When we think about clubs and societies from the past, the first image that pops up is often a stuffy gentlemen’s club, but the reality was far more colorful. Hidden among the polished wood and cigar smoke were some truly bizarre clubs that pursued odd passions, quirky rules, and unusual camaraderie.

Bizarre Clubs: A Glimpse into Unusual History

10 Flirt Club

Born in the early 1920s in Washington, DC, the Anti‑Flirt Club aimed to shield young women from unsolicited advances by men cruising in automobiles. Its rules were printed in The Washington Post in 1923.

Rule No. 5 warned, “Don’t wink—a flutter of one eye may cause a tear in the other.” Rule No. 8 cautioned women not to fall for “the slick, dandified cake‑eater”—the unpolished gold of a real man outweighs the glossy lure of a lounge lizard.

Chapters sprouted in Manhattan, Chicago, and elsewhere. Intriguingly, Manhattan’s branch was run by men who wanted women to prosecute the “mashers”—aggressive suitors who flaunted their intentions.

A “masher” was a man who made brief, bold advances, while a “lounge lizard” was a well‑dressed charmer who used deceptive charm. Manhattan’s slogan read “Jail the flirt,” and its emblem featured a lizard pierced by a hatpin.Although the movement sparked headlines, it faded from the press by the 1930s.

9 Nose Club

During the 19th‑century syphilis epidemic, many sufferers lost their noses, turning the condition into a startlingly common deformity. This led to the formation of the No‑Nose Club.

On February 18 1874, the Star newspaper reported that an eccentric gentleman using the alias “Mr. Crampton” had witnessed so many noseless individuals on London’s streets that he invited them all to a tavern dinner.

The club convened monthly until Mr. Crampton’s death a year later, after which it dissolved. Its final meeting featured an elegy recited in memory of the members.

8 The Ugly Face Club

In the 18th and 19th centuries, people with facial deformities often faced social exclusion and even street harassment. The Ugly Face Clubs emerged as a defiant response—gentlemen’s societies where members proudly celebrated their eccentric visages.

These clubs rejected physiognomy, the pseudo‑science claiming that facial features revealed character. Members, ridiculed on the streets for their deformities, turned those very features into a badge of honor.

Take Liverpool’s Ugly Face Club: a group of bachelors who lampooned their own appearances and were fined if they ever married. Its roster boasted merchants, clergy, doctors, sea captains, and architects, who affectionately called each other “shark,” “pig,” “cod,” and the like.

7 The Blizzard Men Of ’88 Club

The Great Blizzard of 1888—one of America’s deadliest snowstorms—raked the corridor from Washington, DC, to Maine, killing over 400 people and dumping up to 55 inches of snow in some locales.

Survivors in New York, unwilling to let the catastrophe fade, founded an exclusive society of storm survivors in 1929. Until 1933, the group was male‑only and called the “Blizzard Men of ’88.”

Annual gatherings featured storytelling, but also whimsical pastimes: for the 50th anniversary, members staged a mechanical snowstorm to relive the fury.

Members liked to proclaim that every storm after 1888 was a mere joke. The club’s final chapter closed in 1969 when its last leader passed away.

6 The Potato Club

The Potato Club—also known as the Potato Society—was founded by Tsar Nicholas II and the brothers Alexander, Sergei, and George Mikhailovich. Its name supposedly traces back to a paper‑chase incident where a peasant exclaimed that the “fox” had “shot into the potatoes.”

Each member wore a gold pendant shaped like a potato around their neck. When Sergei Mikhailovich’s body was uncovered in Alapayevsk after his exile and execution by the Bolsheviks, the gold potato pendant was found clinging to him.

5 The Lying Club

In 1669, a witty gentleman named Harry Blunt allegedly founded the Lying Club at the Bell Tavern in Westminster. Blunt was famed for his uncanny ability to spin convincing deceptions.

The club arose as travelers’ hunting tales grew ever more fantastical and harder to believe. While the stories lacked reliability, they made up for it in sheer amusement.

