The sacred weekly dinner

You’ve likely heard of Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat, Samin Nosrat’s best-selling, beautifully illustrated cookbook, or seen her hit Netflix documentary of the same name. In September, the Persian-American chef released her highly anticipated second cookbook, Good Things.

What actually sold me on the book, however, was the subtitle on the advance cover: “Recipes and rituals to share with people you love.” As someone deeply interested in hospitality (rather than entertaining), that promise of “rituals” was the hook. Sadly, by the time the book went to print, the word “rituals” had been scrubbed from the subtitle.

I did flip through the cookbook, however, and found one chapter introduction that discussed the ritual of gathering to eat. (If you don’t have the book, that entire text is reproduced in a New York Times article titled, “Samin Nosrat Gathers Friends for Dinner Every Week. Here’s How You Can, Too.“)

In it, she tells the story of a friend who hosted dinners in her New York City apartment every Sunday night. The dinners weren’t extravagant; they were a way to anchor the week, a chance to put phones down and reconnect. What made them memorable wasn’t what was on the table, but who was around it. Samin recalls that it was the jokes, the stories, the heaviness of consoling grieving friends, and the thrill of meeting new romantic partners that stayed in her memory.

That deep sense of community inspired Samin to start a similar casual, communal ritual. She reflected on a hard truth: what good was everything she’d achieved, what good was a beautiful home, if she felt so unbearably sad and alone?

She began gathering with friends every Monday night and realized it was something sacred: a space where everyone shares the responsibility for caring for each other. No one person does all the cooking; they take advantage of the adage that “many hands make light work.” She doesn’t describe it as a dinner party, but as a special occasion where ritual and community are at the heart of her life. It taught her what it means to belong, giving her life and cooking the meaning she had longed for.

Samin suggests some principles to make this work well:

• Choose a set day, time, and location and stick to it. Over time, that day will begin to feel sacred. It also streamlines the logistics—everyone always knows when dinner is.
• Perfect is the enemy of good. Things don’t need to be flawless. What you will remember is that you sat down to dinner together, week after week.
• Make it feel holy. Use music or a specific ritual to make the gathering feel unique.
• Consistency is key. Sometimes, the dinner’s a dud. Everyone might be in a bad mood, a toddler has a meltdown, or you don’t get to talk to the friend you wanted to see. But the stakes are much lower when you know there’s always another dinner next week.
• Sit down together. Make sure there are enough seats for everyone to eat at the same time.
• Be transparent. Talk about costs and the division of labor rather than assuming. Check in over time as circumstances change.

I love that Samin included this in her cookbook, and I only wish there were more insights and stories about her gatherings.

I’m eagerly anticipating Shauna Niequest’s upcoming untitled cookbook, due out in 2026. She writes that the book will include stories, practical guides, and a thousand reasons why gathering together is so important – a ‘hospitality manifesto disguised as a cookbook’. Her goal is to help people get over all the obstacles that keep us from opening our doors.

Sounds a lot like Friday’s Pizza.