It was when Gil agreed to fold napkins into the shape of dress shirts that I first realised something strange was going on. My friend is usually the type for whom formal dining means taking the pizza out of the box before serving it, yet here he was fussing over table settings in an attempt to defeat his friends in their own version of Come Dine with Me.
I was not actually invited. No, I was merely the guinea pig for the practice run, where Gil was experimenting with a labour-intensive cassoulet that he felt would be need to claim victory after a worryingly good meal at his friends’.
This was a few years ago, and the first time I had ever come across someone hosting their own dinner party competition. At first I found the idea ridiculous; why turn your free time into a stressful cookery exam? But I couldn’t help being fascinated.
Gil’s napkins won the day. And it was soon clear that he was not the only one willingly inviting friends and acquaintances to pass critical comment on his hosting efforts. This was definitely a powerful new social trend, but why was it so popular?
My own theory is that it combined a new British obsession, food, with a much older national enthusiasm for passing censorious judgment on others. In the grading of asparagus and table décor, there are strong echoes of the traditional snobbish fixation with dinner jackets, fish-knives, and other signs of minute social distinction.
My editor called Dinner at Mine. “Abigail’s Party for the Come Dine with Me Generation”. Just as Alison Steadman and company combined human drama with acute satire on the social changes of the 1970s, I aimed to do the same for today.
Besides, in what other setting but a dinner party competition would characters such as Justin – a vegetarian so committed that he considers the smell of meat to be “passive-meat eating” – be willing spend so much time with Charlotte, who basically considers bacon to be a condiment, or Marcus, who wants everyone to know he discovered chorizo before it became fashionable?
These characters’ attitude to food reveals their attitude to life. We can laugh at them, but how many can say they have never judged on someone for what they choose to eat? I hope that in the book’s characters readers will, however reluctantly, recognise aspects of themselves.
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When Rosie decides to get her friends together for their very own version of Come Dine With Me she’s bursting with excitement, even though her husband Stephen is less than keen. But Rosie is adamant. Four couples, each hosting a dinner party on a different night of the week, with a prize at the end for the best one. It’ll be a good laugh, won’t it? And a great way for everyone to get to know each other. What could possibly go wrong?
What Rosie doesn’t anticipate are the lengths her fellow hosts might be prepared to go to in order to claim the prize — outlandish recipes, rare ingredients sourced from abroad, and a chocolate tart that looks just too good to be homemade… But perhaps she should be more worried about the mounting tension between the guests, as backbiting breaks out over the appetisers and a glass of wine too many leads to indiscreet flirtation. As the pressure in the kitchen rises, relationships begin to crack under strain, high-minded principles collide and the oven gloves come off…
But that’s all part of the fun. Isn’t it?
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