Nate Smith | Emily Elsen | Sophie Kamin | Inez Valk | Burning Down the House

English polemicist Hobbes,
Took to bigamy in between jobs,
“I’d do less perspiring
And much more inspiring
If I had me four balls and two knobs.”

We’ve reached that bloodshot, coke-addled point in the political polemic when the Carnival of Assholes has become functionally unbearable. Last night the hours between 2.30 and 4.15 were spent gazing at the ceiling like Munch’s The Scream, sleeplessly contemplating the horror of being governed by a giant, bloated incubus muppet: whatever happened to the old chestnuts of financial destitution, lovelessness, cancer, infant mortality and the bomb?

We all need a break.

Friday night we register our protest at #peakdrivel by running screaming from our houses in pantyhose and fishermen’s cable-knits, wrapping the entire interior of the Table on Ten in newspaper and inviting Nate Smith and Sophie Kamin (from Bar Bolinas and Allswell) and Emily Elsen (from Four and Twenty Blackbirds) to man the existential barricades alongside Inez in a steadfast one-night cookathon which will employ every last scrap of vegetation remaining in Delaware County. Star Route, Berry Brook, Burnetts and Hellers will be rendered desolate wastelands. Further supplies will be pillaged from Key Training Farm, Cowbella, Bovina Valley, Greenane and Marguerite, along with the rude knobbly bits from fridges, shelves, sides of the road, Ollie’s matted flanks and the trunk of the Subaru. Scorched earth harvesting. What’ll remain when we’re done is rocks, stumps and grubby-handled toddler’s pull-toys, each missing a wheel.

No tickets, no invitations, tastings or pairings. No french linen sheets repurposed as tablecloths or backwoods banjo-string-quartets. You don’t have to simper like a poodle or prance like a dressage-pony.

No need to hashtag, like, follow, lie, cheat, namaste or lol. Neither to choreograph kittens or petals, crush persimmons, nor scatter ground-cherries onto beds of milkweed fluff. Leave your prohibition-era assless chaps, pomade and rolled-up cap-sleeves at home, there’ll be no biblical ram-slaughter. Hell, you could even contrive to forget your iPhone.

Call us up to tell us you’re coming, then come. Or swing by. Like any other pizza night.

The only difference is the whole damn menu.

And no pizza.


Chewin’ the Cud with Nate, Emily, Sophie and Inez

Friday 4th November, Table on Ten, 6 to 9

Menu will Quite Probably Include 

spruce aioli, garlic chives, tarragon

Alderney cheese, armagnac prunes

beets, cabbage, celeriac, cumin koji maple dressing, cilantro, mint


ROASTED VEGETABLES WITH RED MOLE (the sauce, not the insectivore) – $12
potatoes, cardoons, turnips

tomatoes, yogurt, mint

almonds, Cotija

Cortland onions, pickled peppers

maple syrup, fresh frozen yogurt, bee pollen






bring your own children and cigarettes

Lyme Workshop at Table | Latest Frontier in the War on Terror

A tiny squid from Pellestrina: deer ticks are uglier
A tiny squid from Pellestrina: deer ticks are uglier

Sunday 23rd of October, 1 till 3 at Table on Ten




$10 Donation


The following questions may or may not be addressed;

• what is it?

• why’s it here?

• as if I didn’t have enough to worry about?

• I feel like an over-caffeinated zombie, blundering through life embalmed in kleenex wearing oven-mitts. I can hardly form words. Have I got it?

• or is that just Delaware County on a Tuesday afternoon?

• if I’ve got it, what can I do about it?

• if I haven’t got it, what can I do to keep not having it?

• if I have a fear of not missing out, what can I do to get it?

• my dog looks like an over-caffeinated zombie and she’s wearing oven-mitts. Has she got it?

• same with my kids.

• does it look good on Instagram?

• was it dropped by the government to eat the flies that ate the tent caterpillars?

• what the fuck?

• is it just some upstate Brooklyn badge-of-honor thing, like looking maybe to build a cabin on some land?

• or burying a pig?

• if I found it crawling in my butt-crack, which friend would I call to come take it out?

• if I drink colloidal silver will I be able to join Blue Man Group?

• is it married?

• is it one of the 207 Greatest Insects in the World?

• is it allergic to cheap brandy in large quantities?

• can I use this as a defense against a DUI?

• can it be pickled to garnish a salad of shiso-fermented turnip greens?