Members of the Lying Club dedicated themselves to crafting elaborate falsehoods, judging each other’s “genius” based on the strength and creativity of their lies.

4 The Wig Club

Rooted in a Scottish Tory tradition, the Wig Club centered on wine, dining, and a curious reverence for a particular wig. The famed wig originally belonged to the Beggar’s Benison club and was rumored to be fashioned from the pubic hairs of King Charles II’s mistress.

After a quarrel among Beggar’s Benison members, the wig transferred to the Wig Club and became its mascot. Each member kissed the wig and contributed a hair from his own mistress to replace any that faded.

The wig even had a personal servant, and locking it away signaled the conclusion of the formal portion of a meeting.

3 Not Terribly Good Club Of Great Britain

Founded in 1976 by journalist Stephen Pile, the Not Terribly Good Club of Great Britain admitted only those who could demonstrate sheer incompetence. Meetings featured members showcasing their ineptitude at everyday tasks—from botched small talk to disastrous art attempts.

Pile later chronicled the club in his book The Incomplete Book of Failures, which recounted tales like “the worst tourist” who spent two days in New York convinced he was in Rome, and the “slowest crossword solution” that took 34 years.The book included a membership form, and within two months it attracted 20,000 applications—far too many for a club built on failure. By its own rules, the club was forced to dissolve.

2 The Molly Club

Molly Clubs—also called Molly Houses—were public houses in 18th‑century England that catered to a male homosexual clientele. The nickname “Molly” began as a pet form of “Mary” and a slang term for women in the oldest profession, eventually shifting to denote effeminate men.By the mid‑1720s, London authorities had identified at least 20 such establishments around Westminster. A particularly strange ritual was the mock birth ceremony, where a man pretended to give birth to a baby during Festival Nights in late December. The purpose of these mock births remains a mystery.

1 The Fat Men’s Club

Throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, Fat Men’s Clubs blossomed across America, championing the motto “We’re fat, and we’re making the most of it!” Their secondary slogan declared, “I’ve got to be good‑natured; I can’t fight, and I can’t run.”

Membership required a minimum weight of 90 kg (200 lb), a $1 fee, and knowledge of a secret handshake and password. Meetings, held twice yearly, featured copious amounts of food. In 1884, the New York Fat Men’s Association’s president purportedly gained 4 kg (8 lb) just from one dinner.

Variations sprouted worldwide: France’s Les Cents Kilos formed in 1897 but never thrived; Serbia created a club in Belgrade in 1932; British versions added a twist—if a member fell short of the weight threshold, they were fined.

The first gentlemen’s clubs were formed in London in the 17th century for the benefit of the English aristocracy. Opulent surroundings and strict rules of confidentiality about the affairs of the club allowed gentlemen to relax in convivial company—at least according to their public image. This is the story of the 10 very ungentlemanly clubs that quietly nurtured scandal, high‑stakes betting and downright misbehaviour.

10 Very Ungentlemanly Clubs

10 White’s

White’s is counted among the oldest gentlemen’s clubs in London, tracing its roots back to the early 18th century. Legend has it that the club inspired the gaming house depicted in The Rake’s Progress. From its inception, White’s earned a reputation as a den of iniquity, famed for its rowdy gaming tables.

Dinner at White’s is a marathon of ceremony, with multiple courses presented by austere waiters, followed by a generous serving of port and a parade of cigars. The club keeps a meticulous Betting Book that records every wager ever placed within its walls. Most of those bets are far from the usual horse‑racing fare; members have wagered on the length of a person’s life or which raindrop would reach the bottom of a windowpane first.

Other memorable wagers include a bet on whether the editor of a leading newspaper would end up in prison for libel, and a prediction that HRH the Duke of Clarence (later King William IV) would father a legitimate child within a two‑year span.

One especially odd entry dated 4 November 1754 records two members betting on which of two elderly gentlemen would die first. The bet was never settled because both bettors took their own lives before either of the senior gentlemen passed away.

The suicides were driven by crushing gambling debts—one of the men reportedly lost a staggering £32,000 in a single night.

