Gather: Feeding a Crowd

How to feed a crowd without falling apart

There’s a unique feeling of excitement when hosting a large gathering - that hum of conversation, the rustle of people in every room as laughter spills into corners, the sense that your home is come to life. But there’s also, if we’re entirely honest, a particular apprehension and fear factor. The logistics feel enormous. The timing feels impossible. The idea of fifty people descending on your home can feel like orchestrating a small military operation.

It doesn’t have to.

I’ve learned, over years of hosting everything from book launches to birthday suppers to impromptu gatherings that spiral pleasantly out of control, that feeding a crowd is less about stamina and more about strategy. Done well, it should feel abundant and generous without leaving you shattered. Done badly, you’ll resent every guest by the time pudding arrives.

Here’s how I do it.

1. Accept what the evening actually is

A large gathering is not an intimate dinner party scaled up.

It’s a different beast entirely and it needs a different approach. You’re not creating quiet, lingering conversation over three courses. You’re creating energy, warmth and a sense of occasion. People want to move, to mingle, to graze. They want to feel the room is buzzing, not waiting politely for the next course.
Once you accept this, everything becomes easier. You stop trying to plate twenty individual portions of sea bass and start thinking about how people actually want to eat when there are lots of them: informally, abundantly, at their own pace.

2. Choose a format that works for your numbers

The single most important decision you’ll make is how you’ll serve the food.

Buffet-style is your friend. A beautiful table people can help themselves to removes every timing anxiety. No plating. No synchronised serving. No cold food. People eat when they’re ready, take what they want and come back for more. Stations also work brilliantly. Think of it as curated abundance. A table with a selection of pastas served in lidded tureens. A cheese and charcuterie table with vases holding grissini. A pudding table with puddings and cake stands with fruit. It creates movement and theatre without chaos.
Sharing plates can work for a seated party of 20. Large platters down the centre of a long table, everyone serving themselves. Generous, convivial, surprisingly easy, but beyond that number, it starts to feel awkward.
Avoid individual plating unless you have help. Twenty identical plates is restaurant work. You are not a restaurant even if you’re aspiring to have one one day.

3. Menu planning: think big, simple and forgiving

When you’re cooking for many, you need food that:

∙ Can be made largely or entirely in advance

∙ Holds well without drying out or collapsing

∙ Looks abundant and generous

∙ Doesn’t require last-minute fiddling

My go-to formula:

∙ One substantial centrepiece dish: a slow-cooked joint, a whole baked salmon, a large tray of braised lamb or chicken thighs. Something that improves with resting and can be carved or portioned easily.

∙ Two or three substantial sides: think roasted vegetables, grains, a large salad. Things that can sit at room temperature and still taste delicious.

∙ Something sharp or acidic: a herby salsa verde, pickled vegetables, a mustardy dressing. This cuts through richness and makes everything taste brighter when mixed on a plate.

∙ Bread, always: good bread in quantity makes people feel immediately fed and generous and makes the table feel abundant.

∙ Pudding that can be served in bowls or slices: pavlova, trifle, a large tart, brownies with cream. Nothing that requires delicate assembly.

Choose recipes you trust. A crowd is not the time to experiment. Confidence matters more than novelty.

4. Cook almost everything the day before

This is non-negotiable for your planning.

Your day-of should involve reheating, assembling and dressing — not actual cooking. If you’re frantically chopping vegetables when guests arrive, you’ve planned badly.

The day before:

∙ Braise, roast or poach your centrepiece protein

∙ Make all sauces, dressings and condiments

∙ Prep vegetables (roast root veg, blanch greens, chop salads but don’t dress)

∙ Bake puddings

∙ Set the table or lay out the buffet space

The day itself:

∙ Reheat gently

∙ Dress salads

∙ Carve or portion

∙ Light candles, pour yourself a drink, breathe

This will mean the two hours before everyone arrives should feel calm and give you time to freshen up and feel excited about the occasion you’re hosting.

5. Quantities: I like to err on the side of plenty

Nothing kills a party like running out of food (or drinks). Abundance is generous. Scraping the last spoonful from a dish is awkward.

Here’s my rough guide per person:

∙ 200–250g protein if it’s a centrepiece (less if there are multiple dishes)

∙ 150–200g substantial sides (potatoes, grains, salads)

∙ 1 bread roll or equivalent

∙ 100–150g pudding

Don’t forget to also double-check your tray sizes. A crowd means you’ll need larger dishes than you think. Borrow extras if necessary.