• would it help if my pants were tighter? I’m not sure that’s possible, just asking.

• did the immigrants do it?

• I haven’t seen my genitals in half a decade, how am I supposed to spot a comma crawling across the folds of my back under six layers of Spanx?

• if we opened on a Sunday night, would it come and eat pizza?

• is this the first time it’s been kind of useful that I’m bald?

• will it make America great again?

• if I set up a long table in a field on an evening with candles and wine and crucified sheep, would everybody who attends get it?

• there’s an insect in Africa whose life-cycle involves burrowing into the eyes of children and blinding them by eating its way out. Explain this in terms of a benign, omniscient God.

• is it allergic to pomade?

• did you just fart?

• Jesus, at the dinner table?


Sunday Afternoon Matinee | Bucket of Weed Chips and a Supersize Turmeric Tonic | Please

Let it never be said Table on Ten is just about stuffing your face.

We’ve been nicely stuffing your ears with John Houshmand for quite some time. Stuffing your eyes with classic movies on the stone wall on pizza nights. We’ve stuffed your noses with chicken leek and bacon pot pies and trays of freshly-baked granola. Your hands with custom plastic fly-swatters.

Now we’re going to stuff your minds.




WEEDEATER  •  A Film by Eden Batki + Marty Windahl + Amy von Harrington


Sunday 10th July at 1 pm | Table on Ten | $5

Now bear in mind, we know a thing or two about foraging. We’ve been out in the backyard with Marguerite Uhlmann-Bower more than once. Remember nettle balls? What about spruce tip soda? Ollie the Dog can spend hours chewing on a locally foraged piece of gravel. And one or other of us can frequently be found foraging a pack of Camel Lights and $1 lighter at the Mirabito in Hobart.

But we are minnows compared to Nance Klehm. Nance is a foraging tuna. She’s more than that. She’s …

… a self-described ‘steward of the earth’. She is an ecological systems designer, a permacultural grower, a horticultural consultant and a talented and much sought after teacher and speaker. She is respected internationally for her work on land politics and growing for fertility. Meeting her for the first time feels as though you are catching her mid-sentence and mid-stride.

Weedeater trots alongside Nance through various landscapes, gathering together a collection of her thoughts and philosophies on everything from wild, uncultivated weeds to human waste composting to ‘the dark cosmos’ soil.  An accurate portrait of Klehm would be impossible to confine to a formal or traditional documentary narrative. Instead, Weedeater attempts to sketch Klehm’s character as well as reflect the depth and complexity of her intimate relationship with the earth and all its inhabitants, in the unique and intimate structure and style of this experimental film.  

Like we said, Sunday 10th July at 1 pm | Table on Ten | $5

Come by bike. Come by Car. Come by Astral Projection. Have a bite of lunch, a glass of wine. Do the things you can’t usually do in a movie-theatre (within reason).

Filmmaker Eden Batki will be with us, so we’ll have lots of questions and – for once – somebody armed with answers.

Please come. You can let us know by email or on 607-643 6509

Or just turn up. We’d love to see you.


Knotweed | Marguerite Walks | Eats Shoots & Leaves

‘I don’t see it so much as erotic. I see it more full of obscenity. I see fornication and asphyxiation and choking and fighting for survival and growing and rotting away. It is the harmony of overwhelming and collective murder. And we in comparison to that enormous articulation – we only sound and look like badly pronounced and half-finished sentences out of a stupid suburban novel. A cheap novel. We have to become humble in front of this overwhelming growth and overwhelming lack of order. We have to get acquainted to this idea that there is no real harmony as we have conceived it. But when I say this, I say this all full of admiration. It is not that I hate it, I love it. I love it very much. But I love it against my better judgment.’ – Werner Herzog (on Knotweed)


Japanese Knotweed, Curse o’ the Catskills. Vast thickets of bambooish vegetation that clog the banks of the Little Delaware like something from Apocalypse Now. We tried everything to tame it. First couple of years we waded into the obscenity with scythe and thick gloves, slicing, ripping, arms flailing, teeth gnashing. Days later a single stand was reduced to ribbons. Little did we know this only girded its loins. Stand by the garage at midnight. You can hear the groans of its roots fornicating. Poison? It throws back its hoary head like Falstaff calling for another flagon of sack. Burning is an afternoon at the spa with a coarse loofah, fiery exfoliation promoting yet more pornographic growth. Prayer is futile (God loves knotweed).

