The key to solo hosting, says Diana Henry, is choosing a sumptuous but simple menu – then settling down to enjoy it with your guests

I haven’t given a solo dinner party – though I’m not sure if ‘dinner party’ is the right term for what I’m offering here – since I was 16 and had half a dozen school friends over for a vegetarian curry. There has always been a boyfriend or a significant other or my children to help. Former partners were a mixed bag when it came to this. One used to put on a pair of velvet trousers, light a cigar and somewhat reluctantly set the table (he’s long gone). A couple weren’t able to understand why I make ‘so much fuss’, viewing the effort to cook carefully and please friends as something almost embarrassing. These men were both from rather grand backgrounds and making an effort in anything was regarded as unseemly. I still did whatever I wanted though transformed, in my mind, into someone from below stairs.

Supper, on one occasion, was just spaghetti with a tuna sauce and ice cream for pudding (insouciance was the goal for these men). I couldn’t find the pine nuts and as I hunted for them the boyfriend added chopped salted peanuts instead. Over-salted? Don’t get me started. He, too, is long gone.

Usually, I asked for just two things: sort out a tablecloth and get the drinks ready (chilling bottles where necessary). I know that using a tablecloth ages me – who under 40 uses a tablecloth? – but it wasn’t a style decision, it was usually to hide stains from spillages or felt-pen scribbles left by the children. And OK, I admit it, I like tablecloths. They bring a softness – they clothe hard edges – and pull everything together. I’m not into ‘tablescaping’ – currently that would require small pumpkins and dried autumn leaves – but a cloth and some flowers feels right to me.

In the past I’ve received reasonable criticism from friends. After a fivecourse Spanish extravaganza (I can remember the guinea fowl with quince allioli and the chocolate and sherry cake), some very old friends suggested that I should be at the table more than in the kitchen. I took umbrage for a while but eventually settled on roast chicken when they came round again.

I was, to some extent, a selfish cook. I cooked for myself – I wanted to try things out. The memory of the day I made strudel (with my own strudel pastry) still makes me squirm. I started the pastry in the afternoon but there is a lot of stretching to be done with strudel and you need a large table for it. I can’t remember what else I served but we didn’t eat until 10.45pm. The friends I’d invited accepted the whole thing with grace, but we could all have eaten the legs off the table by the time we sat down. I was buzzing with the knowledge that I’d made proper apple strudel – was I mad? – but I’ve never done this since.

Sharing your table with friends should be about just that – sharing – not your culinary achievements. Now, with my sons having left home, nobody else is going to look after the drinks or set the table. I’m not going to cook complicated dishes because, until I get used to it, I need to make things as easy as possible. Nigella Lawson and Yotam Ottolenghi, at least when they’ve cooked for me, don’t make a starter, but Claudia Roden does (usually something that requires no cooking). It’s my favourite part of any meal but I’m going to dispense with it until I’m accustomed to this solo lark. Puddings will be made in advance. To drink there will be wine or wine, so I don’t have to think about mixers and ice.

What I find most difficult is the period when you have to chat while cooking, but this menu – where the oven does the work – is pretty effortless. I’m going to invite Claudia.