When inviting someone over for a dinner, it's expected to be nice and pleasant evening full of good food and conversations. Most of the time, it is to celebrate a special occasion and it goes very well. Unfortunately, that does not happen every time.
People on Quora share their worst experiences when they dined at someone else's house. Content has been edited for clarity.
Sounds Like He Was Trying To Be Nice
“One of the rudest, if not meanest, situations I’ve ever experienced was while I was working in a privately owned daycare. I was hired because I was close friends with the owner’s best friend, aside from the fact that I could certainly do the job. I was in my mid-thirties at the time and living not far from where I live now, in a small apartment with fourteen rescue birds. I enjoyed working with the babies and there were a large number of adorable one-year-olds at the daycare that year. I loved the kids, loved the job.
The owner of the daycare, we’ll call her ‘Stella,’ also owned the house and her large family lived in the home while also running a large daycare inside it. This caused some significant stress within the family. I was their pet-sitter for vacations, and felt I knew the family quite well. I considered Stella to be my friend.
I drove Stella’s van to the school every afternoon to get all the aftercare kids. One of these was Kelly, an older kid, who was on state-aid and the state pays for low income kids to go to after school care, which includes government paid meals and snacks. Kelly did a great deal of unpaid work for Stella in the daycare, especially on days when I wasn’t there. I was paid pretty well, in my opinion, in cash, and I felt lucky to have this gig. It was real work, but I loved it, and before this, I’d been working in a machine shop as a deburrer. That was a long fifteen hour a day job, which I also loved, but wasn’t like working with children.
Stella was quite aware that I lived on very little money. I drove a 1965 Oldsmobile Jetstar 88 that had no parking gear. I used a big log behind the tire and the emergency brake to keep the one ton car from rolling.
One afternoon, Stella was cleaning out her refrigerator while Kelly and I were sitting on the sofa right near her eating granola bars and yogurt for a late lunch. You have to eat a lot of kiddie food at a daycare (I still can’t stand the smell of apple juice). Stella’s husband had left on a two-week backpacking trip, and Stella was a large woman. Kelly and I were both assuming that she was going to hand us a plate of food while she was in the refrigerator, just string cheese, or lunch meat or something. Leftover pizza maybe.
As she dumped fresh food into the high end steel trash can right in front of us, Stella began complaining her husband had cooked far too many tri-tip steaks for her before he left. She was on a high protein diet. She went on and on about how she could never eat all this steak, tri-tip being a locally esteemed cut here on the central coast of California.
Kelly and I looked at each other with big wide eyes of shock as Stella pulled out a huge brisket and began chopping it into hunks, saying ‘I don’t know how he expected me to eat all this steak. I’m going to have to cut it up and feed it to the dogs now. Such a waste of perfectly good expensive meat!’
Kelly and I were on the bony side, and obviously couldn’t have afforded that kind of steak. But there she stood, as she chopped up three very large family of six sized tri-tip steaks into small enough pieces that her three big dogs, all of whom were on low-fat pet food for being overweight, could manage to wolf down. I didn’t continue working there long after that day. It was shameful to have witnessed someone’s complete lack of empathy in such a way and I felt like it was a bad atmosphere after that experience.”
What Type Of Hosting Is That?
“When I was about 7, my family was struggling financially. My best friend, who we’ll call ‘Z,’ was far more well-to-do than me. Z’s father was a manager of some firm and the mother stayed at home and made fancy purses and bags.
Now, it was Christmas day and I had gotten one present earlier on from both my parents– a ticket to the local cinema! I had never gone before and was wildly excited. My friend invited us round for Christmas lunch, but my parents had to leave early (emergency meeting) and I was left alone.
The roast was cooking and it smelled delicious. Z’s mom had made a huge spread of turkey, homemade stuffing, buttered new potatoes, cranberry sauce, vegetables and all the other bits-and-pieces that accompany a good Southern Christmas meal. There was also a large blueberry-and-cherry pie. During the cooking, I excitedly babbled about the cinema and Z’s mom gave me a falsely sympathetic smirk. She quietly removed one plate and set of cutlery from the stack.
We all sat down, the father at one end, the mom at the other. Z and I sat next to one another in front of the snowy tablecloth and twinkling cutlery. There were crystal glasses full of ice water, and fancy embroidered napkins with snowflakes picked out in gleaming silver thread. It was like dining in a five-star restaurant!
Only, I didn’t dine.
Mrs. Z served the food to everyone. She did not put the platters of meat and vegetables and bread on the table. She cut each person’s portion herself and served it on dainty china plates. I didn’t get any, and at first, I thought she had just forgotten me.
