My Love Letter to Hosts with the Most

As the son of an Italian mother, I learned the skill, planning and time it takes to throw a memorable gathering. There wasn’t one party that, in my blissful childhood eyes, topped the others, because each one had its own special recipe. There were the Halloween Parties - costumes, cocktails and appetizers, the Christmas Eve Seven Fishes - family, champaign, and scream singing 12 Nights of Christmas, the Summer BBQs - twisted teas, burgers and dogs and a beautiful lake breeze, and Sunday Sauces - laughter, tomato and wine stains, and arguments about unfinished homework. They were all so beautifully constructed that they felt simple. As my mom would tell you, it is far from simple to host a great party.

There is always a heart to any party. For me growing up this was my mom, her sisters and her best friends. These women were the best dressed, knew how to keep the people entertained and most importantly kept the people's plates and glasses full... while also making sure their own glasses were full. It's a real skill to keep such a delicate balance alive at your party (especially as the drinks keep flowing). A lot of lesser hosts invite people over and it starts and ends at the invite - now don't get me wrong, a chill night in has its time and place, but you know the saying: two's company, three's a crowd, four's an orgy. Over five? Now THAT'S a party! And when you've got a party you've got to prep and entertain!

I'll be honest, I'm blessed that hosting almost feels second nature to me because of the way I came up. There was a very specific system to how to throw a party:

Set an intention for your party. Are we celebrating? Commiserating? Just getting through a Tuesday? The vibe sets everything else in motion. My mom's crew knew the difference between a "casual Sunday sauce" gathering (costco wine, sauce-stained aprons welcomed) and a "we're breaking out the good china" affair (champagne in crystal flutes, lipstick checks mandatory).

Gather your core crew. Every great host has their kitchen cabinet - and I mean that literally. The people who show up early, roll up their sleeves, and aren't afraid of a little friendly delegation. These are the ones who know where you keep the serving platters and won't judge you for the state of your junk drawer. They're co-conspirators, not just guests.

Send out the invites to build excitement. Whether it's a group text a Partiful e-vite or an actual paper invitation (gasp!), make people feel like they're being included in something special. FOMO is real, and a good host knows how to wield it responsibly.

Prepare, prepare, and prepare. This is where the magic happens and where amateurs reveal themselves. My mom and her friends were in the kitchen for days prepping trays of food to feed an army. Antipasto platters that could double as art installations. Enough pasta to require structural engineering. Mountains of cookies that somehow always ran out. The rule was ironclad: if there are no leftovers, people went home hungry. And that, my friends, was unacceptable.

Pick the perfect outfit. Here's where it gets cinematic. Just as the first guests were arriving and the appetizers were perfectly plated, these women would vanish. Ten minutes later they'd reappear fully transformed - hair done, makeup beat, outfit that said "I just threw this together" but actually took three days to plan. All while the sauce was still simmering. Quick changes they couldn’t even pull of on Broadway if they tried!

Greet the guests with a full glass in hand. Notice I said full glass. The drink is your shield, your prop, your conversation starter. Are we doing prosecco? A signature cocktail? Red wine that'll stain your teeth but pairs perfectly with the baked ziti? Whatever it is, no one walks in the door without a drink in hand within 60 seconds. This is non-negotiable.

But here's the thing about the truly great hosts - the secret weapon that separates the legends from the try-hards: they make it look easy. You never see them sweat (okay, maybe a little when they're checking the lasagna for the fourth time, but that's beside the point). They're the ones with a glass of cabernet in one hand and a tray of bruschetta in the other, somehow carrying on three conversations at once while mentally calculating whether they need to pop another bottle of prosecco.

They're reading the room like a championship poker player. They know when to turn up the music and when to turn it down. They know which guests need to be separated (family dynamics are a minefield) and which ones need to be introduced because they'll definitely hit it off. They're refilling the cheese board before anyone notices it's running low and making sure Aunt Marie's wine glass never hits empty because, well, we all know what happens then.

And let's talk about the food situation. There's always - ALWAYS - enough food. In fact, there's too much food, but that's the point. You want people loosening their belts, groaning about how full they are, and still reaching for one more meatball. The greatest compliment a host can receive isn't "this was delicious," it's "I'm not going to be able to eat for a week."

The playlist? Curated with the precision of a Spotify algorithm but with the soul of someone who actually remembers what songs make people happy. Starts mellow, builds to something you can dance to after the second bottle of wine, winds down to Frank Sinatra when it's just the diehards left at 1 AM. And all done with a stack of CDs - changing out one for another without anyone noticing the silent moment between. 

The lighting? Dimmed just enough that everyone looks good and no one's examining the dust on the baseboards. Candles lit even if it's 3 PM on a Saturday because ambiance doesn't have office hours.

These hosts understand something fundamental that the "let's just order pizza" crowd doesn't: gathering people is sacred work. It's not about showing off or being perfect. It's about creating a space where people feel seen, fed, and slightly wine-drunk in the best possible way. It's about making your home the place where people want to be, where they linger by the door saying goodbye for 45 minutes because they don't actually want to leave.

I've watched my mom and her friends pull off this magic trick hundreds of times. I've seen them handle kitchen disasters with grace (the time we forgot to PAM the cake sheet? We called it deconstructed and served it in bowls). I've seen them welcome unexpected guests without missing a beat (there's always room, there's always enough food, even when there definitely isn't). I've seen them somehow manage to be fully present with their guests while also running a full-scale culinary operation behind the scenes.

And here's what I've learned: the best hosts understand that people don't remember perfect parties. They remember feeling welcomed. They remember laughing so hard their face hurt. They remember the warmth of being in a home where someone cared enough to light the candles, chill the wine, and make sure there was enough food to feed a small village.

So here's to my mom and her crew - the women who taught me that hosting is an art form, a love language, and occasionally a competitive sport. Who showed me that the right cocktail can set the tone for an entire evening, that there's no such thing as too much cheese, and that the best parties end with people you love in your kitchen at midnight, wine glasses in hand, solving the world's problems or at least laughing about them.

To the hosts with the most: you make the world a warmer, fuller, more joyful place. You've given us more than parties - you've given us memories, traditions, and a masterclass in how to make people feel like they matter.

And to anyone reading this thinking "I could never": yes, you can. Start small. Light a candle. Put out some snacks. Open a bottle of wine. Invite people over. Call in your troops to help - friends, parents, your kids or even caterers like Cocktails with Cal (shameless plug). The secret isn't perfection - it's intention. It's saying "I want you here" and meaning it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to check if I have enough martini glasses in the freezer. Because everyone gets an ice cold martini when they walk in the door and that's what hosting is all about.