Blue Door Supper Club, Bristol. 

No phone. The next event is on Feb 23. For more information, see the website here.

It is 7.30pm on Saturday evening and I am standing on the doorstep of a stranger's house in a quiet south Bristol street clutching a carrier bag of wine bottles.

After knocking three times, there is still no reply but I can hear the rattle of pots and pans coming from the other side of the door.

I call the mobile phone number that was emailed to my BlackBerry a few hours before and then, finally, a smartly dressed young woman answers the door with a smile and beckons me in.

Such is the weird and wonderful world of supper clubs, a relatively new craze that is rapidly sweeping across cities such as Bristol.

A cross between a dinner party and a "proper" restaurant, supper clubs are run by food lovers for other food lovers.

As they are held in people's homes, the hosts can't serve or sell alcohol (you bring your own booze) and rather than charge customers for the food they place anonymous envelopes on the table and diners slip in cash at the end of the evening.

You pay what you think the meal is worth and the suggested "donation" here was between £20 and £30, which just about covers the cost of ingredients and the gas bill.

It's all a bit furtive and secretive, but this is part of the charm of entering a stranger's home to dine with a room full of other strangers.

And then there's the dilemma of etiquette. Although it's not technically a dinner party, do you take a gift for the host? Do you talk to the person who is cooking or do you leave them to their own devices and speak when spoken to?

And so here I was at The Blue Door Supper Club, run by S and R – a young couple who aren't chefs but who work on the periphery of the city's food world. One is a baker, the other is a waitress in one of Bristol's best restaurants. And that's as much as anybody needs to know, as anonymity is key in the world of supper clubs.

Together, they have run four supper club evenings and it has now become a monthly event.

This was the first time I had been to a supper club and I plan to visit the others in Bristol over the coming months.

To be honest, I was a little nervous about it as I was going alone and had no idea who my fellow guests would be.

I was the first to arrive – how uncool is that? – and was told that four people had pulled out at the last minute so numbers were down and there would only be eight dinner guests in total.

The couple's dining room had been transformed into a smart makeshift restaurant with white linen on the tables, candles, flowers and discreet music. In the open kitchen next to the room, S, dressed in jeans, T-shirt and trainers, was heads-down and making the final adjustments to sauces, tasting them like a seasoned professional.

One by one, the guests arrived. There was a cheesemonger, a couple of chefs and even a couple who had no connection to the local food scene – "real" people who had heard about the supper club through the host's blog and were curious.

"I wasn't quite sure what to expect," whispered the young woman. "Somebody told me you just go to a man's house and he cooks for you – it all sounded a bit dodgy at first."

Unlike a normal restaurant, there was no menu and vegetarians and anybody with allergies emailed in advance so alternative dishes were available.

After a few uncertain moments as the strangers got better acquainted, it became a relaxed dining room with a flow of conversation.

To get us in the mood, B brought a dish of pork scratchings to the table. Thin, curly pencils of belly pork crackling, they were served with a small glass of tart apple purée for dipping.

There was copious and excellent bread – no surprise there as S makes it for a living – and then our first starter arrived.

People who cook at supper clubs may not always be trained chefs but what they lack in experience they more than make up for with a passion to cook dishes not often found in most restaurants.

The warm ox tongue served here was beautifully cooked with a slight crust on the outside and pink and tender within. It arrived with some gently cooked cabbage and a smear of English mustard.

It was followed by celeriac soup which may been a little on the thick side but which delivered a deep and gutsy flavour.

It takes a brave cook to serve an old-fashioned, labour intensive dish such as jugged hare and very few professional chefs put it on the menu, but here it was in all its glory.

S had used the St John recipe and it worked a treat, the hare being surprisingly tender and the rich red wine sauce being well balanced. It was served with some perky kale and a pillow of smooth, creamy mash.

After two hefty courses, a shot glass of blood orange granita (crushed ice like a posh Slush Puppy) was a refreshing interlude and made way for a comforting, well made treacle tart boasting crisp, buttery pastry and a zesty filling that wasn't too sweet or cloying.

To finish, a shared truckle of Dorstone, a Herefordshire goats cheese with a mousse-like texture, supplied by Trethowan's Dairy cheesemongers in St Nicholas Market.

By now, it was approaching midnight, and four and a half hours had gone in a flash.

The wine (and then Somerset cider and ale) was still flowing and people were already talking about booking for future supper clubs. The hosts joined us for a drink and there was a sense that new friendships had been made.

I thoroughly enjoyed my first foray into the world of supper clubs. The food here was as good as, if not better, than many restaurants, and at about £25 for six courses plus coffee, it was excellent value, especially when you can take your own wine and don't have to add service.

In fact, it was so good, I might even start my own supper club. Now, there's a thought.

Wheelchair access: No

Prices: Between £20 and £30 for six courses

Food: 8

Atmosphere: 8

Value: 8

Service: 8

Overall: 8