They sat down, said Grace, and began eating without even batting an eyelid.
I asked if I may have some bread, and Mrs. Z said ‘hold on’ and quickly cut me a thin slice from an old packet before tossing the rest of it in the bin.
She got a paper plate – the sort you use for picnics – and plopped the bread on top, with a bland smile.
May I add that it was about -15 degrees Celsius outside, and there was practically no heating in that mansion?
I did ask her about it later on in private, and Z simply said it was how her mother treated every guest. Her mother apparently justified it by saying that the guest should bring their own food! Next time I went, I had told my own parents and was more prepared with a flask of homemade soup (delicious) and some sweets and chocolates. I refused to share them in front of the mom, and only gave Z some sweets in private. They were shocked, to say the least!”
“I See Her As A Giant Dollar Sign”
“My sister would often take me along with her to hang out with her friends. Whenever she was invited to someone’s house or an event, she would ask if she could bring me along.
One time while I was a teenager, one of my sister’s friends, whom we shall call ‘Bob,’ had gotten access to another’s friend’s apartment. Bob, his girlfriend, and another couple were going to stay the weekend at the apartment and they thought it would be fun if they had a party. So Bob invited several other friends over for a dinner party Friday evening.
When he extended the invitation to my sister, she was pleasantly surprised when he said, ‘And bring your sister too.’
He had invited me on his own and she didn’t have to ask if I could tag along. When we arrived, Bob and his girlfriend greeted us at the door.
The girlfriend said, ‘Oh I’m glad you brought your sister.’
Bob looked at me and said to his girlfriend, ‘I see her as a giant dollar sign.’
Huh?
My sister and I were really puzzled by this remark. At least we were, until after dinner. There was a generous spread of food and drinks at the dinner party. Bob and his girlfriend had gone all out and made a bunch of entrées. Everything was really good, and we were having a lot of fun.
After we finished dinner and were about to start on desserts, Bob took out a bunch of receipts and placed them in the middle of the table.
‘So guys, it works out to $18.36 per person,’ Bob announced.
Apparently, Bob wanted us to all chip in for the party.
This was in the late ’80s, and the amount was quite a bit, at least it was for my sister and me. It was more than my sister and I usually spent per person eating out, and a lot more than we spent per person for groceries on a meal. At the time, $18 and change cost over 5 hours of work at my part-time job.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if Bob had told us beforehand we’d have to pay a share in the cost of the party. But Bob didn’t tell us in advance, and we didn’t even have any say in what they had purchased. It was then that my sister and I understood Bob’s comment at the door. By coming along, I reduced the amount each person, including Bob, would have to pay.
To top it off, a quick glance at the receipts showed that we were helping pay for a portion of the groceries that they stocked for the weekend.
It was a rude surprise ending to a nice dinner, not to mention really cheap.”
“I Felt My Stomach Drop”
“I was about four and having lunch at my aunt’s house. I don’t remember the main course, but canned peas were made along with another vegetable.
As my aunt was making the plates I said, ‘No peas please.’
My aunt said, ‘You need your vegetables.’
I said, ‘Can I have more of the other vegetable and not have peas? I really, really hate them.’
My brother piped in and said, ‘She doesn’t like peas or cooked carrots.’
I eat raw carrots all the time still, just not cooked.
Sure enough, Auntie put peas on my plate and I felt my stomach drop. I was upset to see them there. I was from an ‘Eat everything on your plate and I’m not kidding’ era. I ate all my meal and all the other vegetables. I thought, given my cousins never eat all their food, that I could escape the food I hated the most.
I went to put my plate in the sink, and my aunt stopped me and pointed out I didn’t eat my peas.
I said, with lack of filter, ‘I’m full. I ate everything else, and Patty didn’t eat hers and left a bunch of other food.’
‘You’re not Patty and you’re going to eat them!’ my aunt harshly replied.
I became angry and said loudly, ‘No! I hate them, and I won’t eat them!’
My uncle walked past the dining room and my aunt told him, ‘She’s not eating her vegetables.’
And I shouted, ‘I’m full! I ate everything else!’
The next thing I knew, my uncle picked me up and sat me in his lap at the table.
My aunt put the plate in front of me and my uncle said, ‘Here’s what you do…’ he looked at me and said, ‘Your aunt made a lunch for you, and you have to eat it.’
I pleaded my case to him saying, ‘I’m full and I don’t like peas.’
