Your Best Friendsgiving Ever: The Ultimate Party Planning Guide
Hi friends!
Every year I say “never again” and then… guess who’s hosting 25+ people for Friendsgiving? Me. Again. It’s practically a sport at this point. And let me tell you, you need more than a grocery list and a Pinterest board. You need a system. A vibe. A power play that says, “Yes, my house is full of chaos, but somehow the ham is glazed, the corn is bubbling, and the mac & cheese is gooey enough to make grown men cry.”
This is not a Martha Stewart guide. (Love her, but no.) This is the Chronically Chic way to throw Friendsgiving: yummy, organized, just unhinged enough to keep it interesting, and completely doable without crying into your gravy… this time… 😅
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The Week Before Prep Is Key
1 Month Out: Invitations & Finalizing the Menu
Once that's set, it's time to pick a date and send those invitations. It's essential to ensure everyone is on the same page about when the fun will happen. Don't forget to remind your guests to RSVP! This little step is crucial. It builds anticipation and helps you plan your food quantities accordingly. Nobody wants to be left scrambling at the last minute.
Forget snail mail invites. This isn’t Bridgerton. I use Facebook Events because it’s free, easy, and you can stalk RSVPs in real time. It also lets you keep track of who’s bringing what, and yes, you need to assign categories unless you’re okay with six pumpkin pies and no bread.
Here’s the move:
Lock in the date now. People’s calendars fill up faster than the mac & cheese pan.
Create the event, tag the loudest friend so everyone sees it, and give people one week to RSVP. After that, they’re on the waitlist.
Now the menu. Non-negotiables: spiral ham, my “crack” corn, mac & cheese. These three run the show. Everything else? For me? I’m a diva. I only let people bring drinks, appetizers, or desserts. For you? I suggest outsourced unless you’re as passionate as I am about it. Outsourcing will save you so much time, money, and energy. Tell your wine friend to bring wine, tell your baker friend to bring pie, and let the rest fight over side dishes.
Then, do the one thing that will save your life: make the shopping list. Write it down, check your pantry, and don’t assume you have butter. (You don’t. You will never have enough butter.) The goal is to avoid a last-minute 9PM Target run the night before when you’re already spiraling.
14 Days Out: Equipment & Kitchen Prep
By now, the menu is locked, which means it’s time to face reality: do you actually have the gear to pull this off? Nothing humbles a hostess faster than realizing you own one sad baking sheet and a single serving spoon.
Here’s what I do:
Walk through the whole menu in my head and pull every dish, pan, and platter I’ll need. If I don’t see it, it goes on the buy/borrow list.
Count your forks. I swear, they disappear every year like socks in a dryer.
Check staples: butter, salt, foil, spices. These are the silent assassins that will send you to the store at 10 PM if you’re not prepared.
Now, kitchen prep: clear those counters. Friendsgiving is not the time to have your Keurig, mail pile, and five candles hogging space. Pretend your countertops are New York real estate: expensive and limited.
And if you want to order anything fancy (looking at you, overpriced cheese platter and seasonal IPA delivery), now’s the time. Future-you will thank present-you when those bougie extras magically appear without a frantic last-minute grocery run.
7-4 Days Before: Grocery Run & Cooking Prep
This is where the chaos officially begins, otherwise known as “me and my cart looking like I’m prepping for the apocalypse.”
Your job this week:
Do the big grocery run. Spiral ham? In the cart. Every dairy product in the store? In the cart. (Mac & cheese alone requires half a cow’s worth of cheese.)
Triple-check what guests are bringing. People get flaky! Don’t wait until Thursday morning to realize you’ve got seven desserts and zero rolls.
Don’t just grab food, grab the extras: foil pans, napkins, ice, candles, and yes, more butter. (Trust me, you’re still underestimating how much butter you need.)
Pro hostess hack: bake your desserts now. Pies, cakes, bars… anything that survives a few days. Friendsgiving is not the time to play “Top Chef” the morning of.
When you unload, sort by dish: mac & cheese ingredients in one bag, corn fixings in another. It’s like meal prep, but for hosting chaos. Future you will cry tears of gratitude when you’re not rifling through bags of groceries looking for the nutmeg while the ham timer is screaming.
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The Day Before: Almost Ready
This day deserves its own holiday. It’s not Friendsgiving yet, but the vibes are high and the fridge is already crying.
