Throw Yourself A Breakup Dinner Party. Trust Me.

After a breakup blew up my life, I think I was supposed to get bangs. Or buy a one-way ticket to Bali, or at least beeline to the club to make out with the first available human in sight. Instead, I threw a dinner party and I think you should, too.

At first, things were… bad. I cried in front of three real estate agents and felt like a wobbly, bewildered baby deer. Desperate for something solid to cling to, I took any and every bit of advice flung my way, found a therapist, journaled, followed breakup influencers, and began reading far too deeply into my horoscope — too deeply into everything, pretty much. I needed a path forward, a sign that everything would be OK. A week into singlehood, I was flipping through Alison Roman’s cookbook Nothing Fancy when a page caught my eye.

In a note titled “when things don’t go well,” Roman advises “embracing the chaos and laughing and trying to have a good time anyway.” Here, she’s referring to calamities such as your brisket braising too slowly. In my fragile state, however, this became profound wisdom applicable to all of life’s difficulties. Embrace the chaos! Laugh! Have a good time anyway! Challenge accepted.

Alison Roman advises “embracing the chaos and laughing and trying to have a good time anyway.”

I invited over a group of friends for that Saturday night. I chose five recipes from my new Bible: labne with sizzled scallions and chile; citrus-soaked olives; sticky walnuts toasted with sesame and sumac; a little gem salad sprinkled with garlic, pistachios, and lemon zest; coconut-braised chicken in a sea of chickpeas and spices. I cleaned two weeks’ worth of gloom out of my apartment. As it turns out, preparing a feast and transforming your home into something livable is quite a bit of work! There is no time to wallow. Instead, you must set out cute vintage glassware and vacuum up cat hair. Chop chop. It felt good to be productive again.

Objectively, I looked terrible that night: dark circles, dull skin, limp hair. (Maybe I really did need that haircut after all.) But in my best attempt to feel festive, I packed on gold eyeshadow and zipped myself into a swishy party dress. Minutes before people arrived, I stashed a pair of left-behind video game controllers under the couch and queued up an Ariana Grande playlist. The stage was set.

My favorite people walked in toting pecan pie and Champagne, offering tight hugs and assurances that yes, absolutely, one day, everything would be OK. One friend took the kitchen chair my ex had been sitting in when he said, “We need to talk,” and removed two years’ worth of photos from the favorites folder in my camera roll. Another burned sage.

Certain things did not go well that night — I charred the walnuts and ran out of serving utensils — and yet, per Roman’s instructions, we had a good time anyway. There was juicy celebrity gossip, generous pours of wine, and enough scented candles to mimic a fragrant séance. My friend cradled my cat while dancing around the living room. I took a video that’s sat in my favorites folder ever since: panning across the table, marveling, “Look at my friends!” After two miserable weeks, it was a delight to be surrounded by so much love.

It was hardly the first time they’d boosted me up recently. They’d listened to me vent, sent flowers, and slept over when my bed felt too big for just one person. But that was crisis mode. This was different: A night off from grief, a celebration to mark the start of a new era, and a reminder that I was never truly alone. It wasn’t a perfectly clean escape (the salad bowl had been a housewarming gift from my ex’s mother), but it was joyful anyway.

One meal can’t fix everything, but it’s a start. Eventually, I felt like myself again, only more resilient, more grateful for the people in my life, and more skilled at toasting walnuts.