So he happily said, ‘I’m going to show you how to eat them.’
He had what looked to me like a tablespoon and scooped up the offending vegetables. He said, ‘It’s just 3 big spoonfuls.’
Again I said, ‘I hate them…’
And as I said that, he put that spoonful into my mouth, then picked up a glass of milk and said, ‘You take a spoonful, drink a little milk, chew and swallow.’
Being force fed, I didn’t get a choice. I chewed, felt the cold milk and tasted the hot peas. I tasted that ugly pea taste, my mouth was overstuffed. I felt that nasty pasty texture in my mouth. I couldn’t swallow, my mouth was too full. It was too much, I wretched, tried to hold it down, felt myself gag, wretched again, and then it happened. I projectile vomited my whole lunch and nasty peas all over the table and floor. I had vomit all over my blouse, and I started tearing up and tried to hold my tears back.
My aunt said, ‘Why did you do that?!’
I said, ‘I couldn’t help it. I told you I don’t like peas, and Uncle Mike stuffed my mouth.’
I felt my ears get hot, and was totally upset, again trying not to cry.
Next thing I knew, my mom showed up, and said, ‘UH OH, what happened?’
I said, ‘Uncle Mike made me eat peas. I told him I don’t like them, and Sam (my brother) and Patty didn’t have to eat theirs!’
My mom picked me up and told my aunt, ‘There’s one food she can’t stand and it’s peas.’
She looked at me and said, ‘Why did you eat them if you don’t like them?’
I started crying because I was so upset.
My mom loaded my brother and me into her car. My brother said, ‘She shouldn’t have made you eat them.’
All I said was, ‘I know.’
It was such a terrible event and left such an impact on me. I remember the house where it happened. I even remember I was wearing a pair of light blue shorts and a white blouse with an orange trim on it, made by Health-Tex. Even today, I will NOT eat peas. I just can’t get them down the hatch or make myself eat them. It was horrible and traumatizing to have those things shoved down my throat despite my pleas, while being held at the table, unable to escape.”
“Our Friend Turned Bright Red”
“When I was sixteen, my best friend and I started delivering newspapers. The neighborhood was brand new, and half the houses didn’t have addresses so we were having a very hard time getting papers delivered. We talked to the teenager who had the route before us, and he offered to help us figure it out. He was younger than us and developed a huge crush on both of us, so he invited us to dinner at his parent’s house. He was so sweet, so we said yes and met him that Friday for dinner.
Now I want you to know that I am not being judgmental because I’ve had difficulty with my weight at times myself. But his parents and brother and sisters were very obese, I mean huge. We were surprised because our little friend wasn’t overweight at all. They were all sitting in the living room watching TV and didn’t even acknowledge us when he introduced us. In front of each of family member sat two huge almost empty boxes of what had been extra large supreme pizzas. You heard me right. Every person in the room had just polished off almost two huge pizzas each! To this day, I still can’t believe that five people were even able to eat a total of ten supreme extra large pizzas!
Our friend asked his mom where our pizza was and his mom stuck out her thumb in the general direction of the kitchen. Into the kitchen we went, hungry and ready to chow down on some pizza. On the counter sat an almost completely-eaten cheese pizza. There were exactly three pieces left and they were little.
Our friend turned bright red, he was so embarrassed. He left the kitchen telling us our pizza must be somewhere else and he would go ask his mom. We heard him nicely ask his mom if we could have a few more pieces from their leftover pizzas (an innocent request seeing that there were freaking TEN pizzas sitting right there). That’s when she lost it. She started screaming at this poor sweet guy telling him that it’s not her job to feed his stupid friends, and if we didn’t appreciate the two pieces they saved for us then we could just leave and not let the screen door hit us on the way out!
And this sweet little fourteen-year-old, full of raging testosterone and at an age where kids are so easily embarrassed, started to cry and ran outside. We followed him and calmed him down and told him that we weren’t even hungry so it was no big deal. Then we took him to Burger King and we all pigged out on cheeseburgers and fries. Then the very next evening we ordered a big ol’ pizza delivered to his house with specific instructions to make it very clear that it was for him and no one else!
Mean people suck!”
“Can I Help You?”
“My husband and I had recently moved to a new city. I had an old school friend who also lived in that city. Other than her and her husband, we knew no one. When Thanksgiving rolled around, I invited my friend and her husband to dinner in our new home. Instead, my friend said that they were attending Thanksgiving at one of their other friend’s home, whom we had not met. My friend told me she had asked this other friend if we could accompany them to the hostesses home. She was told yes by the hostess, and my old friend extended an invitation to us on behalf of her other friend.