In more recent decades, White’s became a recruitment ground for the Cambridge Spies, a cadre of Eton‑ and Cambridge‑educated men who turned traitor and spied for the Soviet Union.

9 Boodle’s

Boodle’s, named after a former waiter, was founded in 1762 by the Earl of Shelburne. Membership has always been by election, and many hopefuls have been turned away. Although the club’s stated purpose was political, it was openly acknowledged that “wining and dining, gaming and betting” would forever be the lifeblood of the establishment.

The gambling tradition has endured ever since. Members such as the dandy Beau Brummell recorded their bets in the club’s Betting Book. Brummell famously entered his final wager just before fleeing London to escape massive gambling debts.

Gambling was not confined to the club’s walls. In 2002, the former chairman of Boodle’s was exposed for a £4 million fraud designed to cover his investment losses and the club’s membership fees. Boodle’s also inspired the fictional club Blades, the haunt of James Bond.

8 The Clermont Club

The Clermont Club opened its doors in 1962 thanks to eccentric millionaire and zoo proprietor John Aspinall. From the start it was designed as an exclusive casino for the ultra‑rich, quickly becoming a glittering playground of high‑stakes gambling during the swinging 60s.

Its guest list read like a roll‑call of celebrities: actors, politicians and even royalty. Regulars included Roger Moore, Frank Sinatra and Princess Margaret. Lord Lucan, a notorious figure, was a frequent visitor and personal friend of Aspinall. On the night of Lucan’s infamous disappearance, he stopped by the club to settle his debts before his children’s nanny was found bludgeoned to death hours later.

The most popular game on the floor was the French card game chemin de fer. Legend has it that the Earl of Derby once lost half a county in a single evening of play. Rumour also has it that Aspinall, facing heavy losses, resorted to marking cards to protect himself, though no concrete proof has ever emerged.

7 Brooks’s

Brooks’s was founded in 1762 by two gentlemen who had been black‑balled by White’s. The original premises sat on the site of a former tavern, and its early members—self‑styled “Macaronis”—gathered there for wine, fine dining and gambling. Today the club occupies a far more lavish building, still boasting several gaming rooms where fortunes are won and lost.

The club’s history includes a particularly extravagant dinner after which an earl wagered 500 guineas that a duke could not make love with a woman “a thousand yards up” in a hot‑air balloon—a bet that arguably paved the way for a different kind of club altogether.

6 The Reform Club

The Reform Club was established in 1836, originally limiting membership to those who pledged support for the Great Reform Act of 1832, making it a stronghold for Liberal Party supporters. Over time it shed any political affiliation and became one of the first clubs to admit women.

In recent years the club has been embroiled in allegations of bullying and discrimination against staff and elected officials. Because of the club’s secretive nature, many details remain hidden, though several officials have reportedly been paid handsomely to leave and never return.

The club famously appears in Jules Verne’s classic when Phileas Fogg departs after betting members £20,000 that he could circle the globe in 80 days. Despite its size and wealth, the Reform Club has occasionally resorted to commercial deals, such as renting the entire premises to Cartier for a 2017 jewellery exhibition, forcing members to drink elsewhere for a month.

5 The East India Club

Billed as a “gentleman’s home from home,” the East India Club was founded in the mid‑19th century. While it may lack the centuries‑old pedigree of some peers, it compensates with immense wealth, opulence—and scandal.

Originally created for officers of the East India Company, the club later opened its doors to gentlemen of all persuasions. Membership still hinges on nomination, typically by headmasters of elite private schools. The club has stubbornly refused to admit women as full members, allowing “ladies” only on special occasions and only if they know their place and enter through the back door.

Even when the treasurer embezzled £500,000, the club’s first concern was secrecy, not prosecution. The organization also featured in a blackmail scandal when a British MP claimed expenses for staying at the club during an extramarital affair, only to be filmed leaving the premises with his mistress.

4 The Albemarle Club

The Albemarle Club opened its doors in 1874 and, unusually for the time, admitted both men and women from day one. This progressive stance was scandalous to many contemporaries, especially since clubs such as London’s Garrick still refuse female members.

