13/02/2026
Tomorrow marks 3 years since Cyclone Gabrielle tore through New Zealand, leaving so much of Hawke's Bay in ruins. Devastation on levels most of us cannot comprehend.
In the days that followed, I - as so many did - went out to help wherever I could. I remember feeling a bit overwhelmed. The sheer scale of it. The exhaustion and stress on people’s faces. I felt useless / helpless amid the chaos and carnage.
Then it hit me: I may not have diggers or trucks — but I have food. I DO food! Food is my happy place. It comforts. It nourishes when bodies - and spirits - are maxed out.
Thus, the Dinner Club was born.
Every Friday, for over a year, a group of the most resilient Kiwis I know gathered at Taradale Anglican Church for a 3-course home-cooked meal.
The idea being that after countless 12-hour days digging through silt, battling insurers, navigating red tape or simply trying to hold it together - guests could collapse into a chair and eat something nourishing. Talk about their week. Share ideas and frustrations. Or just breathe / regroup.
Guests found out about us through Facebook or mailbox drops, so they would turn up a little unsure at first. No one knew each other. (They didn’t know me or my friends either!)
So it was awkward.. Tentative. A bit Quiet..
But over time, something shifted.
People started coming into the kitchen to say hello on arrival. A guest would bring produce from their garden. Someone else would demand a hug, or want to share a victory from their week. An item found amongst the silt, or triumph with an insurance claim, we heard it all.
The place filled - not just with food - but with warmth. With life.
It was, and I cannot overstate this: magic to witness!
The Dinner Club didn’t happen thanks to me alone. It was made possible by lots of people wanting to do something. People dropped off supplies. Charitable organisations and individuals sent food. We had cash donations AND a venue “gifted” - giving us somewhere warm and safe to gather.
Gifts arrived now and then for guests. We held the most epic mid-winter Christmas soirée imaginable (Elaine — that was truly something special, just like you). Such a neat night. I loved watching the guests take selfies in front of the Christmas trees!
I hesitate to name people when I am saying thanks, because there were so many who helped in so many ways over the years — and I was busy cooking while trying to stay on top of any admin — but please know this: none of it went unnoticed at the time. Your help was 100% vital to our success.
And then there was my crew: Anita, Clint, Debbie, Kerri, Leigh and Shona — who showed up week after week and made it all possible. Serving. Clearing. Cleaning. Holding the whole thing steady (including me, at times).
There would be no Dinner Club without you.
Thanks.
Most of our guests are of the “we’ll just get on with it” generation. Boomers, I think is the nowadays derogatory term — but honestly, I doubt any other generation would have coped as well as they did! These are people who don’t ask for help!
So that they came to our weekly dinners - and kept coming: perhaps tells you just how traumatic that time really was.
We served over 5,000 plates of food that first year.
We celebrated birthdays from age 3 to 70. We marked anniversaries, shared milestones. And we grieved together when we lost dear Ross Duncan. Ross would often stand up at the end of a meal and offer the most beautiful words of thanks. He is sorely missed.
For me personally? Somewhere along the way, strangers became friends. Friends became family. These are all people I now truly can’t imagine not knowing.
We don’t gather weekly anymore. Life has moved on, as it tends to.
But each year, on 14 February, we do come together.
Not in sadness or sorrow. There are no tears at these anniversaries. There is laughter. Stories of now. Hugs. A quiet sense of “bloody hell, we got there.”
Then, of course, there is food. Which is where I come into it! 😉
And tmrw, for the 1st time, TDC is being held at my home!
Feels like quite an honour, truth be told 🧡
The Dinner Club was never meant to be anything showy or grand. It was about a good feed, once a week for people going through the worst thing any of us could ever imagine.
And praps that’s worth remembering?
When life fell apart, people didn’t just need saving or fixing — they needed to be fed, to breathe and feel human agaiin..
See you all tomorrow fam 🥰