6. Logistics: think like a professional

Oven and hob space is your limiting factor. Plan your menu around what will actually fit. If you only have one oven, don’t choose four dishes that all need to be hot simultaneously.

Room temperature is your secret weapon. Many dishes taste better at room temperature anyway: roasted vegetables, grains, anything dressed in good olive oil. Embrace this.

Serving dishes matter. You’ll need more than you think. Large platters, big bowls, boards for cheese and charcuterie. Borrow or buy extras. Nothing steals confidence like realising mid-service you’ve got nowhere to put the salad.

Bin access. Set up a discreet bin station. When there’s a crowd, rubbish accumulates fast. Don’t let it pile up on surfaces.

7. Drinks: simple systems, generous pours

A crowd drinks more than you expect, and faster.

For standing drinks:

∙ Assume 3–4 drinks per person over two hours

∙ Have a welcome drink ready when people arrive (champagne, a simple cocktail, something non alcoholic and pretty in jugs)

For a seated dinner:

∙ A bottle of wine serves 4–5 glasses

∙ Have red and white available, but don’t feel obliged to offer endless choice

∙ Water on every table, always

Non-alcoholic options should feel equal. Good cordial, interesting soft drinks, something sparkling. Not apologetic, not an afterthought.

Keep a drinks station where people can help themselves so that you’re not the waiter.

8. The table or buffet: make it beautiful but functional

For a buffet, think flow. People should be able to move around it easily.

∙ Start with plates

∙ Knives, forks and napkins at the end (so hands are free while serving)

∙ Arrange food logically: protein, sides, sauces, bread

∙ Use different heights: cake stands, upturned bowls under cloths, boards propped up. This creates visual interest and makes everything easier to reach.

Label dishes if it helps, small cards tucked beside each dish. It also stops the same question being asked twenty times and makes people with dietary requirements feel quietly looked after.

For a seated table, keep the centre clear enough for conversation. Large platters work, but not so many that people can’t see each other. If space is tight, serve from a sideboard instead.

Flowers and candles, yes, but nothing so tall or fragrant it dominates. The table should feel generous and welcoming.

9. Timing: build in breathing space

Work backwards from when you want people to eat, then add thirty minutes. Crowds take longer to settle than you think.

A loose timeline might look like this:

∙ Guests arrive: welcome drink ready, static canapés arranged around the room

∙ 30–45 minutes: let people mingle, no rush

∙ Announce food when the energy feels right, not because the clock says so

∙ Pudding: when plates are cleared and conversation has settled again, not immediately

The beauty of buffet-style or sharing plates is that the food doesn’t dictate the pace.

If something’s running late, let it. Pour more drinks. No one will remember the timing. They’ll remember whether they felt rushed.

10. Let people help (but only if they insist)

Some guests genuinely want to help up. Let them open wine, carry platters, clear plates. It makes them feel useful and takes pressure off you.
But don’t rely on it. Your plan should work even if no one lifts a finger.

11. The art of the graceful exit

When you’re hosting a crowd, there’s often a natural ebb. Some people will want to linger, others will have babysitters or early starts. Let the evening end organically.
Have a gentle closing move ready if needed: offering coffee, blowing out candles, starting to clear the main table. People read cues. No one needs an announcement.
And if a few people want to stay and the mood is good? Let them. The best gatherings often have a second, quieter act once half the crowd has gone.

12. The real work is in the preparation

Here’s the truth: hosting a crowd well is almost entirely about what you do before anyone arrives.
If your mise en place is solid — food prepped, table laid, drinks chilled, timeline clear — the evening itself should feel surprisingly easy. You’ll have time to talk, to pour wine, to actually enjoy the people you’ve invited.

If you’re still cooking when the doorbell rings: you’re in trouble.

The thing no one tells you

Feeding a crowd is one of the most ancient, generous acts there is. It’s how humans have always gathered, around a fire, around tables, around abundance.
People don’t expect perfection. They expect warmth.
If the food is good and plentiful, if the room feels welcoming, if you seem happy to have them there — that’s enough. More than enough.
Everything else is just logistics.
And logistics, it turns out, are surprisingly manageable once you stop trying to make a large gathering feel like an intimate dinner party.
It’s not. And that’s precisely why it’s wonderful.