Don’t bring fancy wine to dinner, bring a poltergeist

An argument for small, thoughtful, slightly odd gifts

When was the last time you cried? This is a popular question on podcasts and I’m amazed how often the answer is ‘never’. I am a leaky bucket, shedding a few tears most days. The trigger is rarely anguish; it’s usually the result of being hit by a sudden sense of the world’s capacity for beauty. I’m talking: seeing my niece’s face at the school gate, or hearing Celine Dion belt out Because You Loved Me while I push my trolley around Tesco.

Kleenex, if you’re looking for someone to sponsor, bang my line.

In this week’s catalogue of weeping, one instance was thanks to my friend Piper, who was over from Los Angeles for a pitstop in London. During lunch, she gave me the prettiest little pitcher from The Ivy. What tipped me into tears was the note, which said, ‘This is from my favourite restaurant in Beverly Hills — a trinket until I take you there when you visit.’

Piper’s pitcher, complete with sweet peas from our neighbour Jane’s garden.

Unlike marriages or civil partnerships, friendships aren’t glued together by vows, contracts or gift registers. They’re sustained by thousands of tiny decisions. I’ve only known Piper for three years, but her note gave me the sense that our friendship has a bright and adventure-filled future. It’s such a good feeling, and I’m already planning my Beverly Hills lunch outfit (it may take years to happen, but I need to be ready).

As you’ll have gathered, Piper is Good at Gifts. Many others, however, find this a fraught arena. Guests often arrive at ours in a state of apologetic fluster because the shop only had tulips, or the wine is not cold. In my research into hosting, I’ve been flooded with gift-related questions, including:

• Do I have to bring wine to a dinner? I don’t drink booze, and I know nothing about wine.

• Is it wrong to give the host flowers? Ina Garten tells me it’s wrong.

• If I bring the dessert, do I also need to bring a gift?

• How can I stop spending too much money on last-minute panic purchases?

• Are chocolates a naff gift? What if they contain nuts and we all end up in the emergency room?

It strikes me that people’s anxieties about giving gifts to hosts are, at root, about etiquette. We want to understand the social norms, in the hope that we won’t look foolish at the dinner table. The problem with etiquette is that it has very little to do with being insightful or creative. Getting it right is about conforming. A thoughtful gift is about showing a friend that you’ve been paying attention to who they are. Or, as Carly Simon once sang (during a Sesame Street appearance), I see who you are, and I like what I see.

How can we short-circuit this cycle of anxiety, apology and consolation?

One method is to abandon gift-giving altogether. Given that I believe in lowering the barriers to hosting, this is an argument I can get behind. When I host, I do not expect or need gifts. And if you see your dining companions regularly, gifts are clearly unnecessary (sidebar: one day I’m determined to follow Samin Nosrat’s suit and instigate a casual weekly dinner with friends — which I imagine is a gift-free zone).

AND YET AND YET, as I walk around my home, I catch glimpses of things that make my heart swell:

- A bottle of green walnut liqueur, made by George and Hugh’s fair hands.

- An S-shaped Backnobber from Paule and Ian, fellow back-pain sufferers.

- A pair of candlesticks Vanessa bought me from Freud’s in Covent Garden (we used to drink sticky cocktails in the bar underneath the shop).

- A flask of elderflower cordial, made by John, from flowers he picked in Acton Park.

These aren’t just inanimate objects. They seem charged with energy. I’d go so far as to say that they haunt our home. Pleasant little poltergeists that spring to chattering life every time I notice them.

To declare my hand: I’ve always found gift-giving a source of great pleasure. Exhibit A: Years ago, I saw a video of Candy Spelling’s Holmby Hills mansion, including a glimpse of her gift wrapping room. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

Don’t panic. I won’t urge you to run out and buy silk ribbons. But if you do want to give your host a thoughtful little something, here are five questions to get your creative juices going.

n.b. I’ve used the singular ‘host’ here, but these ideas are easy to adapt for a couple. Also: I’ve assumed the host is a friend of yours. If they’re not, skip to question five.

1: What is the host’s inner teenager obsessed with?

By ‘inner teenager’ I mean the lyric-reciting, scrapbook-compiling, sticker-collecting, outfit-planning, besotted fan inside all of us. Adulthood does its best to suppress such obsessiveness, but here’s a chance to fan the flames of ardour. So ask yourself: who does the host ADORE? A pop star, a writer, a sports team? Get them some merch — the trashier the better (this is not the time to be chic). And if you don’t know the answer to this question, it’s time to find out.

This one’s for Amy. One week until we see Mr Styles at Wembley — YESSSS!

2: What adventure could you go on together?

Anticipation is an underestimated source of pleasure. Propose a jaunt that you can both look forward to. I’m talking about a cinema trip, or a day at a book festival, or dinner at an intriguing restaurant (Appalachian food, anyone?). Write a note that explains your plan (‘There's a new gallery I'm dying to take you to’) and tuck it inside a programme or guidebook. We all get paranoid about our friendships, from time to time. This kind of gift says, unambiguously, that the force is strong.

