As Curator of The Supper Club /Malta, Vera Sant Fournier, months ago, contacted me to 'save the date'   -  30th March and she would explain later what it was all about. The day arrived. An exclusive Supper Club event. I had never heard of the Supper Club.  

I arrived with Mary Anne Vera's  mother at the Aviation Museum,  both of us dressed for the Golden Era of the Silver Screen, as we had been instructed, though I suspect my version of "movie‑premiere elegance" was more Maltese‑practicality than strictly Hollywood. I rummaged through my wardrobes and decided on what I thought was appropriate gear.  There was my mother's fox stole which came out of its mothballs and although too long for me, covered a multitude of sins.  It has always been a good standby for special occasions in winter.

The aircraft looked as though they had been told to behave - no roaring, no looming, just sit there and look atmospheric.

Cocktail hour was already in full swing. Tisho Mihaylov from ELEMENTS Cocktail Lab was shaking era‑inspired concoctions with the kind of poise that suggested he had been born holding a cocktail shaker.  Some guests I  was well-aquainted with: the lovely young ones like Lily Agius and Tiffany Pisani. There were others, not so young but looking glam. It was a black tie event after all. All had made an effort. Guests drifted in like extras who had unexpectedly been upgraded to speaking roles and went straight to the cocktail bar, enjoying several before dinner.

Time to eat. We found our seats. I was sitting next to an award-winning young Gozitan chef who looked after me well, and a Russian woman who spoke very good English.

The table - a long refractory table -  had been polished into a runway.  We found our seats and looked at the menu. Wow, as my grandchildren would have commented. Very promising. And so the feast started. Performers walked on this stage-table, danced on it, glided across it with the serene confidence of people who have never once tripped in public. They stood upside down and bellydanced their way through dinner. Plates landed, wine was poured, and the whole thing felt like a scene from a film where the director had whispered: "More drama, darling, more drama."

Chef Letizia Vella - two‑time Knife for Excellence laureate, Michelin‑recognised, MasterChef Malta judge, and clearly unafraid of feeding people who are being distracted by acrobats - sent out a menu that was both mischievous and meticulously choreographed. A pani puri that burst like a tiny firecracker, a capunata polished into a jewel, a fish tartare so architectural it could have applied for planning permission. Then cured seabass, scallop, black radish, and a marinade that tasted like the sea. The line‑caught fish arrived perfumed with vadouvan, sorrel and smoked ginger - delicate, dramatic, and fully aware it was being served on a table that doubled as a stage.

Meanwhile, the performers kept pace. Yada dancers, including Felix Busuttil and Elisa Morguello, while we were enjoying cocktails, had given us Shirley Temple dancing to Puttin' on the Ritz.

On the refectory table Martina Aisha Montanaro appeared like a vision - all fluid fire and award‑winning precision - reminding us that Arabic dance, when done properly, can silence even the most talkative dinner guest. The Diamond Dolls descended from above, shimmering like glamorous fruit bats. And the vocalists, Sean Kemato and Amelia Kalabic, threaded music through the evening with the ease of people who know they can hit every note even after dessert.

Ah yes, dessert. But first the Red Carpet Porcine - chargrilled pork, crispy Maltese sausage, onion relish, parsnip and vanilla - a dish with enough swagger to hold its own even as dancers tiptoed past it. Then Stardust Citrus, a blood‑orange‑and‑buttermilk finale that felt like the curtain falling with a wink.

The wine, of course, flowed generously and with suspicious intelligence. By the third glass, strangers were no longer strangers, and the entire table had become a cast sharing the same script, improvising lines, exchanging emails.

What makes the Supper Club different is that nothing exists alone. The food speaks to the performance, the performance speaks to the venue, the venue speaks to the story. With only fifty members, exclusivity becomes intimacy rather than status. You arrive as an observer and leave as a participant, slightly dazzled, slightly amused, and entirely convinced that reality had taken the night off. But what an enjoyable that was.

Thank you so much Vera for including me. I must also thank Vera's Dutch husband, the tall and handsome Niek Van Leeuwen who made it a point that this old hackette was safe and enjoying it all. Vera must have put him in charge. Thank you Niek.

I left the Aviation Museum feeling as though I had stepped out of a film - one of those glamorous, improbable ones where everything glitters just a little more than it should, and where every moment is enjoyable.

I believe Vera is organising the last Supper Club for the season later on this month. If you are interested contact her on Facebook. You will discover that she has a finger in every interesting pie, apart from her successful design studio. She seems to handle it all so graciously. This was such a good idea.