The Fretting of Famine or Feast

And a holiday hiccup reported!

Dear Tamar:

I don’t know how to throw a party. Okay, I know how to throw an okay party. I mean the kind of party where people relax at the table, and it feels like a celebration. What makes a dinner "festive?” Is it the menu? What would you serve? Please help! I have a bunch of people coming over and I want it to be great.

-Famine or Feast

Dear Famine or Feast,

The best hosts I know are Cal Peternell and Kathleen Henderson. I provide their whole names because Cal has a restaurant worth visiting, and Kathleen’s art is funny and troubling and illuminating. I’m calling them the best hosts without having eaten at their table in a decade. But when I did spend a lot of time at their table, they made such an impression that I’ve copied them ever since.

My first observations about Cal and Kathleen’s hosting weren’t of what was there, but what wasn’t. Their dinner table often had benches, rather than chairs, which meant cushions had to be put on them and you had to sit close to your dinner companions. There wasn’t, to my memory, a single conversation about wine, or anything said about food other than telling whomever made it that it was delicious. There wasn’t any plating—family style was the only style. There wasn’t a set end time. There weren’t matching glasses or plates. There weren’t screens.

I was eventually able to tease out what was there, and what I loved, and what made every meal at that table a feast. I’m going to write out a list. I think it will mostly answer your question. I’ll round out anything Cal and Kathleen don’t cover.

• Kids. There were always kids at the table. They ranged in age. They left the table at points. But there was never the feeling that kids were exiled to some separate kid space, leaving us in grown-up land.

• Wine. They didn’t stop opening wine until people were gone. This doesn’t mean that they, as the hosts, had to drink voraciously. But they created an environment of abundance and letting loose. Obviously, this doesn’t have to be wine, or alcohol at all. But some indicator of an intentional loosening is important.

• Abundance. I’ve written about this before. Abundance = festivity. It’s mostly as simple as that. I don’t remember eating fancy meals at their table. But if we were having lamb, there would be a leg of it cooking over a fire. If it was pasta, it would be big bowls, several of them. Lots of bread. Lots of salad. A cake. There wasn’t the expectation of finishing anything or everything. In this way the food was like the wine. The experience was of dipping into a flowing river.

• Candles. It’s possible for festivity to happen in bright light. It’s easier for it to happen with less light and more shadow. More glimmer. More dappling. More casting about for things, more shade.

• Calm. The only ingredient other than abundance that’s really mandatory for festivity is calm. The inverse is also true. The only surefire way to scuttle a party is stress. It doesn’t matter if the food is as good as it can be, or has been in the past. It doesn’t matter if you undersalted or oversalted. It doesn’t matter if people are late, or even early. All that matters is that you put your expectations and logistical needs in a figurative ship and send them out to sea for Viking burial. If you want people to have fun, you must put them first. Putting them first means, above all not getting stressed out. About anything.

• Presence. From the moment guests walk in the door, a host’s job is to think, mostly, about their guests. This is impossible if you’re worrying about something else. It’s quite easy if you set yourself the task of being there, in the room, with the people you’ve invited. This sounds easier than it is. Or maybe it sounds harder than it is.

• Something already cooked, and something in need of finishing or cooking. If most of the food isn’t cooked by the time guests arrive, it’ll be hard to be present—to listen to their answers to your questions; to offer drinks; to make introductions. If all of the food is cooked, you’re without any fidget, any handwork, any way of filling out the little silences and discomforts that are a natural part of any beginning. Salad dressing is a reasonable thing to make while chatting. Guests can cut bread, pick herbs, open wine, fill water pitchers.

The question I didn’t answer directly was what to serve. Here are some guidelines: As per above, serve something you can make most of ahead of time. Also as per above, serve something you’ve made before, so you don’t get stressed. If you’re dying to try something new, only let yourself if you’ve vowed to entirely detach your calm and presence from the outcome—and also if there’s going to be other food available. Keep the number of options to a minimum—which will increase your availability to pay attention to what you do serve.

And here are some recent menus from my table:

1. Roast chicken

   Carrot som tam

   Sticky rice

   Gai Yang sauce (the one I made was even simpler. I used tamarind, fish sauce, water, lime juice, sugar, pounded garlic, and chopped fresh chilies.)

   Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, dried apricots, pistachios in the shell

2. Tuna tartare tostadas

   Homemade tortillas

   Beans

   Cheese

   Roasted squash and roasted mushrooms

   Pico de gallo

   Guacamole

   Salted cabbage and radishes

   Cookies

3. Jamón serrano

   Tortilla Español

   Gildas

   Potato chips

   Pan con tomate

   Pistachios

   Cashews

   Sheeps’ milk cheeses

Those are three very different meals. What they share is simplicity, laid-backness, and the kind of likability that ensures something to eat for everyone. None was a stage for whatever culinary prowess I have. None made me sweat. Not all came off without a hitch—I criminally overcooked the tortilla, which doesn’t matter in the slightest if you’ve done a good job with the potatoes and onions inside it, which I had.

Dear cook, you do know how to throw a party—it is to have fun. If you applied only that rule to all your planning, I suspect you’d come up with a version of Cal and Kathleen’s table. Let yourself. There’s no need for famine, so long as you keep your expectations real and honest for your feast.

I asked, you answered! A reader named Jewels reports a pie disaster, below:

I make pies regularly. At thanksgiving I usually bake a pie per my mom’s recipe. I tried a different way of integrating butter and flour, and the result was a complete failure. Two lessons learned: 1) Never grate the butter! Return to cutting into small pieces and 2) Never try science experiments during the holiday season!🙄

Jewels! My toxic trait is trying new culinary things when I’m stressed! I have to force myself to set my experiments aside for when the stakes are low. I hear you! We can make a reciprocal vow: I vow to save my experiments for low-stakes meals, and avoid them at holidays!