When we arrived at the hosts, the hostess who lived there opened the front door and said, ‘Yes? Can I help you?’
I told her we were the new couple, friends of my friend. She looked confused, but invited us into her home. My old friend came over to say hi to us and introduced us to the hostess, then they all walked away leaving us standing in the entry by ourselves. We walked in and introduced ourselves to the small group of invited guests. No one said hello to us and ignored us for the remainder of the evening. When dinner came time, there was a long table set up for the group in the dining room, but they put my husband and me at a small detached table in the kitchen. No one gave us any food or checked on us.
They were having too good a time in the other room. I looked at my husband and said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’
We walked out without saying goodbye to any of them. I don’t believe we were missed at all and my old friend who had invited us never mentioned anything about it.
It was the worst dinner party I have ever attended. And from that day to this 40 years later, we have never again attended a party where we have not been invited by the host. Lesson learned.”
“I Was Talking Into The Wind”
“About 15 years ago, we were visiting friends who lived 250 miles from us. They invited us over for dinner with their extended family, which was nice because I like their family. We arrived, visited for a bit, then sat down to dinner. About 15 minutes in, our friend’s Mother – who had become a real estate agent a few months before – started asking me if we bought a house. I politely said no, we were renting. Quickly, she asks me when we were going to buy a house. Politely, I responded we were unable to buy a house at that time and perhaps would never be able to. Our area (Silicon Valley) was very expensive.
She then, with great superiority, informs me Los Angeles was far more expensive than anywhere in the Silicon Valley, and reels off the prices of housing in their area. She would get in touch with a real estate agent in our area to find us a house we could afford, because we couldn’t have a family in a rented home. We were treated to another 15 minutes of her long-winded monologue on why we needed to own a home. I started to notice conversation around us suddenly wound down because of her loud harangue. Her daughter-in-law looked horrified at her plate. Everyone was looking at their plates. Except me who had a polite, frozen smile on my face.
She was actively forcing her family to back her claims to Los Angeles being far more expensive to live in by getting her sons to call out the prices of homes in the area. She really felt the need to prove her point. Aggressive salesmanship. I tried to explain prices in the Bay Area were intensely expensive, because we had more people coming in because of technology. That prices were constantly inching up and unless you had startup stock money, you were out of luck. But I was talking into the wind. No, no, no, she was correct and I was wrong because…blah blah blah.
Finally, feeling triumphant because she knew better, she said, ‘What do you need to do to get into a house?’
Exhausted, mad and just done with this conversation, I said, ‘For my Mother and my in-laws to all die and leave us everything.”
Silence.
I could see her daughter-in-law looking at her plate with a slow smile. Both sons weren’t sure what to do. Their Mom was a very alpha person, and she had butt heads with her daughter-in-law from the day she moved into their house.
After about a minute, Mother said, ‘Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?’
Dinner resumed after that.
In the intervening years, when her oldest son, daughter-in-law and their kids met with my family half-way between both of our respective cities, his Mother would send her best wishes to my husband. Daughter-in-law continues to call me her sister because of what I did.”
“Needless To Say, I Was Mortified”
“I typically host a ‘Friendsgiving’ dinner for my friends. Basically a traditional American Thanksgiving dinner, just on the weekend, and friends instead of family. I love to cook and enjoy the company of my friends, so I make a pretty impressive meal. This is both expensive and time consuming.
I invited a certain friend, who is kind of known for drama, but has usually kept things more ‘polite’ when in group settings. I knew she had given up being a vegetarian because she claimed some health conditions required her to eat meat. I also have a friend with Crohn’s and a friend with Celiac. Therefore, my menu accommodated people who can’t have onions, garlic, unripened dairy, many beans, and many fruits, as well as those who can’t have wheat. Given that no vegetarians or vegans were attending, that’s all the menu accommodation I made.
To make those accommodations, I made two potato dishes (one with lots of dairy, garlic, etc.; and one with just delicious herbs), two cranberry sauces (I’ve had better results with corn syrup vs. sugar, but I made one with sugar); had rice crackers, aged cheeses, and garlic/onion-free non-bean spreads on the appetizer platters; and made an apple pie (my preference), a pecan pie, and a flourless chocolate cake (tons of work, but delicious and gluten-free).