The club attracted a colourful roster of artists, writers and intellectuals, most famously Oscar Wilde. The Marquess of Queensberry, a short‑tempered boxing‑rule‑maker, believed Wilde was corrupting his son. Denied entry to the Albemarle, the Marquess left a card for Wilde with the doorman that read, “For Oscar Wilde posing as a sodomite.”

Wilde, unwilling to let the insult slide, sued for libel. The doorman’s damning testimony, coupled with evidence of multiple young men claiming Wilde as a lover, resulted in Wilde’s conviction and a two‑year sentence in Reading Gaol, effectively ending his literary career.

3 The Presidents Club

The Presidents Club was not a gentlemen’s club in the traditional sense but a men‑only charity that hosted lavish fundraising dinners. These events were described as lively, raucous and, regrettably, rife with sexual harassment.

Scandal erupted when an undercover journalist from the Financial Times posed as a waitress at one of the dinners. The waitstaff were selected for their looks and instructed to wear revealing black dresses and underwear. Briefings warned that some men might become “overly familiar,” framing such behaviour as part of the “fun.”

The ball attracted high‑profile politicians, businessmen and celebrities, all claiming ignorance of the misconduct. When the Financial Times released secret footage showing the treatment of the serving staff, the charity was forced to shut its doors permanently.

2 The Savile Club

The Savile Club’s current building was purchased from the widow of Viscount Lewis “Loulou” Harcourt. Harcourt, after resigning as an MP upon inheriting his peerage, devoted himself to a disturbing hobby—pedophilia. By the time of his death he allegedly possessed the finest collection of child pornography in the country, a fact that was an open secret among certain elite circles.

Writer H. G. Wells once faced pressure to resign from the club after his mistress became pregnant. The mistress was the daughter of a fellow member; she quickly married another man to avoid scandal, as Wells was already married. Nevertheless, the affair persisted, and the mistress’s father waited in the club with a revolver, prepared to confront Wells. Ultimately the committee asked Wells to step down for safety reasons.

1 The Bullingdon Club

Officially known as a dining society, the Bullingdon Club has no permanent premises. Members are recruited from current Oxford University students, most of whom have also attended Eton. Membership demands substantial wealth; the required evening dress with a Bullingdon‑blue tailcoat is tailored by a single maker and costs about £3,500.

There are no formal club fees, but prospective members must consider the expense of food, drink and, crucially, the repair bills that follow their notorious restaurant‑rampages. Members are famous for trashing establishments and then tossing money to patrons to cover the damage.

The club’s proceedings are secret, though rumors persist—one tale tells of a member burning a £50 note in front of a homeless man as part of an initiation rite. Founded in 1780 with hunting and fishing as its original pursuits, the Bullingdon has seen a sharp decline in membership over the past fifteen years, a trend amplified by the scathing depiction of its excesses in the film The Riot Club. In May 1894 the members smashed nearly all the lights and all 468 windows in Peckwater Quad, Christ Church, Oxford, and repeated the feat in 1927. Today the club no longer appears on Oxford’s approved list, and its numbers continue to dwindle.

If you’ve ever wondered where the world’s most niche passions find a home, you’re in for a treat. Below are 10 oddly specific clubs that cater to everything from super‑human intelligence to spontaneous 20‑minute meet‑ups, and you might just be able to slip into one of them.

Why These 10 Oddly Specific Clubs Captivate Us

From secret societies that whisper philanthropy into the night to frigid Antarctic rituals that test human endurance, each organization offers a glimpse into a subculture most of us never encounter. Let’s dive into the details, one club at a time.

10 The Giga Society

When it comes to raw brainpower, the Giga Society stands in a league of its own. While Mensa welcomes the top 2 % of IQ scores, the Giga Society narrows the field to the top 0.0000001 %—a truly astronomical percentile. Prospective members must prove their mettle on the Cattell III B test, a notoriously demanding assessment that weeds out even the brightest minds.

