Dinner parties used to be about perfectly puffed souffles, a nice bottle of wine and curating a group of friends and acquaintances who each have as many valid points to make about elections as electronic music. They were a sophisticated way to introduce friends who might get on, or even get together – and a chance to potentially endear your boss to you away from the office and its politics.
Now, however, all that sounds like a ceremony from a bygone era – one ruthlessly satirised by Mike Leigh in his 1977 play Abigail’s Party. Even Nigella Lawson, previously the monarch of domestic hosting, declared last year that she rarely hosts extravagant dinner parties anymore.
