I’ve been hosting dinner parties for over ten years now, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: I don’t really want anyone to see me cook. It was cute and all, at least when I lived in a big shared apartment with an open kitchen, to be slicing and dicing and sautéing while keeping up banter with my guests. But you know what? Now that I’ve got a one-bedroom and a narrow galley kitchen, I don’t want anyone up in my grill during go-time, asking me what I’m doing or what such-and-such ingredient is. Honestly, that’s kind of my job, and on Saturdays I try to keep the explaining-cooking-stuff-while-sweating thing to a minimum.

This is all to say, when I’m planning a menu for a dinner party, I look for dishes that require as little a la minute cooking as possible—things that can be prepped, cooked, and more or less cleaned up hours before anybody walks through the door. Seriously: Nothing makes you feel like a boss quite like sitting at the table with your friends, eating snacks, drinking wine, with the knowledge that you could have dinner on the table in ten minutes, starting whenever-the-hell you want. It’s a powerful, intoxicating secret—I could be wrong, but I’m preeeeetty sure this is what having a concealed firearm feels like.

Moooooving on, it is in this spirit that I bring you 2018’s first installment of the $50 Dinner Party: a menu that a) feeds 10, b) costs around $50, and c) you should be able to shop for in the morning (as in 9 a.m., not 11 a.m.), prep over the course of the afternoon, and have everything buttoned up before your friends roll up at 7. Let’s do this.

Le Menu:

Creamy Kimchi Dip

Cider-Braised Pork Shoulder with Butternut Squash

Herby Napa Cabbage Salad with Lime

Chocolate and Clementines

You’ll Need:

1 6—7-pound bone-in pork shoulder (Boston butt), preferably skinless

2 medium butternut squash (about 7 pounds total; pick ones that are about the same size)

2 cups apple cider or juice

¾ cup low-sodium soy sauce or tamari

¾ cup distilled white vinegar

2 heads of garlic

6 scallions

3 cups short grain white rice

1 16-ounce jar kimchi

1 8-ounce brick cream cheese

1 8-ounce tub sour cream

6 Persian cucumbers, or 1 English cucumber

1 medium head of Napa cabbage (about 2½ pounds)

1 bunch cilantro

1 bunch dill

2 limes

Assuming You Have (Otherwise You’ll Need to Buy):

Kosher salt

Extra-virgin olive oil

Black pepper

½ cup neutral oil (vegetable, peanut, canola, whatever)

Ask Your Friends to Bring:

1 bag pretzels

1 bag sturdy potato chips

1 of those cute little cases of clementines or mandarin oranges

A bar of chocolate (everyone)

Booze (everyone)

Dinner Party Marxism

First things first: Tell your friends what to do. Text everyone and instruct them to bring booze. While I used to get super specific about what kind of wine to bring—light reds, sparkling wine, etc—I’ve changed my tune a bit. Now, I try to be super specific with each guest, to play to their strengths, as it were. Got a couple of friends who like to nerd out on natural wine? Tell them what you’re cooking and let them get weird. Have a friend who is chronically broke and only begrudgingly buys wine when other people tell them to? Have them bring a twelve-pack of shitty beer, for when the wine runs out and nobody cares what they’re drinking anyways. That friend who won’t stop talking about their fancy promotion? A decent bottle of whisky or tequila for when the party really starts to get dark. Think of it as Dinner Party Marxism— “From each according to his ability,” and all that.

You’re also going to ask the one friend who you know will show up on time to bring a bag of potato chips and a bag of pretzels to go with the kimchi dip, the one friend who you know is going to show up late and feel guilty about it to bring one of those little cases of clementines, and ask a handful of random, reasonably responsible people to bring bars of chocolate, dealers choice. If this makes you uncomfortable, try listening to the 2006 hit “Bossy” by Kelis featuring Too $hort while delegating; I find it helps.

Get the Pork Started

The whole day needs to be organized around that salty-sweet, fall-apart slow-roasted pork shoulder—it’s a big piece of meat, and its timeline is your timeline. Start to finish, you should budget 7 hours. I’m not saying this to freak you out, but if you want to actually experience the euphoric sensation of having everything done by the time your doorbell rings, you need to manage your time accordingly.