Founded in 1966 by Dutch psychologist Dr Paul Cooijmans, the society was born from a fascination with cognitive extremes. Cooijmans, celebrated for his work in intelligence testing, envisioned a gathering where the world’s most brilliant intellects could convene, puzzle‑solve, and push the boundaries of thought.

Beyond the exclusive networking opportunities, members gain entry to private forums and events where the most intricate scientific and philosophical conundrums are dissected. The Giga Society’s steadfast commitment to the Cattell III B test underscores its dedication to identifying truly extraordinary minds, cementing its reputation as the ultimate enclave for cognitive virtuosos.

9 The Seven Society

Shrouded in mystery yet driven by altruism, the Seven Society operates from the University of Virginia’s historic grounds. Established in the late 1800s, the group’s hallmark is the simple numeral “7,” which appears mysteriously across campus as a silent sign of its influence.

The society’s anonymity is its greatest strength; members remain unknown to the public, revealing themselves only to a trusted few. Despite—or perhaps because of—this secrecy, they have funded generous scholarships, disaster‑relief initiatives, and cutting‑edge research projects, leaving a lasting imprint of generosity.

Over decades, the Seven Society’s covert philanthropy has sparked endless speculation, turning campus lore into a guessing game. Their legacy proves that even in a hyper‑connected era, acts of kindness can thrive behind a veil of secrecy, inspiring others to consider the power of anonymous benevolence.

8 Club 33

For the Disney aficionado craving exclusivity, Club 33 is the ultimate hidden oasis. Conceived by Walt Disney himself, this private enclave resides within several Disney parks and offers members a luxurious retreat from the bustling crowds.

Inside, members discover opulent dining rooms adorned with rare Disney artifacts and meticulously curated décor. The club’s ambiance blends fine cuisine with artistic flair, delivering an experience that feels both magical and sophisticated.

Beyond the sumptuous meals, Club 33 grants its guests privileged perks: backstage tours, expedited ride access, and invitations to exclusive events. Whether you’re savoring a gourmet entrée on a private balcony or sipping a signature cocktail, the club transforms a day at Disney into a refined, unforgettable adventure.

7 The Beefsteak Club

Step back into 18th‑century London and you’ll find the Beefsteak Club, a society that celebrates meat‑loving camaraderie with a dash of sartorial flair. Members don blue tailcoats, yellow waistcoats, and crisp white cravats while indulging in copious portions of steak.

The club’s rituals extend beyond the plate: members toast the meat with port wine, often using elongated “yard‑of‑ale” glasses that add a playful theatricality to the proceedings. This blend of culinary excess and tradition captures a bygone era where revelry centered around hearty fare and fellowship.

Membership is passed down through generations, preserving a sense of heritage and exclusivity. The Beefsteak Club illustrates how shared meals and timeless customs can bridge centuries, fostering a unique sense of community among its devoted patrons.

6 Project Steve

Science meets satire with Project Steve, a clever initiative that gathers scientists named Steve, Stephanie, or Stephen who support evolutionary theory. By limiting inclusion to a single name, the project highlights the overwhelming consensus among experts while poking fun at name‑based credibility lists.

Currently boasting over 1,500 Steves, the project showcases the breadth of expertise rallying behind evolution. Each added name serves as both a statistical point and a humorous jab at those who misuse name‑lists to lend weight to fringe ideas.

In essence, Project Steve turns the absurdity of name‑based authority on its head, reminding us that scientific consensus rests on evidence, not on the popularity of a particular moniker.

5 The Alfalfa Club

Politics can be serious business, but the Alfalfa Club injects a generous dose of levity into Washington’s elite circles. Founded in 1913, this annual black‑tie gathering brings together presidents, CEOs, and celebrities for an evening of witty banter and good‑natured ribbing.

The club’s name—borrowed from the modest alfalfa plant—reflects its mission to keep even the most powerful participants grounded in humor. Attendees trade jokes, share stories, and enjoy a rare moment of camaraderie away from policy debates.

Beyond the laughter, the Alfalfa Club subtly underscores the humanity of its members, fostering connections that transcend political rivalry and reminding everyone that even leaders need a night of light‑hearted fun.

