Host Dinner Parties in Your 20s
The chaos and cost is worth what you learn about yourself, and other people
Late summer, I sat in my apartment and cried. I had recently graduated college and begun to feel the woes of adult friendship. No longer did all my friends eat the same shitty dining hall food or call me at 1am to walk the two minutes to their place. I spent many nights looking over the city skyline of people living in little boxes and wondering what could be if we had the courage to cultivate community.
In one of those forlon city nights, I resolved to build the community I needed. For me, that meant hosting dinner parties. Two of my life joys are winding conversations with interesting people and cooking. Since that decision, I’ve hosted ~10 dinner parties in a mix of styles, people, and places. I’ve learned a lot — about hosting, myself, and human connection, which I’ll dissect here.
Guests
How was I supposed to host a dinner, when I didn’t even have a friend group to speak of? I needed to be bold, and so for the first one texted five people I hardly knew, but wanted to get to know better. Since then, each dinner has featured at least one person I don’t know well. Ironically, some of these out-there invites have led to these individuals becoming close confidants of mine.
I’ve found 6-8 people to be the optimal size. That way, you get the livelihood of a larger gathering without the overwhelm of hosting too many people. You can also have at least a short meaningful conversation with everyone you invited.
I learn a lot about people from these dinner conversations. There’s the ones who ask how they can help in advance, offer to clean up, bring a bottle of wine unprompted, prioritize talking to you throughout the night. And then the ones who show up and show out, offer no help, comment on your mismatched furniture. I find it funny how people wear their motivations on their sleeve. Frankly, dinner parties are an excellent way to filter friendships. I find myself inviting back the ones that are there for me and to build new, authentic connections, rather than any of the other bullshit.
Ambience
Music — Chose a mood. I tend to go for deeper conversation, and so jazz is my default. If everyone’s going out afterwards, perhaps something more pregame-esque. My Alexa speaker is my best hosting friend, since I can tell her to change the music instead of rudely going on my phone.
Seating Arrangements — Put namecards on people’s plates. Doing so eliminates the strange dance of people pre-identifying who they think is cool and jostling to sit next to them. One of my favorite tricks is to thoughtfully seat people next to others they have something in common with, and tell them so when dinner starts. Watching them dive into everything about themselves to find the commonality is both hilarious and makes people open up way faster.
Themes — Perhaps because I’m the most festive person I know, I love a good dinner party theme. Verticals include: decorations, food, discussion topics. A few I’ve done include pumpkin-y foods, life goals, and AI. Usually I chose one focus vertical, and sacrifice attention on the others.
Food
Make one standout dish, and the rest doesn’t matter. I’m still learning this lesson. Last time I tried to make everything, and people ate more of the pizza I bought as an insurance policy than the complex chicken dish. But make the standout dish really standout. For example, I still hear about my chicken pastilla months after the fact.
Make people bring things. Especially as a 20s-something, you don’t have to break the bank to host. People are more than happy to bring food or alcohol. Most times I’ll make a small appetizer and protein main, and make others bring the rest. Sure, you get a weird schmorgazborg of Doordash, but it’s more about the people and vibes than the food, anyway.
Nice Touches
Calendar Invites — Please, dear god, don’t send an invite titled “Dinner.” If you’re gonna be the extra girlie who hosts an intense dinner party, you have to full send it. All my invites are styled after the show Friends. Most recent was The One with Book Swaps.
Hosting Supplies — When I started hosting, I didn’t even have a dining room table. I literally smashed together an old beer pong table and my patio table, with a table cloth over. Some meaningful supplies I’ve since used include: a legit dining room table, a carpet for under the table, pitcher for drink serving, fake-but-fancy-looking gold silverware, Alexa speaker, cheese board. Some things I plan to purchase include plate chargers, reusable namecards, a bar cart, and nicer chairs.
These days, I find myself rarely crying. These dinner parties have cultivated more community than I can handle. My friends associate me with hosting, asking when they can attend my next one, reaching out to hang outside dinners. I’ve made new best friends on whom I truly believe I’ll be able to rely on for anything for the rest of my life due to the consistency and depth of the dinners — something I didn’t think possible when I was crying in August. And so I’ll continue, because what is life about other than times like my favorite dinner — where we talked about our deepest insecurities, threw nametag paper airplanes at eachother, and laughed like 5 year olds until we couldn’t breathe.