It grows by every means imaginable. Late-summer flowers are pendulous fronds of a billion seeds, each with its own wings, parachute and entrenching tool. The breeze caused by a passing bicycle sends them vortexing across the landscape in a fog, seeking innocent earth to pillage. Birds love ’em. Redwings criss-cross the firmament, a hundred of Noah’s doves, each stalk-in-beak. Deer, raccoon, skunk, bear, chicken, possum are unwitting foot-soldiers in its army. Sparky the Dog is a Centurion.

But not content to litter the skies with its corruption, knotweed also reproduces by stealth. Its shallow root system wriggles beneath the soil, a Medusa of rhizomes, bursting upwards every few inches in new clusters of moist phalluses, grunting toward the sun. Hours later each is a thickly-lubricated, purple-green Alien, complete with prehensile jaws, ooze, and an appetite for annihilation. Leave your child by a bush for 10 minutes and it will be subsumed, devoured and mulched into compost.

The only rational response is despair. But even weeping produces nutritious brine.

Or so we thought. Until Marguerite walked into Table on Ten with a Bobbit of severed phalluses, frozen, emasculated. She loves knotweed. Because she has mastered it.

If you can’t beat ’em, eat ’em.



Saturday May 7th, 12.30 at Table on Ten


Rain or shine, Table on Ten’s yard and Rails to Trails


Identify spring edibles and medicinals. Spring pot herbs, tonic plants, folk remedies, earthing and tree orienting. Plants covered include stinging nettles, wild ramps, wild garlic mustard, yellowdock, dandelion and burdock roots and (you guessed it) Japanese knotweed. Roots and shoots.

Later, while still in the field, experience Music of the Plants – melding art, science and technology to finely illuminate the hidden life of vegetation.

Followed by a wild food tasting, prepared by Marguerite: wild garlic mustard pesto, dandelion root french fries, dock chips.


To register: 607.437.1218 or

Starts at 12.30, ends around 4.  Arrive early as we walk at 12.30. Or get a sustaining lunch at Table on Ten before we go.

$20 per participant including walk, wild snacks, handouts, recipes

Inonotus Obliquus | Come Hunt the Sterile Conk

Dateline: late January, Table on Ten.

Quiet afternoon, waiting for the hot-water-and-lard pastry to cool whilst absentmindedly massaging each other’s scapulae with Thornton’s trotters. Received the following uplifting missive from our dear friend and collaborator Marguerite Uhlmann-Bower.

We’re off to hunt the wild Chaga. Pull on your Mucks, swaddle yourself in coyote and whittle your spear flinty keen.

You can't run, but you can hide
You can’t run, but you can hide

Good day, Everybody

Details for Birch and Chaga Workshop, Wednesday February 12th, Table on Ten

Class starts at Table on Ten with a short walk to greet the awakening, above ground parts of birch: it’s less than a 2 minute walk from the café. I anticipate the walk to be a total of 30 to 40 minutes. Bundle up. We’ll observe birch in all the in-between spaces, touch, smell and taste too, then harvest branches; Chaga mushroom often grows on birch (other trees too) if we don’t see any, I have a prime example a woodsman gave me as a show and tell piece.

When we return to Table on Ten, Inez will have hot Chaga tea. I’ll have Chaga muffins of some sort – gluten and dairy free to increase our metabolic body heat.

Hands-on: birch bark preparation into an oil extraction and a honey extraction to take home.  Oil, honey and jars will be provided. Talking points will be backed up with handouts.

Reminder: bring a sharp, non-serrated knife.

The last hour of class will involve a picture powerpoint on Chaga. Talking points: history of traditional use, I.D. specifics, current research; harvesting sustainably, preserving, drying, preparing into tea and foods; handouts will include recipes and resources.

Please pre-register as soon as possible.

Cancellation: if there’s an ice storm or heavy snow (10-12 inches or more) we’ll postpone to a March date.

Thank you, and we look forward to seeing you. 

Marguerite, Lauren & Kaela

At class completion you will have the skills and understanding

– to prepare birch bark oil and other tree bark oils
– knowledge about Chaga’s delicate sustainable needs
– how to prepare Chaga mushroom for your needs, sustainably

Cost per person: $25.00
Pre-register by Feb. 9th
Arrival Time: 11:30
Class begins at 12:00 pm
Pre-Register with Marguerite: or 607-437-1218