4 The 300 Club

Deep in Antarctica’s icy grip lies the 300 Club, a daring challenge that pushes participants from a -100 °F (-73 °C) polar sprint straight into a 200 °F (93 °C) sauna. Hosted at McMurdo Station, members dash around the South Pole in near‑naked daring before plunging into scorching heat.

The extreme temperature swing—300 degrees—tests both physical stamina and mental grit. Participants must endure the brutal cold, sprint, then instantly transition to searing heat, a ritual that celebrates human resilience and the thrill of confronting nature’s extremes.

For those who crave pushing limits, the 300 Club epitomizes the exhilaration of turning adversity into adventure, proving that even the harshest environments can become playgrounds for the bold.

3 The 20‑Minute Society

In a world governed by tight schedules, the 20‑Minute Society champions spontaneity. Members convene for impromptu activities—whether a quick picnic, a flash‑mob, or a rapid frisbee game—each fitting neatly into a 20‑minute window.

This club reminds us that the most memorable moments often arise from unplanned bursts of fun, encouraging participants to seize fleeting opportunities and inject a burst of joy into otherwise regimented days.

2 The Bilderberg Club

The Bilderberg Club gathers roughly 130 influential figures from Europe and North America for a private, annual conference. Discussions occur behind closed doors, fueling speculation about the group’s sway over global affairs.

While organizers claim the meetings are informal exchanges of ideas, the secrecy surrounding the gatherings continues to intrigue observers, prompting debates about power, influence, and the allure of hidden deliberations.

1 The Dracula Society

Founded in 1973 by Dr Donald A. Reed, the Dracula Society delves into the rich tapestry of vampire literature, film, and folklore. Centered on Bram Stoker’s iconic Count Dracula, members explore myriad adaptations and interpretations across media.

The society serves as a hub for scholars, enthusiasts, and fans, offering screenings, lectures, and lively discussions that examine the evolution of vampire mythology, its symbolism, and its lasting impact on popular culture.

Over the decades, the group has broadened its scope to encompass global vampire lore, art, history, and folklore, fostering a vibrant community that celebrates the timeless allure of these nocturnal legends.

The era of the 18th and 19th centuries birthed a dazzling array of societies, from gentleman’s clubs like White’s to niche interest groups that gathered around a table. Among them, the most memorable were the dining clubs—places where fine fare, lively debate, and a dash of scandal mixed together. This list of 10 historical dining clubs will make you wonder why anyone ever trusted the menu.

Why 10 Historical Dining Clubs Fascinate Food Lovers

Each of these societies combined a love of cuisine with a peculiar set of rules, rituals, or obsessions that turned ordinary meals into legendary spectacles. From sea‑creature banquets to secret rites in abandoned abbeys, the clubs below illustrate how far a group will go to impress its members – and sometimes, to horrify its outsiders.

10 Ichthyophagous Club

The Ichthyophagous Club, a short‑lived New York phenomenon, convened from 1880 to 1887 with a single, daring mission: to consume as many exotic marine species as possible in one grand annual feast. Its founders boasted that countless oceanic delicacies went uneaten, and they sought to change that by turning the sea’s oddities into a culinary showcase.

Membership was limited to fishing connoisseurs—though not the rough‑and‑ready fishermen deemed too low‑brow—alongside food enthusiasts, journalists, and literary types. Their inaugural dinner, chronicled by The New York Times, featured moonfish prepared Spanish‑style, sea‑robin, and a crisp lettuce salad, setting a high bar for future menus.

By the third year the club’s palate had taken a daring turn: dolphin steaks, lamprey eels (teeth intact) breaded and fried, and dogfish shark croquettes graced the table. The final banquet showcased fifteen different sea creatures, ranging from familiar salmon to a braised terrapin. Dolphin proved a tough sell, while alligator steak delighted diners and starfish soup became an unexpected hit. The club even composed its own anthem, praising the ocean’s bounty and the bravery of those willing to sample it. In the end, the Ichthyophagous Club faded away—perhaps because its members simply could not stomach the prospect of more fishy fare.

