THE ENTERTAINER

Gets a Boost

There’s a special kind of courage required to invite people into your home. And there’s an even greater kind when you decide to entertain.

There’s the cocktail-party kind of courage—you want good flow, great drinks, and tasty bites—with your ultimate goal that everyone has a good time.

And there’s the dinner-party kind, when the stakes feel higher. You must think about the food you’ll serve—what your guests will like, what special requirements they might have, who eats what. There’s the preparation—do you cook, do you even know how to cook, or is it better to order in?

And how will you organize it all? You want your guests to enjoy the food, the conversation, and the company. But can you manage everything and still enjoy yourself? When you entertain, the pressure feels real because, more than anything, you just want it to be a success and for everyone to have a wonderful time.

Take heart: what can feel daunting doesn’t have to be. Once you take your first swing at entertaining—and then your second—you won’t stop, because the pleasure and confidence you gain from it will far exceed any intimidation factor.

Being a good host isn’t just about the food and décor (which is fun, don’t get me wrong); the most dynamic part is the juggle-it-all, I’ve-got-this, generosity-of-spirit challenge we rise or fall to—and when we succeed, that sense of accomplishment makes you feel alive and, better yet, helps you grow.

We’re social creatures, even the most introverted among us, but it’s just as important to be kind to ourselves, too. At its core, entertaining is about designing for connection—connection to others, and just as importantly, to yourself.

And here’s the secret: it’s fun. Hosting reawakens a sense of play we often lose in adult life—arranging, constructing, welcoming. It’s both personal expression and social exercise, and the more you do it, the more confident you feel. That’s why it’s so important to embrace the entertainer in you, because few things build confidence like the simple pleasure of gathering people and making them feel at home in your company.

The choreography of preparing a meal, remembering which fork or knife to place where, lighting the candles, even choosing the music are all small creative acts. They demand your point of view and your presence. You’re stepping into a role that requires equal parts leadership and warmth.

If you think about it, great leaders and great hosts share many of the same traits: composure, anticipation, and attentiveness. They set the tone, creating an atmosphere where others feel at ease. They anticipate needs before they’re voiced and move with a quiet awareness that keeps everything running smoothly. It’s that combination of calm, foresight, and grace that makes people feel both cared for and confident in your company.

MUSCLING CONFIDENCE

The Big Three

Whichever camp you fall into—whether you’re a first-time host or a pro—think of entertaining as a quiet workout for your confidence. Once you start, you’ll get stronger, and you’ll never stop growing. It’s a full-immersion exercise in all of the above, and each time you host, you stretch three essential muscles.

Together, these three muscles create the composure that presents inward and outward confidence—and that confidence becomes ease. The more you use them, the stronger they get.

LONDON DAYS

What the British Do Better Than Us

The first time I realized that entertaining didn’t have to be a production—or that you didn’t have to be an experienced host to make people feel welcome and well-fed—was in England.

I lived in London for years, and my initial social introductions were dinners to welcome us to town. As a normal course of business there, you’re often invited to a colleague’s or even a boss’s home for dinner.

I found this fascinating. While Americans tend to separate business from home life, the British combine the two and see an invitation into their home as a rite of passage into both their social and professional circles. No doubt, it’s its own form of business—you’re absolutely on display, just on the other side of the table.

You’re not only introduced to the colleague; you meet their family, sit in their living room, dine at their table, and often stand alongside them in their kitchen. And you speak about everything but business—culture, travel, politics, music. It’s no business and all business at once: the British art form of getting to know you.

If that sounds almost as daunting as hosting itself, it wasn’t. There was something deeply personal and disarming about being in someone’s home, seeing them in their element. It strips away pretense, reshapes your assumptions, and reminds you that connection is rarely built across a desk. That realization was a pivotal moment for me, a quiet education in the social rituals of home.

The most surprising part? For all the formality the British are known for, these dinners were often informal affairs. Simple meals, home-cooked, and unpretentious—especially on Sundays, when everyone in the UK collectively slows down for what they call Sunday roast.

Traditionally, Sunday roast meant roast beef, chicken, or lamb served with roasted potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, gravy, and vegetables. Over time, the ritual evolved; in modern London, it might just as easily be Indian curry or any comforting meal shared at home. Today, it’s less about the dish and more about the act—a ritual of gathering.

That’s where I think Americans often get it wrong. Depending on how we were raised, we tend to treat entertaining as an event—something to plan for, prepare for, and perfect as opposed to an easy ritual that’s part of our everyday lives. Especially when it’s as intimate as a sit-down meal. Growing up in the South, when “company” came over, it was an occasion: the house was spotless and a special menu prepared; my mother literally set a stage. It wasn’t our natural, everyday state.

In London, entertaining is the natural state. It’s woven into personal and professional life, which means it happens often—and with repetition comes ease. You get practice. You build social muscles you didn’t know you had, becoming fluent and facile in the art of playing both host and guest.