Upon arriving (late) for dinner, this ‘friend’ proceeds to start into me about how every dish was prepared. I initially indicated what was gluten-free and what was low-FODMAP (low carb should be easy enough to identify!), but that wasn’t good enough for her. Exactly what did I brine the turkey with? Could she see the package for everything that went into anything (many of the packages were already in the trash, it seemed like she almost might go dive in our dumpster to go read them for a little bit)? Hmm…not sure about the herbs since you grew them yourself…did you use any pesticides (um…they’re grown in indoor planters, so pests aren’t really much of an issue!)? She spent her first 30 minutes there ignoring everyone and embarrassing me with the third degree on exactly what went into everything available. Eventually, she decided she could eat only the turkey meat and the brussels sprouts. Fine, whatever…we have plenty of those, help yourself.
But it gets a little worse. She puts a small amount of turkey and brussels sprouts on her plate, makes polite conversation for maybe an hour, clears her plate herself, and then says she has to go. I thought I was the only one who noticed she didn’t actually eat anything, just pushed the food around her plate the whole time, but everyone else did too. When she left, my friends commented that someone who wasn’t going to eat should turn down a dinner invitation, or at least show up saying she had an earlier food event that left her stuffed and just came for the company.
Needless to say, I was mortified and she was never invited for a meal again! If you need some dietary accommodation, let me know (my invite said as much), and if you’re not going to eat, just make a polite excuse rather than a sideshow!”
“Your Taxi Is Here”
“It was my friends 40th birthday and he and his wife hosted a dinner party for ten friends– four couples, me (I was single at the time), and a single woman. To the untrained eye, it looked like six couples.
The single woman arrived ‘fashionably late and had clearly preloaded beforehand. She was very self-centered and being an attention seeker, tried to dominate the evening from the moment she arrived, diverting any attention from my friend (whose birthday it was and the reason for the gathering) to herself at every opportunity. She criticized the gifts (she brought nothing, no card, and not even a courteous bottle of anything – although was happy to drink everyone else’s…) and sneered at the anecdotes we told about my friend that had built up over the years. I had known him since my school-days. She was thoroughly obnoxious and crass.
It was now time for the meal.
She declined the starter, stating she was on a diet, but continued to help herself to the (expensive) drinks my friend provided. The main course arrived. And this is where the real rudeness happens….
She picked at the food and pushed it around the plate, and then proclaimed, loudly: ‘This is terrible. Really disgusting. I cannot eat it!’
The room fell silent, and she excused herself to the toilet that was located downstairs near the dining room. We all stared at each other in total silent disbelief. The silence was broken by the sound of her vomiting in the toilet. She came back in, sat down, finished her drink and proceeded to pour herself another as we all just looked at her shocked.
She turned to my friend and said, ‘That was so bad, I couldn’t allow it to remain in my body.’
My friend got up and cleared the table. He came back in about ten minutes later to say to this awful woman, ‘Your taxi is here’ and as he said it he removed her glass from the table and just looked at her.
She got up, said an insincere ‘Goodnight’ to us all and my friend took her out and into the awaiting taxi.
Needless to say, the rest of the night went really well. Oh, and for the record, the food was excellent.”
No Ounce Of Respect
“When I was in college, I and a few other people from a class were invited to a mutual friend’s house for dinner.
My friend’s parents were there and they were gracious and friendly hosts. Everything started off fine, we ate some delicious Italian food and talked about a bunch of different things. When it came time to clear the table, we all offered to help with clean up and dishes. My friend, however told us to sit down and had his parents clear the table. I thought that was really weird. Who makes their 55-year-old parents clean up after their adult friends? Perhaps we didn’t have to help with the dishes, but we wanted to help clean up the table.
After dinner, we went into his living room and continued chatting and started playing pool. His dad came in after cleaning up, and I started to have a great conversation with him. He was a foreign policy expert and I was learning a lot in a subject of great interest to me.
His son (my classmate/friend) comes over and says ‘Come on dad go away, nobody wants to hear your boring government job.’
The look on my face probably betrayed my shock at the disrespect he just showed his dad in front of us. I wasn’t the only one with that look, the room fell silent.
His dad looked embarrassed and said ‘Come on kid, don’t talk to me like that in front of your friends.’
His son replied, ‘Whatever dad, just go away.’
In my mind I was thinking ‘What the heck? Who behaves like this with their dad?’ If I did something like that, my dad would knock my block off and I’d deserve it.
After that, all of us quickly wrapped up our conversations and left. We all came in one car for some reason. The conversation during the car ride back to campus was about how we were all shocked at how this guy behaved. Who the heck talks to their parents like that, and in front of company no less?
We no longer talk to that miscreant.”