9 The Glutton Club

Far from a simple overeating society, the Glutton Club gathered under the auspices of a young Charles Darwin, whose curiosity extended well beyond natural selection to the realm of culinary experimentation. Its purpose was to sample “strange flesh,” a pursuit that made even the most adventurous palate wince.

The club’s early menus featured a parade of avian delicacies—hawk, bittern, and other game birds—before an especially tough, stringy owl forced the members to pivot toward meatier fare. Darwin’s own travels contributed to the club’s menu, with armadillo and several unidentified creatures appearing on the plate, underscoring the club’s mantra that nothing was off‑limits.

One memorable evening, as the diners savored a rare bird, Darwin abruptly leapt from his seat, realizing the meal’s provenance. He salvaged the remnants for scientific study, turning a gastronomic experience into a field‑work opportunity. The Glutton Club’s appetite for the unusual left a lasting impression on culinary history, even if it never became a mainstream institution.

8 The Bullingdon Club

The Bullingdon Club earned its notoriety not through the food it served, but through the caliber of its members and the raucous behavior that accompanied their banquets. Founded in the 18th century, the club admitted only Oxford undergraduates of substantial wealth and powerful connections—those who could buy their way out of any trouble.

Its reputation grew around extravagant feasts, prodigious alcohol consumption, and a litany of outrages: vandalizing university property, abusing kitchen staff, harassing waitresses, and staging bizarre, sometimes illegal, dining rituals. The club’s excesses reached a modern headline when a British prime minister’s initiation ritual—rumored to involve a pig’s mouth, an open zipper, and an intimate anatomical reference—sparked widespread media attention.

Although the Bullingdon Club persists today, its membership has dwindled, largely due to the negative publicity surrounding such scandals. The once‑glamorous institution now serves as a cautionary tale of how privilege and excess can corrupt even the most refined dining traditions.

7 The Beaver Club

Established in Canada in 1785, the Beaver Club reserved its membership for seasoned fur traders who had survived the brutal winters of the Northwest Territories. To qualify, aspirants needed to have overwintered in the harsh frontier and to be deemed upstanding citizens by their peers.

The club convened bi‑weekly, but its hallmark was an annual banquet that all members were expected to attend unless excused by illness or business. The gatherings were regimented affairs: members wore their ornate club medals, recounted tales of perilous voyages, and raised toasts to “the fur trade in all its branches.” The centerpiece of the feast was pemmican—dried buffalo meat blended with berries and rendered fat—served on silver platters in a lavish dining hall, a stark contrast to the rugged meals the traders endured in the wilderness.

At the banquet’s close, the hardened men would sit on the floor in a single line, mimicking a massive canoe, and row an imaginary boat while chanting masculine songs. This theatrical finale reinforced their camaraderie and celebrated the collective spirit that had carried them through countless hardships.

6 The Club

In 1764, literary giant Samuel Johnson and painter Joshua Reynolds founded a modest dining society for artistic and literary gentlemen. Their aim was simple: provide a venue for good food, even better conversation, and a steady supply of brandy and cigars. The original roster comprised fewer than a dozen “good fellows,” each eager to indulge in hearty meals and stimulating discourse.

The club adopted the motto Esto perpetua (“Let it be perpetual”), a phrase whose meaning remains somewhat obscure. Meetings took place in the Turk’s Head Tavern on Soho’s bustling streets, where members enjoyed a generous supper followed by lively debate and generous libations. Over time, the club’s membership swelled, much to the chagrin of its founders, who grew increasingly irritated by the influx of politicians—an addition they felt dulled the culinary experience.

Despite the growing numbers, the club persisted as a hub for artistic exchange, maintaining its reputation for sumptuous fare and spirited conversation well into the later 18th century.

5 The Explorers Club

Founded in 1904 in New York, the Explorers Club gathered adventurers with a shared mission: to promote exploration and conservation while indulging in truly exotic cuisine. Its membership roster reads like a hall of fame, featuring the first climbers of Everest, lunar walkers, and deep‑sea divers.

