How One Family Hosted Dinner Every Saturday for a Year

In a world where social isolation has become increasingly common, one family found a radical solution to reclaim their social lives. Amanda Litman and her husband, both in their mid-thirties and raising two young children in New York City, made a bold New Year's resolution for 2025: to host a dinner party every single Saturday.

What began as a logistical challenge quickly transformed into a vital weekly ritual. By committing to this simple act of hospitality, they not only filled their social calendar but also discovered a powerful antidote to the loneliness that often accompanies modern parenthood.

By December 2024, the couple was grappling with the profound isolation that can follow the birth of a child. With a three-month-old and a two-year-old daughter, the spontaneity of their pre-parent life had vanished. They observed a common paradox among their peers: everyone felt lonely, yet no one could find the time to connect.

The barriers to socializing were significant. Spontaneous outings to the movies or dinner were replaced by complex logistics and high costs. As Litman noted, every invitation prompted a difficult calculation: "Is the thing we're invited to worth whatever it will cost us to go, plus $150 for a babysitter?" This reality created a social vacuum they were determined to fill.

Having kids is magical, but it's a lot. Over the first couple of years of parenthood, we realized that it was really hard to make plans and find time to have conversations with grown-ups.

The solution came from an unexpected source: her husband's suggestion that they host dinner every Saturday for the entire year. Initially skeptical, Litman admitted, "I think you're insane. That's a stupid thing to do." However, with her husband taking the lead on cooking, she agreed to the ambitious plan.

Their approach was methodical and organized:

• Created a master list of friends, acquaintances, and potential new connections
• Used a spreadsheet to schedule every Saturday of 2025
• Texted invitations with specific date options and a clear "bring the kids" policy
• Confirmed details each Monday, including dietary restrictions

This systematic approach removed the weekly guesswork and turned hosting from a stressful event into a predictable, manageable routine. The family lived in a two-bedroom apartment, so they embraced an informal, flexible style of entertaining.

The Litmans developed a well-oiled machine for their Saturday gatherings. Her husband, the primary cook, would plan ambitious dishes like Gochujang caramel cookies, lasagna, and fried chicken. The preparation was staggered throughout the week: grocery shopping on one day, cooking on Thursday and Friday nights, and finishing during the children's afternoon nap on Saturday.

Guests typically arrived at 5 p.m. and departed between 7 and 10 p.m. The gatherings were intentionally unpretentious. The family prioritized a clean, hygienic space over a perfectly manicured home. Their mismatched dishes and unconventional serving pitchers were part of the charm, signaling a welcoming atmosphere where imperfection was acceptable.

Despite the effort, there were moments of doubt. Litman recalled that every Saturday around 3 p.m., as cooking intensified and children misbehaved, they would question their commitment. Yet, they never canceled, feeling "almost compulsive about keeping our streak alive." The largest gathering included 15 guests (11 adults and four kids), while the smallest was an intimate party of one.

The impact of the weekly dinners extended far beyond a full stomach. For Litman, the experiment was a lifeline during a particularly difficult year that included raising two toddlers, releasing a book, and navigating a demanding career in politics. The dinners ensured she had a clean bathroom every week, a social life, and quality time with family and friends.

The quality of interaction was notably different from typical social media-driven communication. Litman emphasized that when guests were present, she was fully engaged, free from the distraction of her phone. This allowed for rare, meaningful adult conversation.

When people are over, I'm not looking at my phone, and I have real adult conversation, which is rare for me, especially outside of work.

Perhaps most significantly, the dinners transformed casual acquaintances into genuine friends—a notoriously difficult feat in adulthood. The consistent, low-pressure environment fostered connections that might not have developed otherwise.

While the experiment was largely successful, it was not without its challenges. The couple had to navigate last-minute cancellations and the occasional difficulty of finding available guests. However, the biggest personal hurdle was letting go of reciprocity.

As Litman hosted frequently, she noticed that not all guests reciprocated the invitation. She had to consciously remind herself that this was not a reflection of their friendship. "Everyone has a different sense of comfort with hosting and with being the planner versus the guest," she explained. Releasing the need to keep score was difficult but ultimately essential for the tradition's sustainability.

The family also learned to adapt. While they maintained their resolution strictly in 2025, they plan to be more flexible in 2026, allowing for cancellations without the pressure to immediately reschedule. Despite this, their calendar is already booked through March.

The Litmans' 2025 resolution proved that combating loneliness requires intentional action. By creating a reliable social anchor, they not only survived a challenging year but thrived, building a stronger community around their dinner table. Their story demonstrates that hospitality doesn't require perfection—only consistency and a willingness to open one's home.

As they look toward 2026, the tradition continues, albeit with a slightly looser structure. The core lesson remains: in an age of digital disconnection, the simple act of sharing a meal can be a powerful tool for mental health and community building. For anyone feeling isolated, the message is clear: start with your own table.