Inside the modern dinner party
Say goodbye to three courses and starched tablecloths - the age of laid-back dining is finally upon us, says Lucy Holden
Feast, not fuss
Afew weeks ago, I went to a spectacularly bad dinner party where two things were immediately clear on arrival. Firstly, the host and hostess were barely speaking, presumably having just had an almighty row, and secondly, they had severely under-bought on booze. That wasn’t the worst of it. After realising he’d forgotten to buy several ingredients, the hostess sent the host out into 4ft of snow. Then, back at the house, he burnt the starters and accidentally served the main course upside down at the table, accompanied by a side of passive-aggressive bickering.
A frozen dessert followed (it was sub-zero outside), eaten in a frosty atmosphere, with everyone wondering how long the hostess could go on talking about herself. It was impressive: almost as impressive as our attempts to drain that one last drop of wine from our glasses as she talked (two bottles between six having been finished an hour earlier).
‘A great dinner party is about sharing food with no protocol or rules’
A feeling of being trapped by good manners is the only way to describe what such an awful evening feels like, so it fills me with a degree of horror to note that the dinner party is back.
But luckily there’s a new rule: feast, not fuss.
Away with white tablecloths, multiple separate courses and the panicked assembling of fussy plates. This is about huge sharing platters, throwing everything on the table at once, and letting the host have a seat with the guests, rather than a perch in the kitchen in a haze of Mrs Dallowaystyle worry.
“So it’s just a posh buffet?” my friend Hannah asks when I invite her to mine – but that sounds more funereal than bacchanalian. And it’s not; what we’re talking about here is something far more sophisticated.
Tony Kitous, the owner of London restaurant chain Comptoir Libanais, has just published a book – which hit the Amazon bestseller list this week – showing exactly how to feast.
“Cooking for friends and family is as personal as it gets,” he says. “It’s how many people show love. But a great dinner party is about sharing food in a very relaxed environment with no protocol or rules.
“It’s all about being informal and showing great hospitality. Feasting in Middle Eastern fashion is perfect for this because it’s all about generosity, with a lot of dishes spread over the table.” His book, Feasts From the Middle East, explains how to serve fresh salads, dips, stews, and chicken and fish alongside each other. Recipes inspired by Kitous’s childhood are Lebanese, Moroccan and Egyptian, so many are vegetarian and vegan.
“In our culture it’s the more the better – if you eat in a Middle Eastern home and you manage to finish your food that means we didn’t give you enough,” he adds. “It’s still never happened to me.”
With the number of vegans in Britain growing every year – almost 80,000 carnivores reportedly tried to give up meat in January, according to the co-founder of Veganuary, Matthew Glover, compared with 23,000 in 2017 – the fashion for lighter, healthier food could be driving the feasting trend.
But the more you think about it, the more it makes sense. Once upon a time, dinner parties were fraught with rules. As recently as last year, etiquette experts argued that polite guests should be careful to abide by a set of strict protocols; leaving by 10.30pm on a weeknight and 11.15pm at the weekend, refusing coffee and an aperitif on the way out. Yet, imposing such rules is a sure way to drain the fun and spontaneity from a gathering. They imply that no one is actually enjoying themselves, and rules are slightly masochistic.
As host, you are probably going to burn and cut yourself during the preparation, and miss all the conversation by spending much of the night in the kitchen. Someone always fails to say “thank you”, brings a budget bottle of wine, or tries to bring up Brexit.
Why do it to yourself? Narcissism is often the answer. We all want to be seen to be as great hosts; but feasting is a much easier way to avoid a car-crash of an evening. To my feast, I invite seven friends who barely know each other – the key being that none are bores – and cover the table in food. It goes down a storm.
Kitous, who wants to start a series of supper clubs, helps me serve lots of hummus, halloumi salad, aubergine, cauliflower and tahini, and the most amazing slow-cooked lamb shoulder. We pass plate after
‘It was so relaxing to have everything laid out in front of you in one opulent spread’
plate around the table, muttering: “Have you tried this?” “Yes, but have you tried this?” There’s a Lebanese milk pudding, huge orange cake and baklava to finish. A week later, everyone is still raving about it.
“It was so relaxing to have everything laid out in front of you in one opulent spread,” my friend Ben says. “You spend the evening dipping in and out of the food – not the conversation, which is often the case at dinner parties.”
Alex, who once spent an entire evening next to a man who talked purely about the A1, agrees. “It’s so nice to be able to enjoy good company, including your host’s when they don’t have to get up to serve you. You’re removed from the guilt of not helping them fret and sweat over the hob or juggle the next bottle of wine, which helps both the drink and conversation flow.”
By the end of the night there’s still a lot of food on the table. No one is running for the door or stifling a yawn. Instead, all but two of us go down the road for a nightcap. And when two of the three single people at the table go home together, it must have been a good evening, right?