Here, we also tend to conflate entertaining with formality—in this context I mean the act or effort of putting our more formal game faces on—whereas the British don’t. For a culture perceived as formal, and they sometimes are, their attitude toward home entertaining is one of ease. And, this is the appearance even within the more formal British home. They’re just well-practiced in the social art of banter and entertaining perhaps, which changes the focus: Small dinners are less about presentation and more about conversation, curiosity, and cultural connection.

And just as business and hosting require similar skill sets, the British seem to understand that every host—man, woman, or couple—leads. Some of the best hosts I’ve ever seen were male CEOs. A new domestic era indeed. It was a treat to watch them, in the kitchen especially if they cooked—wielding both corporate and culinary mastery with equal ease.

More impressive still, these men were comfortable and confident with the simplest things. No salt-crusted turbot flambé—just an easy pot roast or piece of fish—and if they didn’t cook, they might be offering a helping hand to their wife or partner to plate the meal.

None of it was about the food, though the food was perfectly good. It was about the pleasure of being invited in—to see people you barely knew in their own homes and kitchens, relaxed, talking, sharing their go-to dishes or favorite stories with unstudied confidence while you sipped good wine and took it all in.

To this day, I think that’s why I’m so fascinated by social rituals and the way people live, how we entertain, cook, and how formal or informal our sense of home may be. The British open their doors generously, and while we do it too, they somehow make it appear effortless—or at least it always felt that way to me. It’s not just hospitality; it’s an art form, and one I was delighted to study.

THE LONDON KIT

Nuts And Stuff

While formality isn’t always central to entertaining in England, they do have the stuff down. And by that, I mean the small tableware and serving pieces that make it all look easy. Depending on the home, this could mean silver service or something far simpler, an heirloom dish set with a few chips, or the Dutch oven or pot of soup sitting directly atop the table.

But two simple things were always on display, and I saw them again and again. Both have been part of my own entertaining tool kit ever since.

The Trio of Nibbles. The quintessential welcoming dish in every London home. It’s usually a cluster of small bowls or a divided dish filled with three simple things: a nut mix (often warm), olives, and crisps (British for potato chips). The crisps were almost always salt and vinegar or salt and pepper flavored—never fussy, always good. It’s the easiest gesture of welcome imaginable and instantly sets a relaxed tone.

The Drinks Tray. Always polished, always ready. The British love a proper drinks tray—sometimes an antique silver one, sometimes a wooden or mirrored tray perched on a sideboard or console.

Champagne was often in play, especially for early evening gatherings, but depending on the season you might also find Pimm’s (a summer staple mixed with lemonade, mint, and fruit), gin and tonic (the national standby, served with wedges of lime or cucumber), whisky or Scotch (often offered neat or with one cube), a bottle of red and white wine already opened, carafes of still and sparkling water with lemon slices, and occasionally, sherry or port for something more old-fashioned or wintry.

I’ll add my own discovery here: I found the elderflower liqueur St-Germain on many drinks trays in London. It was often poured over the rocks with gin or another clear spirit, or into champagne. Maybe it was just in vogue then, but it earned a permanent spot on my drinks tray—and I still offer it often today.

While that was the typical setup in London, I keep mine far simpler here in New York—which should make it easier for you too. You don’t need a ton of liquor on hand to be a gracious host. Some people maintain full bars or leave trays displayed, but mine comes out only when I’m expecting guests.

It’s typically set with still and sparkling water, red and white wine, champagne, sometimes a signature cocktail—St-Germain and pomegranate during the holidays for champagne cocktails or margaritas for casual get-togethers—and, last but not least, a nod to my southern roots: moonshine.

I keep small-batch, family-made pint jars on hand (which I decant to prettier bottles), and they’re always a hit. It’s not the gasoline burner you’d imagine; it’s apple-based, and delicious, and as smooth as can be.

EASY AS PIE

You’re Already Better Than You Think

Confidence grows the moment you act. One invitation, one cocktail gathering, one dinner—one evening that feels slightly brave—that’s all it takes to begin. You don’t need elaborate menus or matching linens; you just need intention. Then jump.

The courage to host isn’t about being ready—it’s about being willing. Once you start, you realize how natural it is to create warmth, to gather people, to make space for everyone to come alive.

As we move into the season ahead, think of your home as a stage for generosity—a place to give and grow yourself. It’s the greatest gift you can extend to those you care about.

Over the next few weeks, we’ll be sharing seasonal inspiration, including apple recipes, because what would November be without them? Pies, cobblers, and sauces are coming your way, along with both small and large gestures of hospitality that remind us: entertaining doesn’t have to be perfect to be personal.

Confidence is built the same way as pie—one simple layer at a time, baked in warmth, and best when shared.