On any given, yet strategically planned, night in Atlanta, 60 men and women gather inside a cozy restaurant space that feels more like someone’s living room than a formal dining room. Satin napkins catch the light. The playlist hums with Anita Baker and quiet-storm classics. The scent in the air isn’t just what’s coming out of the oven — it’s layered, warm, familiar. Brown Butter. Florals. A trace of Black Opium.

And every single seat is taken.

Chef Courtnee Futch’s Brown Butter Supper Club sells out almost instantly, every time she releases a new date. The most recent dinner? Gone in a single day. Guests fly in from Boston. Chicago. New York. Some return twice in one weekend. About 30% come alone.

What they’re really buying into isn’t just dinner. It’s the feeling of being seen.

Before the first plate is passed, Chef Courtnee sets the tone. Guests are promised three things: they will try something new, they will meet someone new, and, if she’s done her job right, they’ll learn something new about themselves. Featured as one of Home & Texture’s 2025 Design Vanguard honorees as a Curator, Courtnee Futch knows exactly what it takes to host with true intention.

Related: The Curators: Meet The Five Hosts Who Make Hospitality Their Signature

The structure is intentional, the menu is fixed, and the plates are family-style. There’s no guesswork about what to order or who you’ll meet. Futch removes friction where it overwhelms and introduces it where it connects. Passing platters forces conversation. A gentle “Hey, could you, pass that plate” breaks the tension at the table.

It’s not accidental that the dinners cap at 60 guests, either. “I’ve learned that 60 is the sweet spot,” Futch explains. “If I want to serve more people, I add more nights. I don’t add more seats.”

The slight tightness of the space is part of the design. You might brush shoulders walking to your seat. You’ll have to say excuse me. It’s a reminder that human interaction isn’t frictionless — and it shouldn’t be.

Why It Keeps Selling Out

Scarcity helps, but the demand isn’t built on hype alone.

The Brown Butter Supper Club started in borrowed spaces — Airbnbs and historic homes where Futch and her team worked out of hot plates and sternos. Today, the supper club operates as a residency at Auburn Angel in Atlanta, taking over the restaurant on nights it’s otherwise closed. The infrastructure allows her to execute at scale while preserving intimacy.

And the menus are always layered with personal context, which is one of the most intimate parts of the evening.

Ginger Velvet, one of her most beloved themes, leaned into East Asian flavors with a caramel ginger–braised chicken that guests still ask about. Another dinner drew from blood oranges. Juneteenth’s Golden Solstice was inspired by Meyer lemons. Nearly every theme begins with a piece of produce and builds outward — into memory, heritage, or romance.

One upcoming menu weaves together her Southern roots, her husband’s West African heritage, and her culinary training in France. Even a peach — “the sexiest fruit I know,” she says — becomes narrative device and ingredient.

It’s thoughtful without being precious. Elevated but not intimidating, and communal because recipes are sent out after the dinner. The food is hers, but she wants guests to recreate it at home.

That generosity matters and truly sets Chef Courtnee apart.

A Black Lens, Without Apology

While anyone is welcome, Futch is clear about perspective. The music, the references, the scent in the room — they’re informed by Black lived experience. If you ask her, the room might smell faintly like Carol’s Daughter. Guests often remark that the space feels familiar before they can even explain why.

The result is a room full of women who look like they belong there. And they do.

Men have started attending solo. Couples come. But the core remains Black women seeking connection — many arriving alone and leaving with new numbers in their phones. Futch pays attention to that detail. Solo guests are seated strategically. Conversation prompts will soon be printed on the back of menus. Survey feedback is read personally. If a dish arrives cold at the end of the table, she sends an email.

She’s scaling the business — not sacrificing the intimacy.

The Evolution of Brown Butter Supper Club

In 2026, the supper club will continue to travel through a structured tour across select cities with strong Black communities and personal ties for Futch like Atlanta, New York, D.C., Dallas, Oakland. She’s disciplined about it. If she can’t deliver intentionally, she won’t go.

Long term, she wants to lend the platform to other chefs — managing the creative direction while allowing guest chefs to step into the spotlight. She’s also exploring alternate programming: cocktail mixers, brunch concepts, lighter-entry events at lower price points.

Flexibility, she says, is part of sustaining community.

Because Brown Butter Supper Club was never meant to be just a dinner. And when Black people get together, it harder ever is.

This experience is like no other. It’s a place where beauty is part of the hospitality; where the host dresses as intentionally as she plates. Where slow-braised short ribs and quiet-storm playlists create space for vulnerability and the music serves as a second hostess.

It’s sold out for a reason. And if you’re lucky enough to get a seat, you’ll understand why.