Music / Real life / Review

last supper

i’ve wanted to write about this restaurant since i left a bright Cleveland sidewalk and walked through the rusty old bank doors… as my eyes adjusted to its quirky architecture and art, i was sold. When i tasted the food? i was sprung… loved the experience.

It’s called Touch Supper Club. You can visit the website to read what they have to say about it, but i’ll share my two cents in bat-speak.

touch supper club mug

The wait staff appears to enjoy their work – and even their lives… they were firing on all cylinders, quick witted, and generous with their time and attention. Our waiter (Thomas, if memory serves) even answered my pesky questions about this collection of art above the bar… which i wanted… lock – stock – and barrel.
touch supper club metal art

The food is fucking ridiculous. Fresh. Flavorful. Real. On our way out, we read a framed newspaper blurb that said they make something like 90% of everything. That includes ketchup and sauces. It’s good stuff, i tell you. And the art? The art is fun.

touch supper club art

The interior is simple. The chairs are comfortable enough and there’s a great mix of areas; a bar where you can sit and also where they have a martini bar and more hot sauces than i’ve ever seen in one place. i didn’t use nary a one. There’s an area up front that would seat quite a large party of people. A birthday party was taking place there with easily 24 people. There are high top tables as well and an area in the back where i didn’t venture. The bathrooms (two) are unisex, simple, clean. Even the lighting is unusual. Towards the back of the restaurant, you’ll find the original safe in all of its steampunky oooey gooey goodness. Is it wrong to call steampunk “ooey gooey” ? i don’t care. This place made bat all kinds of warm, fuzzy, and happy.

touch supper club safe

But the food… oh hell… the food.  Within minutes of leaving, i messaged Master to tell Him that i wanted Him to experience this place. It’s just that frickin’ good and they even brought me a bowl of fruit… just… ’cause. They had vegetarian options and when they tell you their pancakes are huge… please trust them. Frisbee huge. J and i split one.

touch supper club fruitStill, i hesitated to write because – while i did not realize it at the time – the meal i had there was a last supper of sorts. i shared my meal with J and while i am certain we will break bread again, this was the last meal out… the last time he chose a wonderful place i never would have known about… brought me there… and delighted my senses with it… all of it. There’s a particular generosity of spirit at play there. Here’s this wonderful gift of time and space and experience… let’s share this moment… relish the sights and sounds and tastes and touches.

door to touch supper clubi am feeling a bit nostalgic. This is to be expected, i know, but as i write i am listening to Il Divo and one song comes on … and i begin to cry softly… no boo-hoo bullshit, just unexpected tears slipping down my cheek until i feel one on at the corner of my lip and taste it then… taste the tear, and the sadness. Still, i know it was right. It was all right. The beginning and the middle and even the end… all right.

i am glad i shared that meal with J. i am glad i shared the last two years with him too. No regrets. Some doors are worth walking through, that’s all.

If you get a chance to visit the Touch Supper Club, please do. If you get a chance to love… do it… always.


Dov’e L’amore (Il Divo)

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