Hospitality is attention, served warm.

The rule: bring something they don't have to use right now. A bottle they can cellar, flowers already in a vase, a small jar of something precious — saffron, vanilla pods, good olive oil. This frees the host from interrupting dinner to arrange tulips.

• For dinner: a bottle a notch nicer than the meal suggests.
• For drinks: Champagne or a serious bar bottle (mezcal, amaro, a great gin).
• For new parents: a meal, dropped off, no expectation to host you.
• For a long weekend: something for the morning — pastries, fancy coffee, jam.

Six to eight is the magic number — one conversation possible, two natural. Mix people who don't know each other; introduce them with a sentence each that's a gift ("Sara just got back from Tokyo and knows every great bar there").

Plan one course you can finish in front of guests, two that are fully done before they arrive. The host who's sweating in the kitchen is failing at the only job that matters: being present.

Open whites and rosés thirty minutes before — let them warm slightly out of the fridge. Open reds an hour before, or decant. Pour one third of the glass, never more. Top up quietly; don't make refills a ceremony.

Always have a non-alcoholic option that took thought: a real shrub, a sparkling tea, a great tonic over ice with citrus. The guest who isn't drinking should feel as cared for as everyone else.

• Candles, always. Low enough to see across.
• Music that disappears: instrumental, jazz, bossa, ambient classical. Nothing with lyrics fighting for airtime.
• Water on the table before wine. Bread and salt before the first course.
• Place cards if you're over six — they prevent the awkward shuffle and let you orchestrate the conversation.

Beloved guests do three things: arrive ready to be delighted, help without being asked (clear plates, offer to pour), and follow up the next day. The follow-up is the secret. A short message — one specific thing you loved — is the difference between a nice evening and a friendship.

Hospitality, in the end, is the promise that for a few hours, someone will look after you on purpose. Whether you're hosting or guesting, the only real metric is: did the people in this room feel held?

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." — Maya Angelou