"Don't bring anything."
Possibly one of the least successful instructions ever given to a dinner guest.
Because most of us will bring something anyway.
A bottle of wine. Flowers. Chocolates. Something nice for the kitchen. And in South Africa, quite possibly enough food to suggest we misunderstood the invitation and thought we were catering the event.
But why do we do it?
It started long before the dinner party
The idea of giving something in connection with hospitality is ancient.
In Ancient Greece, hospitality was known as xenia and was taken very seriously. Welcoming a stranger, feeding them and offering them somewhere to sleep wasn't merely good manners; hospitality had religious and social importance. Zeus himself was regarded as a protector of guests and strangers.
There were obligations on both sides. The host offered food, shelter and protection, while the guest was expected to respect the hospitality offered. Gifts could also be exchanged, particularly when the guest departed.
The Romans had their own traditions surrounding hospitality and gift giving too.
So the little something we carry through someone's front door today belongs to a much older idea:
Hospitality creates a relationship between the person who gives it and the person who receives it.
But that doesn't quite explain the bottle of wine under your arm.
Then etiquette got involved
Over the centuries, hospitality became increasingly wrapped in social rules.
And surprisingly, the hostess gift as we know it today wasn't always considered particularly good manners.
In 1938, American etiquette authority Emily Post was asked whether a dinner guest should arrive with something such as flowers, chocolates or wine.
Her answer was essentially no.
The thinking was that when someone invited you into their home, their hospitality was freely given. Arriving with a present risked making the invitation feel transactional — almost as though dinner required payment.
Which sounds wonderfully strange to us now.
Because today, arriving at someone's home with a small gift generally means exactly the opposite.
It isn't payment for dinner.
It's thanks for having me.
Somewhere along the way, the etiquette changed.
And then there is "Don't bring anything"
We've all had this conversation.
"What can I bring?"
"Nothing. We've got everything."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
And approximately three hours later you're standing outside their front door carrying wine, flowers and something involving cheese.
The modern hostess gift doesn't really exist because the host desperately needs another bottle of wine.
It's more likely because arriving empty-handed can feel slightly odd when somebody else has bought the food, cleaned the house, cooked dinner, set the table and invited you in to enjoy all of it.
A little something acknowledges the invitation.
And most hosts are rather delighted by whatever comes waltzing through the front door — or the back door, if you live on a farm.
Wine, flowers, chocolates, preserves, something homemade, something for the kitchen, or a completely unexpected something that apparently made the giver think of you.
Perhaps that's part of the charm.
You don't quite know what's coming through the door.
The bottle of wine isn't necessarily for tonight
There's also an interesting distinction that's become slightly blurred over time.
"I brought this for tonight."
and
"I brought this for you."
aren't necessarily the same thing.
The salad, pudding or garlic bread you were asked to bring belongs to dinner.
The bottle of wine handed over as a hostess gift doesn't necessarily have to appear on the table that evening. Neither do the chocolates, biscuits or preserves.
They're a gift rather than an ingredient in the evening.
And perhaps that's one reason the hostess gift has endured. It's separate from the practical business of feeding everyone.
So what became the hostess gift?
There doesn't seem to be one definitive list, which is probably why the tradition has survived so well.
Flowers became a classic. So did wine and chocolates.
Then came preserves, biscuits, candles, soaps, beautiful kitchen things, plants, tea, coffee and all manner of small indulgences.
Different countries and different generations have their own favourites, but the underlying idea hasn't changed very much.
It generally isn't a grand present.
It's a little something.
Not a birthday present. Not payment for dinner. Not an attempt to match the cost of whatever is being served.
Just an acknowledgement of hospitality.
Perhaps we haven't changed that much after all
We've come quite a long way from the Ancient Greeks and their sacred rules of hospitality.
Thankfully, most of us are no longer wondering whether Zeus is keeping an eye on our behaviour around the dinner table.
Even Emily Post's 1938 objection to arriving with flowers or wine sounds rather foreign today.
But underneath all those changing rules, the idea is remarkably familiar.
Someone opens their home.
Someone else arrives carrying a little something.
You welcomed me into your home.
I noticed.
Thank you.
Which may be why the hostess gift has lasted for thousands of years in one form or another.
And why, despite the host saying "don't bring anything", there is still a very good chance that wine, flowers, chocolates — or something involving cheese — will come waltzing through the door anyway.