Here’s what actually matters today:
Ham Drama: Spiral ham is your best friend because it basically cooks itself. Brush on a glaze (honey + Dijon + brown sugar = done) and warm it through. Slice it today, so tomorrow you’re not hacking at it with wine in hand.
Mac & Cheese Insurance Policy: Assemble the whole thing today, cover it, and let it chill overnight. Tomorrow you just bake until bubbly and golden. No stress, no clumpy cheese panic.
Drinks: Chill everything. Wine, cider, soda, even the “backup” LaCroix. A fridge full of cold drinks looks like a flex, and it is.
Ambiance: Set the table now so tomorrow you’re not stress-folding napkins while the gravy boils over. Light testing candles to see how it feels at night? That’s called being a visionary.
Snacks = Survival: Put together an appetizer table (chips, dip, cheese, whatever). It buys you an extra hour of sanity when guests swarm the kitchen before dinner.
By bedtime, the food should be mostly prepped, the drinks chilled, and the house giving “chic chaos under control.” If you do it right, tomorrow is just about warming, plating, and finessing, not having a breakdown over butter.
The Morning Of: Game Time
It’s here. Friendsgiving morning. The calm before the storm, or, if you’re me, the calm where you’re already in an apron, mascara half-done, and yelling “WHO TOOK THE BUTTER?” at 9 AM. (Clearly, I’ve been traumatized by the whole butter situation…)
Here’s the survival plan:
Finish Line Cooking: Knock out any stragglers: roasted veggies, mashed potatoes, stuffing. Gravy goes on the stove now so it has time to become liquid gold instead of lumpy panic sauce. Remember: the ham just needs warming and a little glaze love, so don’t let it stress you.
Reheat Like a Boss: All those sides and desserts you prepped? Slide them into the oven for a quick warm-up. Don’t overthink it. This isn’t the Food Network; it’s a Friendsgiving.
The Drinks Station Flex: Designate a corner for booze, sparkling water, cider, and ice. Bonus points for a signature cocktail in a pitcher: people love thinking you planned it, when really it saves you from bartending all night.
Ambiance Check: Touch up the table, light the candles, queue the playlist. This is the moment where the whole house starts smelling like cinnamon, ham, and impending chaos in the best way.
By the time guests arrive, you should be holding a glass of something bubbly, casually pretending you didn’t just pull off an Olympic-level kitchen marathon. That’s the chic part, making it look easy.
Before Guests: the last Details
This is the moment where the house smells like ham, the candles are lit, and you finally swap your sweatpants for something that says “I’m chic, but I’ve also been basting since 7AM.”
Here’s how I handle the final stretch:
Guest Check-In: Peek at the event page or group chat. Someone always drops a last-minute “Can I bring my cousin?” or “Wait, I’m vegan now.” Decide in 30 seconds if you’re accommodating or if they’re living off wine and breadsticks tonight.
Ambiance Mode: Candles on, playlist queued. Go for a mix that starts cozy but can shift to dance-y once the wine hits. Nothing ruins a vibe like realizing your playlist stopped and Spotify is now serving ads.
The Five-Minute Fakeout: This is when I hide any evidence of chaos, shove random clutter in closets, spray something vaguely festive in the bathroom, and casually wipe flour off my face. Guests should think you’ve been floating gracefully through the house all day, not crying over potatoes an hour ago.
By the time the doorbell rings, you want your house to give “effortless chic,” even though you know damn well it took 72 hours of prep and one near-breakdown over butter.
Guests Arrive: The Big Moment
This is it. Showtime. The doorbell rings, you slap on your hostess smile, and suddenly you’re running a pop-up restaurant for 25 people who all “forgot” to eat lunch.
Appetizers First
Guests bringing apps? Great, but don’t let it turn into a traffic jam of people hovering around you asking, “Where should I put this?” Have a designated appetizer table ready. Bonus if it’s far from the kitchen so you don’t get ambushed while you’re elbow-deep in gravy. Throw down some chips, cheese, or literally anything they can grab fast. Hungry guests are cranky guests.
Main Meal Mayhem
Once everyone’s hugged it out and filled their wine glasses, it’s go time. The ham takes center stage, with the mac & cheese and crack corn as its hype squad. Plate it buffet-style if you value your sanity, or family-style if you want drama (someone will hog the cheesy crust, mark my words). Either way, make sure everyone actually gets food before the random plus-one goes back for thirds.
At this point, your job is simple: keep the vibe flowing, pour yourself another drink, and remember, it doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be plentiful.
