I’m always a bit wary when invited for the first time to a dinner party at a friend’s home; some of the least enjoyable social occasions I’ve ever attended have been misleadingly advertised as such. The inevitable email about “dietary requirements” has been duly responded to. You’ve muttered to yourself about the time (eight o’clock? Why so late?) and worked out that because your hosts (and I use that word advisedly) live on the other side of the city, you won’t be in bed before midnight. And the route is terrible — but never mind, it’s lovely to be invited to someone’s home for dinner, isn’t it?
Why would anyone cook you a meal they’ve never attempted before? And how come some people are incapable of understanding cooking times?
Welcome to a bad dinner party.
On arrival, as your host opens the door, you can already hear the toddlers whining about not wanting to go to bed. There is no smell of cooking. As you walk in, you note that the table is not set, and neither is there any sign of pre-dinner snacks such as olives or canapés. There is a suspiciously warm-looking open bottle of white wine. No ice is available.
My friend Jess is a notoriously bad timekeeper, to the point that when I invite her to mine to eat, I tell her to come an hour before I actually want her there, to be in with a chance of her arriving by 7:30 p.m. Even so, when she invited me to her house for Friday night dinner, I turned up bang on time.
I’d been dreading being greeted with the news that dinner would be a little late, but it was worse than that. Jess was struggling up the steps to her front door laden with the bags containing our meal, including a whole uncooked chicken. The house was untidy, the table unlaid and the fridge devoid of wine. As I set about helping her prepare, I did let her know how cross I was — although I stopped short of directing the large kitchen knife towards her throat instead of the chicken. I ended up cooking the whole damn lot while Jess sat around chatting to everyone, clearly unable to multitask, or even task. It was 9:30 p.m. by the time we sat down to eat, and the evening finished at one in the morning. I stopped at the garage for Gaviscon on the way home.
So (just in case you’re thinking of inviting me over) let me begin by saying that for me, the food is not the most important thing. If my opinion matters to you, here’s a list of absolute atrocities to avoid:
- A complete absence of cooking smells because nothing has been pre-prepared. No table laid. And no napkins when it is. Taking the very good chocolate and wine your guests bring and putting them away, but later serving Ferrero Rocher and Blossom Hill
- Children still up and having to be put to bed (often repeatedly) while the host(s) run around looking frazzled — leaving their guest sitting there feeling about as welcome as a pork chop in a synagogue
- The very worst dinner party crime is seeing the host dip a spoon in whatever they are cooking, tasting it, then putting the spoon back in. I once witnessed this happening several times and felt so queasy I pretended I had developed a migraine and went home
Now, my faults are legion — but my own dinner parties are as near perfect as it is possible to be. I regularly have people round to my home to eat and, unless it is a special occasion, it will be a fairly casual affair, with no standing on ceremony. But I always ensure that my guests have something to eat and drink on arrival. The wine will be chilled, with at least one cocktail on offer too — and there will always be a few snacks for immediate reassurance. I will have pre-prepared as much as possible so that I can actually chat with my friends while making the salads and adding finishing touches.
The table will be set, with napkins, fresh bread and good-quality salt and pepper — an element very often missing from the dinner table. How do you ask for seasoning without insulting your host? Put the damn salt and pepper on the table.
There are so many things I don’t get about how other people do it. Why would anyone cook you a meal they’ve never attempted before? And how come some people are incapable of understanding cooking times? I was once invited to dinner at Alice’s, who, having poured a lukewarm glass of wine for her guests, proceeded to sit with us all in the living room for over an hour before suddenly announcing that she had better go and put the (baked) potatoes in. Some time later, she shouted to her partner (who had failed to refresh our drinks): “I didn’t realize the oven wasn’t working, it will take a little longer.” An hour later we sat down to pastry that was burnt on one side and raw on the other, and rock-hard potatoes.
Here’s an idea: if you can’t cook or don’t enjoy it, order in, and take the time and trouble not to cook but to actually host the evening. Make some snacks, chill some wine, have a cocktail ready mixed. Be relaxed and actually talk to your guests instead of running around looking stressed and resentful. And if you can’t reliably get your kids out of the way, get a babysitter and let’s go to a restaurant. It’s why they were invented, after all.
This article was originally published on The Spectator’s UK website.
