A LONDON LIFE
14th April

THERE are not many chefs who will enter their dining room wearing a Dennis the Menace pinny, hold an unusually bounteous vegetable aloft and say: "Look at this broccoli! It's bloody massive!" Then again, there are few chefs who will invite 12 strangers into their pretty poky sitting room, tell them to mind their housemate's guitar and feed them six courses of exquisite Japanese food and not even bother presenting a bill. But Horton Jupiter is one of a new wave of gastronomes willing to bend the rules.

In Cuba, such home-dining establishments are widespread, while many opened in Italy after the smoking ban came into force — but in London, the "scene" has only grown lately thanks to enthusiastic bloggers.

One, Ms Marmite Lover, operates out of her house in Kilburn, while the Mobile Restaurant throws unusual happenings in the Hammersmith area. Effectively, as one tends to be invited through Facebook, one is going to a private dinner party, which circumvents any legal restrictions — and the clandestine element and the homespun kookiness of it all make for a pretty delectable treat.

Having located Mr Jupiter through careful Googling, my friend James and I managed to nab a table at the late sitting last Wednesday. Late sitting? Yes, he's turning tables, which as anyone devoted to Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares knows, is a mark of ambition.

As the early party were still mingling outside, and the venue was an ex-authority Hackney flat, the place had the appearance of a squat party but Horton's assistant Rachel soon instilled a relative calm. "Can I help?" I felt compelled to ask— but all that was required was nipping to the kitchen (where Jupiter was doing something alarming to a radish) to find a bottle opener.

We shared a table of six with two delightful young couples who lived up the road, and were soon exchanging anecdotes and tips on local gastronomic pleasures.

It was impossible not to be charmed by the extraordinary range of dishes Horton prepared in that ordinary kitchen, however. Notable were the radish deftly adorned with apple and lemon; an explosive wasabi and leaf arrangement; and amazingly deep mushrooms marinated in soy and mirin — all exotic, delicious, vegetarian, and stunningly presented.

As is traditional in Japan, after the little delicacies came rice, wonderful miso and pickles to fill you up — then strawberries, a hot salty sauce and "erm, chocolate buttons", explained Horton, "cos I couldn't find any starfruit — and everyone likes buttons, don't they?" Come the saké, the six of us were getting on splendidly, agreeing to go and watch Jupiter's band and plotting to open up a stall at Stoke Newington farmers' market and take food supply into our own hands. We departed giggling in pure delight. Even now I wonder if I dreamt the whole thing.