CHAPTER 5

Entertaining Your Enemies, Frenemies, and Friends

Nothing has the uncanny ability to make you feel inferior like going to a dinner party at the perfect home of your perfect friend, who seems to always have her shit together.

Where did this bitch get so much matching serving ware? you ask yourself as she effortlessly places a piece of perfectly cooked black cod with braised chard and rice pilaf on the expensive-looking plate in front of you. How the hell did she find time to make dessert? Who the hell actually makes soufflés? Why isn’t the kitchen a disaster? Why is her dress so clean? When did she have time to put on makeup? Maybe I shouldn’t be friends with someone so perfect anymore! I could never have her over to my house! Aaaaahhhh!!!

Okay. Breathe.

First of all, don’t worry about this superhuman freak of nature. She and her Williams-Sonoma kitchen and Pottery Barn dining room have nothing to do with you and your slightly more… eclectic ones. Second, you should most definitely have her over to your house, along with four or five other people. This weekend. Because entertaining is the best way in the world to feel like you have your shit together, even when you most definitely do not.

There are a few reasons why this is true:

1. It feels good to feed other people. As a caterer, I learned an incredible principle of entertaining: People like to be fed, which means you can get away with simpler food. People are impressed by uncomplicated, straightforward food as long as someone else is making it. The act of placing homemade food in front of someone is like serving everything with a warm snuggle, and that creates a feel-good-feed-good cycle.

2. It forces you to clean up. Even if you’re just tidying up, there’s nothing like knowing a few people are coming over to get you to make your bed, take out the trash, and finally compost that plant you killed six months ago. Plus, if your guests are decent people, they’ll help you do the dishes after the meal, which means you will be left with a gorgeously clean place and a clean kitchen.

3. When you provide the meal, it’s appropriate to ask people to bring wine. And if there are a few bottles left over after dinner, they’re yours to keep! I’ve built my entire wine cellar this way, one party at a time.

So why don’t you give it a shot? In all the glory of your mismatched china, warped dining room table, ratty couch, and annoying roommates. Make a simple dish or four (this chapter has plenty of recipes to help you with that part), ask your friends to pick up the vino and some ice cream (yes, it’s totally fine to outsource dessert, despite your friend’s crazy soufflé-making habit), and serve food to the people you love, exactly as you are. We’re pretty sure they’ll love it, exactly as it is.—GLM

HOW TO THROW A FABULOUS DINNER PARTY WITHOUT HAVING AN ANXIETY ATTACK

To all the budding hosts and hostesses out there: Are you living up to your dinner party potential? Who cares? Listen up.

For as long as I can remember, throwing a chic dinner party with good food, conversation, and the mixing of friends has meant the ultimate in having-your-shit-together adulthood. I would hold this fabulous looming dinner party over my head and constantly threaten people with inviting them to it. I was the girl who cried entertaining. The beautiful dinner party I imagined would look like it was right out of a Woody Allen movie. I used it as a symbol, a symbol of something I could not attain. I wanted so badly to put on a long dress (you have to wear a long dress when entertaining at your home; it’s written in stone), be my best self, and show everyone how fabulous I was, but for some reason I wouldn’t let myself. I wasn’t there yet.

I finally found an excuse to do it only when I started dating a guy who I thought would really, really appreciate it. He, like me, wanted to live his life like an indie movie. I thought this dinner party was the ticket to his heart. So with manic excitement on my side and my birthday to celebrate ahead, I set out to finally have the party of my dreams. This would be my night to end all nights. I would prove to myself that I could have this party and get myself a boyfriend to boot.

The day of the party arrived, and my heart rate was so high I had to leave work early. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. My friend Sam picked me up to go to the supermarket. I was doing that cool codependent thing where I wouldn’t let her leave my side. Sometimes you really have to love your girlfriends for what they do for you.

I burned my chicken and ended up having one delivered, but aside from that everything looked great. I rented a table and a set of chairs. I spent all my extra money for the month on this. I was pretending it was for my birthday, but it was for him. I didn’t deserve my fabulous dinner party, but somehow he did.

An hour went by, and he didn’t arrive. I took a Xanax. I had a drink. I had eight more. Another hour went by and finally, after weighing the feelings of the entire table, I decided to text him. He said he was “working late.” I went berserk. The anxiety attack had ended, but the decision to get more wasted was still ahead. I eventually kicked everyone out, pretending the landlord had called to say it was too loud. I couldn’t have them know I just didn’t want to party. I was fucking devastated.

I woke up the next morning with a bucket next to me, feeling empty both emotionally and physically. There were birthday decorations and leftover wineglasses everywhere, but I refused to clean my apartment. I thought it was art-directed so perfectly for my mood that I wanted to keep it disgusting for as long as I could. I was so ashamed, but for the first time I understood the fact that you can’t do things for other people; you can only do them for yourself. I was twenty-five and legitimately just understanding what this meant.

Eventually, I decided to throw another dinner party. I didn’t aim as high as the first time. I didn’t rent a table. I invited a group of friends, new and old, none of whom made me feel inferior, all people I felt comfortable around. And I told everyone what to bring. I was seeing a guy at the time, but I didn’t invite him, because I knew if I had then it would have become all about him, and I needed it to not be. I needed it to be for myself and my friends, and to show myself that I could do it. Also, I’ve learned that you don’t always have to do the most anxiety-provoking thing possible.

So I threw the party for myself, and it was lovely. The stakes were low. It was not my perfect Woody Allen dinner party, but I definitely think it could be featured in a super-low-budget indie movie. One party will not be everything. It will take many parties for me to be the kind of entertainer I want to be, but I will get there. And I will wear a long dress every single time.—MPB