September Reset
Six Rituals That Shape Every Dinner
After eight weeks of back-to-back travelling, there’s nothing I look forward to more than being home, cooking in my own kitchen, and reconnecting with friends around the table.
When I’m in Egypt by the coast, my cooking is very practical. I don’t want to spend hours simmering a bolognese when I could be barefoot with friends by the beach enjoying the sunset. When you’re working with high-quality fruit and vegetables, you can lean on ingredients over effort so I keep the cooking simple and let the produce do the work.
That said, this year I was guilty of smuggling back a pantry stash: matcha (non-negotiable), white miso, chilli flakes from the NH Spice Shop, and even shiso leaves. You can already tell, I don’t travel light.
Back in London, the excitement comes from the opposite impulse: suddenly I have access to everything again (and there are no beautiful beaches tempting me away from the kitchen). The first thing I do is gather inspiration and start sketching a menu.
Part of that inspiration comes from the ritual of my first shop. My first stop is always the Notting Hill fish + meat shop, just around the corner from my house. The staff know me, the produce is consistently excellent, and I always leave with something I didn’t expect. Last time it was a glistening piece of wild halibut that became the centrepiece of an impromptu dinner. After a summer in Egypt, I crave things I can’t easily get there: sushi-grade fish, datterini tomatoes and fresh berries, blueberries and raspberries in particular. Stocking up again feels like resetting my kitchen compass.
I keep a few mid-week go-to menus up my sleeve, dishes I know are reliable, impressive enough but low-effort. But after being away, I’m more experimental, more eager to try new recipes. My menus usually start with an ingredient I’ve missed (fresh tuna, say) and I then dive into my cookbooks for ideas.
Ottolenghi is a household favourite. The way he blends Middle Eastern and Asian influences feels like a mirror of the flavors my husband and I love most; it’s both comfort and adventure on a plate. Another inspiration is Natalie Chassay. We discovered her during lockdown, we coook her fish tacos with corn on the cob and her spicy pasta on repeat. Her food is unfussy, but always delivers, and I constantly check her Instagram and Substack to see what she’s been making.
Once I’ve found the star main, I build around it: sides, dietary tweaks, and, of course, the guest list. Hosting should always feel fun, and for me, the joy starts with finding a dish I can’t wait to make (or re-make).
The day of the dinner comes with its own set of rituals. Flowers, of course. My husband takes charge of the playlist, a task I’m always happy to delegate. He tailors it to the mood of the evening — Charles Aznavour, Edith Piaf, and Brigitte Bardot for fondue nights; Soad Massi, Ahmed AlShaiba, and Fairuz during Ramadan. He even designs the playlist to shift with the night: light and upbeat for the first cocktails, slower for the meal itself, and then my favourite part, post-dinner songs that carry us late into the night.
As for me, I never relinquish the table. Even if my husband helps with prep or certain dishes, I’m always the one to set it and plate. Sometimes the menu dictates the atmosphere of the table; other times, the tableware takes the lead. Last Thanksgiving, for example, I had just received some Tina Vaia platters, so I decided to add a whole dip station and crudités spread ahead of what’s already a big meal, simply because I wanted an excuse to use them. For me, the food and the setting are inseparable, one shapes the other. I even leave mini notes on the table so he knows exactly where each dish should go as it’s brought out.
Then there’s a ritual I stole from my mother: I always write the planned menu on a small note card and pin it to the fridge with a magnet. There’s something about putting it down on paper that feels like setting the intention. Seeing it every time I walk into the kitchen sparks ideas, reminds me of what might be missing, and somehow makes the evening feel more real. The card inevitably gets edited, but that’s part of the charm! The menu is a living plan that evolves until the first guest walks through the door.
While I’m not back in London just yet, I can already picture my first dinner taking shape on that note card: a lightly seared bavette with relish to start, served on a Malaika platter as a node to home; Ottolenghi’s miso aubergines alongside a big salad; and a tower of cookies from Maker’s for dessert because I’ve been craving it all summer.
And then, once everyone has left and the candles are blown out, there’s always one last ritual: the debrief. My husband knows I won’t let us go to bed without it. What went well? What did he think was delicious? Which dish stole the night and which one needed work? I love a debrief when the night is still fresh in our minds. Only once we’ve gone over it all do I feel ready to end the evening.
My Six Rituals that Shape Every Dinner
The First Shop – A visit to my trusted Notting Hill fish & meat shop, where I always leave with something unexpected.
Menu on Paper – A handwritten card pinned to the fridge, setting the intention before the cooking even begins.
Tablescaping the Mood – The table is always the stage: sometimes the menu dictates the setting, other times the setting inspires the menu.
Divide & Conquer – My husband curates the playlist, while I plate the dishes and set the table — our non-negotiable roles.
Hosting with Ease – Finding joy in a dish I’m genuinely excited to cook, and keeping the energy fun rather than fussy.
The Debrief – After the candles are blown out, a final chat about what worked, what wowed, and what to carry into the next dinner.
These are my rituals, but of course you will have your own. Hosting is never one-size-fits-all. It’s the small, personal gestures that give each dinner real character. From playlists to plating, flowers to fridge notes, the beauty lies in the details we choose to repeat, and in the feeling we want our guests to walk away with.
Until next time Sahtein, and thank you for pulling up a chair,
Dana x
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