The club’s collection of curiosities includes a “Yeti scalp” and the skeletal remains of a four‑tusked elephant. Its annual banquet pushes culinary boundaries, offering dishes such as tarantula and big‑game meats prepared by world‑class chefs. In 1951, the club sparked controversy when it served a frozen specimen believed to be woolly mammoth meat from Alaska. Subsequent DNA testing revealed the meat was actually from a green sea turtle, turning the sensational story into a cautionary tale about scientific verification.

Today, the Explorers Club continues its tradition of extraordinary feasts, though mammoth meat has been retired from the menu. The club remains a testament to the intersection of daring exploration and daring dining.

4 Princeton Eating Clubs

Princeton University boasts a unique social landscape defined by its eleven eating clubs, each operating under a rigorous selection process known as “Bicker.” The first official club, Ivy, was established in 1879, setting a precedent for exclusive dining societies on campus.

Prospective members undergo ten one‑on‑one interviews covering a wide range of topics, after which the entire club—often exceeding a hundred members—votes on the candidate. Admission requires a unanimous vote, a demanding hurdle that underscores the clubs’ elite status.

The clubs originated when a cadre of affluent undergraduates, dissatisfied with the modest campus food options, rented rooms in Ivy Hall, hired a private cook and waitress, and even installed a billiard table for post‑meal entertainment. Today, the “Bicker” process persists, maintaining the clubs’ reputation for exclusivity and camaraderie.

3 The Divan Club

Established in 1744 by John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich, and Sir Francis Dashwood, the Divan Club catered to a very specific clientele: only those who had traveled to the Ottoman Empire could join. The name “Divan” derives from the Turkish term for a council of rulers, reflecting the club’s aim to provide a forum for members to recount their Eastern experiences.

After a sumptuous dinner, members raised a toast to “The Harem,” celebrating the exotic allure of their travels. However, the club’s stringent entry criteria proved its downfall; within two years, the membership pool had dwindled to the point where the society could no longer sustain itself and quietly dissolved.

The Divan Club’s brief existence illustrates how exclusivity, while alluring, can also become a fatal flaw when the pool of qualified participants is too narrow.

2 The Beefsteak Club

During the 18th and 19th centuries, several societies adopted the moniker Beefsteak Club, using the steak as a symbol of patriotism and Whig‑party liberalism. The first incarnation, founded in 1705, was officially titled The Sublime Society of Beef Steaks and quickly attracted a roster that included royalty, politicians, and cultural luminaries.

Members convened weekly, donning blue coats and buff waistcoats adorned with brass buttons emblazoned “Beef and Liberty.” The menu was simple yet indulgent: steak accompanied by baked potatoes and generous pours of port. Over time, additional Beefsteak Clubs emerged, each with its own customs, but all upheld the ideals of liberty and the reverence for a well‑cooked cut of meat.

Although the original clubs faded in the 19th century, a revival in 1966 re‑established the tradition, and the society has met continuously ever since, preserving its historic blend of culinary pleasure and political camaraderie.

1 The Hellfire Club

Mid‑18th‑century England saw the rise of the Hellfire Club—officially the Order of the Friars of St. Francis of Wycombe—founded by Sir Francis Dashwood, who also co‑created the Divan Club. Dashwood purchased a Cistercian abbey to serve as the club’s headquarters, using the imposing setting to stage mock‑religious ceremonies that ridiculed the Catholic Church.

Twice a year, members gathered in elaborate attire—a hybrid of beret and clown hat bearing the motto “Love and Friendship”—to enjoy opulent dinners while inviting lively, often scandalous, female companions described as “lawful wives” for the night. One notorious episode involved smuggling a baboon dressed as a devil into the chapel, where the animal was released during a ritual, causing chaos as it leapt onto Lord Sandwich, who then theatrically confessed his sins.

When Dashwood became Chancellor of the Exchequer in 1762, he recognized that the club’s antics might not sit well with the public. He consequently disbanded the Hellfire Club, stripping the abbey of any trace of its existence. The legend, however, lives on as a vivid illustration of the era’s blend of aristocratic excess and irreverent humor.