week.

On my birthday one year we spent the day at the hospital with my grandpa. A little bakery across the street (if you’re from Muskegon, you know Ryke’s) sold melt-in-your-mouth butter cookies. We bought a box on our way home to celebrate my birthday.

We ate many meals at Johnny Carino’s, a nothing-to-write-home-about Italian chain across from the mall. Most of the time, we went with a big group—a long table brimming with aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and the friends that were practically family. The adults would talk and talk long after dinner, and I would curl up across two seats and fall asleep.

When I was nine years old, a close family friend was killed in an accident. I don’t remember much about that day, but I remember friends showing up with pizza.

My dad’s taste improved when he started a new career that involved entertaining customers at fancy restaurants. Growing up, we went to a lot of chain restaurants—but all of a sudden, dad was experiencing things we’d never heard of before. Soon, he declared a “no more chains” rule that we still mostly follow.

When I think back, it’s not the food that stands out. It’s the people, the conversation, the connection, and the love. The magic. But the food seems to be the vehicle, like, somehow, the physical act of sharing food is a highway to metaphysical connection with people. Tangible fostering intangible.

I got to see this happen at Kath’s Dinner Club.

At the second dinner, we seated one guest—a dedicated coffee shop customer—next to two long-time baristas. At the end, he shared with watery eyes, “I’ve been getting my coffee from these baristas every morning for years…years. I never thought I’d get to sit down and have a meal with them. It’s just been so special.”

Another guest, a born-and-raised South Bend native, explained how she came to Dinner Club because it’s been hard making friends here who stay. Her eyes lit up meeting people who aren’t just passing through but see South Bend as a home to invest in and care for.

And on the last night, over thirty people filled the upstairs room at Crooked Ewe Brewery, loud with laughter, conversation, and connection. “It's been a special couple of Thursday nights for me,” a friend shared. “Thanks for creating this space.”

As a society, we’re disconnected and increasingly so with our growing dependence on technology and the dawn of artificial intelligence. I see social connection and the real, raw, human moments we share becoming even rarer—and therefore invaluable.

Eating together is one of the best ways to create connection.

Kath’s Dinner Club was simple—not an extravagant dinner party—just dinner. But maybe it’s the simple things, done well and with intention, that leave room for our humanity to show up. Maybe that’s the magic.

If you came out for dinner, thank you for showing up, talking to strangers, and for eating with us. If you didn’t make it, we’ll do it again sometime soon. I hope you can come.