Dinner Party for Eight at Eight. What to Make? Reservations.

I have seen women invite people into their kitchens and fearlessly pull out pots and pans. They toss guests knives and put them to work. Everyone is laughing, cutting up vegetables looking as they’ve stepped into cameo roles in a food diva Nigella Lawson Lifetime movie. In these culinary scenarios, the giddy hostess swoops around a granite island effortlessly preparing a delicious meal for eight.

See. Nigella hasn't a shred of beef prep anxiety.

I’m baffled how the Nigella’s do it. I’m incapable of performing with food under pressure. It’s like the sixth grade pelling bee when the first word out of Mr. McDaniels mouth directed to me was “clothing.”

“Clothing,” I repeated.

All that appeared on the sepia projector screen in my mind was a “C”, an “H” and an “O”. I knew those letters were part of the word clothing but at that moment I had no clue the order.

“C. H. O.” I whispered.

“Clothing,” he said giving me an odd look — a look that I remember 36 years later.

“C.” I paused.

The only expletive thing in my brain was the letter H. Knowing it was dreadfully wrong and dreadfully embarrassed I whispered, “H.”

Mr. McDaniels asked me to sit down.

I love people. I love entertaining. I love food. But throw all three together with me wearing an apron and the Smart Board in my brain erases completely.

That’s why I found it puzzling when a couple of weeks ago, I shot an email to a small number of friends inviting them over to dinner. Maybe I had gotten a little cocky with this “pushing out of my comfort zone” idea. Giving blood was one thing. But a dinner party? The brave new me can handle this, no problem. Then everyone’s immediate replies signaled they would love to come.

I ran screaming from my house and began asked every female over the age of 10 what they would serve.

Steak, tenderloin, brisket were all suggestions.

The thought of cooking beef for guests undoes me. I worry that I’ll reach for it in the oven only to have it look up still chewing its cud. Or having it end up dry as my petunias on the front steps mid July. Or when I try to slice it will look as if cut with pinking shears. Messy beef. No one likes messy beef.

Almost to the point of hyperventilating, I thought back to what I counsel others. It doesn’t matter what you serve – just make sure you’re enjoying yourself and your friends will too. What would Nigella prepare if she had severe beef performance anxiety and wanted to spend an evening in the company of good friends?

I went with a casserole. There I said it. But was a pretty good one and with a great salad I came close to throwing my head back and dancing gaily looking as Nigella wearing two burnt oven mitts holding a tuna casserole.

I guess I’m a casserole kind of hostess. Casseroles are comfort and easy. Even babies can fashion tasty ones for smashing dinner parties for all their best baby friends.

Babies are terribly brave. Seems being 47 is the problem.

Those in need of a dinner party primer, stop by my blog for an e-interview with this Wednesday’s Inspiring Woman, Anne Trulock — a gracious hostess who has perfected the fine art of entertaining.