After the Meal: Relax & Enjoy
Congratulations, you survived. Everyone’s stuffed, the mac & cheese pan is licked clean, and you can finally sit down like the chic chaos queen you are.
Dessert Time
This is the encore. Let your friends parade out their pies, cheesecakes, and brownies. Pro tip: plate desserts for people instead of letting them serve themselves. Otherwise, someone will cut a “taste” slice that’s half the cake. And yes, I always throw in one homemade thing at the end, just so people remember I still have range.
Wrap-Up the Evening
Leftovers are your closing act. Have foil, takeout containers, or even gallon Ziplocs ready. Guests love leaving with food, and you love not staring at 12 pounds of ham for the next week. Thank everyone, send them home a little tipsy, a little full, and ideally carrying your containers back next year.
The vibe here? Cozy, content, and slightly chaotic. No one remembers if the gravy was lumpy, they remember laughing, eating too much, and that you somehow pulled it all together without completely losing your mind. That’s the chicest flex of all.
TLDR: The Chronically Chic Friendsgiving Command Center
Hosting 25+ people isn’t a dinner party, it’s a marathon with sequins. Here’s the quick-and-dirty version to keep you sane:
7 Days Out → Lock in invites + final menu. Assign dishes or risk six pumpkin pies and no bread.
5 Days Out → Grocery + kitchen prep. Count your forks. (They disappear every year like socks in the dryer.)
3 Days Before → Major grocery haul + dessert baking. Sort ingredients by dish so you’re not digging for nutmeg while the ham timer screams.
Day Before → Assemble mac & cheese, glaze the ham, chill all drinks. Set the table so you don’t cry over napkins tomorrow.
Morning Of → Knock out straggler sides, start gravy, reheat what’s prepped. Build your drink station like it’s Studio 54.
Before Guests Arrive → Candles, playlist, and one last sweep of the house. (Shove random clutter in closets. No shame.)
During the Meal → Apps first, buffet or family-style feast, then dessert plates handed out like you’re Oprah with pie.
After the Meal → Pour coffee, laugh about the chaos, send people home with leftovers so you’re not eating ham for three weeks.
Friendsgiving FAQs
When should you start planning Friendsgiving?
2–4 weeks out. Earlier if you’re hosting 20+ because people’s calendars fill up faster than the mac & cheese pan. Send invites, lock in dishes, and don’t be shy about bossing people into categories (wine, dessert, bread).
How many dishes should you serve?
Think: 1–2 mains, 4–6 sides, at least 2 desserts, plus snacks. And please, coordinate. Nothing kills the vibe faster than six versions of the same sweet potato casserole.
What’s the easiest Friendsgiving menu for a crowd?
Spiral ham, turkey breast, or roast chicken. Mac & cheese and crack corn as your heroes, then sides you can reheat without turning into mush. The point is plentiful, not perfect.
How do you keep it budget-friendly?
Make it potluck chic. Assign dishes so you’re not broke and stressed. Reuse decor you already own, and remember: no one cares if the table runner is from Target. They care that there’s wine.
What drinks should you serve?
Wine, cider, sparkling water, and one signature cocktail in a pitcher (cranberry sangria, spiked cider, whatever). This way you look like you planned it, but really you’re avoiding bartending.
How do you keep food warm?
Slow cookers, warming trays, oven at 200°F. Or my favorite: wrap casseroles in towels like newborns. They’ll stay warm for hours.
What are easy dessert wins?
Pies, cheesecake bars, brownies, anything you can cut into squares. If baking stresses you, buy it and transfer to a nice platter. No one will care. (Pro tip: always plate desserts so guests don’t butcher the cake.)
How do you set the perfect table?
Tablecloth, candles, maybe some greenery. That’s it. Don’t overthink. If you really want drama, thrifted china always looks cooler than matching sets.
What’s the best way to end Friendsgiving?
Coffee, dessert, leftovers. Put on a cozy playlist, thank everyone, and hand out take-home bags. The chicest power move is sending people home happy without being stuck with 12 pounds of ham.
Lessons Learned
Every Friendsgiving I host teaches me the same thing: it’s not about being perfect, it’s about making memories (and having enough mac & cheese to shut everyone up). The burned rolls, the forgotten salad, the random plus-one, those are the stories people will laugh about next year, not whether your napkins were folded like origami swans.
So tell me in the comments: How do you celebrate Friendsgiving? Do you have a dish that always steals the show? A tradition that makes the night? I want to hear the chaos, the wins, and the “never again” moments.
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