How to be a fuss-free host

Food writer Diana Henry on why having guests at Christmas should be simple – for all concerned

This is how much effort I have put into having friends round: guests once turned up early to find me standing in the kitchen in my bra and knickers (lightly dusted in flour) stuffing tortellini. On another occasion we didn’t eat until 11pm because I’d made my own strudel pastry and it ended up taking most of the day (and most of the evening too). One Sunday I got up at 5am to put on slow-cooked pork for lunch and was then so tired I didn’t want to talk to a soul when my guests arrived.

It’s always been about the food. I would settle on a menu and then add just one more side dish, or decide to churn my own butter or make some tincture for a cocktail.

The problem for cooks is that we like to cook. For some, this is because they are “feeders”, a table full of smiling eaters murmuring with pleasure is what they live for; for other cooks – I am one of these – it’s because we simply like the process of cooking, we like thinking about flavour, colour and texture, what dish best follows another, what starter will “open” everyone’s appetite, what pudding will add magic at the end.

Food vs friends

But over the years I’ve reconsidered what having friends over is all about. The older I get, the more I want to sit at the table chatting. The food is important, and yet it isn’t. This means cooking a meal that is good but won’t frazzle you and where at least one course (preferably two) is made in advance.

I inwardly groan when I hear the word “entertaining”. The idea of plumping cushions and putting fragrance sticks in the loo fills me with horror. Usually I have to clear the kitchen table of books – making dry stone walls of them along the skirting board – the hall table of unopened mail, and the space around the sofa of the kids’ trainers. But I’m just trying to make enough space to eat and to lounge. I hate things to be formal – I’m not averse to putting a roasting tin on the table and asking someone else to carve – and yet I want people to feel cared for and welcome.

Changing times

When I started to get into cooking – I was having friends round for supper by the age of 15 – it was partly about creating something, putting on an event. I had been seduced by my mum’s Cordon Bleu part-works that she collected in the 1970s. Those women with their hair in chignons, chunky Scandinavian crockery and gently flickering candles – I wanted all that. I didn’t stop to think what a lot of work it was.

When my parents had parties, my mum worked for days. The stuffed olives, the warm baguettes with flavoured butters, the half-a-dozen puddings that seemed to be de rigueur at any buffet back then… it all took some doing.

She still has a hostess trolley – it’s handy at Christmas – and she does insist on warming the plates (I don’t always remember), but I’m glad things are more casual now. Not only have we made lives a bit easier for ourselves, but I think we now see the beauty in keeping things simple, more human. Some greenery, good linen, a jug of water and decent bread go a long way to making a fine meal. These occasions are made by taking care of the small things.

How To Eat a Peach by Diana Henry is out now (Mitchell Beazley, £25)

“I hate things to be formal – I’m not averse to putting a roasting tin on the table and asking someone else to carve”