My sister Annie’s love for tea is unyielding. I don’t know how we’ve missed the Twinings experience!

3: What makes your host howl with laughter?

In 1994, on my first day of university, I went to a library induction that was so unintentionally hilarious that I had to flee to the bathroom because — well, you can fill in the blanks. Thankfully, someone else got the giggles, too. That someone was Vanessa, and we’ve been chortling ever since (most recently during a weekend in Lisbon).

Given that hysterical laughter is the crucible in which so many friendships are forged, I urge you to activate your friend’s funny bone. Life can be tough. Let’s bring some levity. I’m talking about silly cards, funny books, or daft trinkets. My friend Hannah bought me a keyring that says ‘Stop Interrupting My Grinding’ on it (she SEES my love for Beyoncé). It never fails to make me smile.

Robert and Kevin bought me this. It reduced me to helpless tears of laughter.

4: Who is your friend yearning for?

We’re all quietly mourning people and creatures we’ve lost along the way. In the rush to put on a brave face and ‘move on’, these losses get swept under the conversational carpet. But surely a friend is someone who loves the broken bits of you, as well as the polished bits? Which is why I think it’s worth thinking about the things that haunt your friend. Peter (my husband) is an annoyingly gifted artist and often makes small drawings for people, commemorating things loved and lost. Happy tears always follow. You might not be an artist (god knows I’m not), but maybe you can find a trinket, a second-hand book, a framed poem, or something that sings of an absent friend.

5: What’s your host’s fantasy breakfast?

Ina Garten, empress of entertaining, has long argued that the ideal gift is something edible the host can enjoy the morning after a long night, like coffee beans or granola. This is a particularly good route if you don’t know your host well and can’t delve too deeply into their psyche. I also find it a fun excuse to shop for the kind of treats that I’m too stingy to buy for myself, such as:

• Daffodil-yellow farmhouse butter

• Golden-yolked Cacklebean eggs (a UK-only treat)

• Organic maple syrup

• A bag of pancake mix, plus a stash of chocolate chips (I defer to the eternally wise Annalisa Barbieri on all things chocolate and note her case for Callebaut dark chocolate pistoles)

• A loaf of home-baked banana bread (I want to be buried with Smitten Kitchen’s recipe tucked in my pocket)

• Massive bonus point if you happen to fall upon a copy of Marion Cunningham’s 1987 classic The Breakfast Book. PLEASE grab it and gift it! Cunningham’s prose slips down as soothingly as a perfectly poached egg.

Items I recently drooled over in the Cotswolds Cheese Co (Stow on the Wold)

These are simply five prompts. I’m sure you'll think of dozens more. I'd love to hear them.

Many will protest that they don’t have time to curate goody bags or paint pictures of dogs. I feel you. It does take time to give a truly thoughtful gift. But the time is the point. It might indeed be the actual gift you’re giving.

Three more ways to up your gift game

Turn your cards into gift tags

I’ve forgotten where I found this hack, but I’m SO grateful I stumbled on it. Buy a pair of pinking shears (mine cost £6.99), and cut out shapes from the front of birthday and holiday cards. Punch a hole in the corner, thread in a bit of twine, and BOOM, you’ve got yourself a gift tag. Why do I think these are worth creating? Because host gifts are often opened the day after a dinner, by which point the host has often forgotten who gave them what. With a tag, your creativity and thoughtfulness will be credited. And if you make the tag big enough, you can scribble a nice message.

Create a personalised rubber stamp

This is a genius idea via Peter. If someone’s moving house, or has a new dog, or a big birthday, get a rubber stamp made for them! You can upload your own design, which can be super simple. To illustrate: Peter got a stamp made of our house, which he uses to label his home-made marmalade (and stamp on greeting cards). Check out The Green Stamp Company (not an ad!) for inspiration.

Squirrel away gifts for the future

I’m always on the lookout for things that will make my friends smile. I feel no shame about buying something and saving it for the apposite moment. We make jam in autumn and save it for the following year — why not do the same with gifts? My tip here is to dedicate a large plastic box to this purpose. Every time you find a trinket that speaks to you of a certain friend, BUY IT without hesitation, and stash it in your gift box. Your future self will be deliriously grateful.

In unrelated news: I’ve been dancing in the kitchen (again)

A couple of months ago, my mentor in all things food writing, the glorious Gilly Smith, encouraged me to ‘invite people into my kitchen’. In response, I posted an Insta video of me baking a cake while dancing to Madonna. I don’t think this is what Gilly was hoping for, but it was too late. Last week, I was at it again, baking a 10th wedding anniversary cake AND attempting the iconic dance breakdown from Janet Jackson’s ‘If’. If you are easily triggered by the sight of sweaty, not hugely coordinated dancing, please avert your gaze. But if you were also raised on a diet of Control and Rhythm Nation, YOU’LL GET THIS.