Guess who's coming to dinner?

Dinner parties are an integral part of the social calendar here, where village life offers little in the way of affordable, casual places that encourage lingering. It seems almost easier to invite random virtual strangers into your home than to ask them to meet you at the pizzeria downtown.

Over the last two nights, I've had the opportunity to co-host two thoroughly enjoyable but vastly different dinner parties. The first, which I like to think of as the Picard Party, was an impromptu bash for my groupmate's birthday. On the verge of panic at the prospect of having to feed a dozen people at short notice, I shelved my pride and raided the Picard store across the street. (Picard is a store filled with freezer upon freezer of pre-cooked food, pastries and confections.) Without my planning it, I had stumbled upon the French equivalent of my convenience food mecca, Marks' and Sparks'. Party foods of different national complexions, from mini croque monsieurs and blinis topped with smoked fish, to xiao long baos and tandoori drumlets; from quarte formaggi pizzas and provencal quiches, to tiramisus and creme brulees. Confining myself to the sale selection, I managed to pull together a meal totaling all of €20, including outstanding goat cheese puffs which I fully intend to reacquaint myself with within the next week.

The Picard Party was the first time S and I have had such a diverse group of people over to our house - 2 Singaporeans, 1 Indian, 1 Portuguese, 1 Greek, 1 Trinidad and Tobagan, 1 Italian, 1 French, 1 New Zealander, 1 Australian and 1 Brit. Conversation flowed quickly and easily, flitting around random topics like national foods and career aspirations. The night ended with a game of darts (I lost) in a bar downtown, and I woke up today feeling like I had finally started to chip through my social shell.

Tonight's dinner was held at the boys' place in Veneux-les-Sablons, with the usual gang sans S gathering for a three-course dinner prepared by an overly ambitious lecoqsportif. I cleverly decided to make a shopping list this time, which I promptly left in the car before putting a somewhat bedraggled L through an hour-long grocery run in Champion. Between being confounded by French labels and distracted by French chocolates, supermarket trips are still mini-adventures to me. Against all expectations, dinner was ready by the time friends started streaming in after 8.30 p.m.. On the menu tonight: cream of mushroom soup, made from scratch with a recipe I have kept from the FridaySaturdaySunday restaurant in Philadelphia; roast shoulder of lamb with tian of potato, tomato and aubergine; molten chocolate cakes with vanilla ice-cream ala Jean-Georges Vongerichten; and a discussion on the merits of Kevin Smith and Mel Brooks films. The Vongerichten recipe (at the end of this post) is a definite keeper - restaurant-quality chocolate fondants with minimal fuss and a comfortable margin for error.

And what happened to S tonight? She had dinner with a random bunch of students, courtesy of her Israeli sectionmate, and came back flushed with conversations on international politics, sports and relationship philosophies. The stuff of late-night sharing sessions over wine and cheese, and if you're lucky, break-time chats by the free coffee machines in school.

With a little more practice and determination, I may just about become a better cook and a more versatile conversationalist by the end of the year. How's that for a €43,500 education?

Warm, soft chocolate cakes by Jean-Georges Vongerichten

1/2 cup unsalted butter, plus more to butter the molds
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate
2 eggs
2 egg yolks
1/4 cup sugar
2 teaspoons flour, plus more for dusting

1. In the top of a double boiler set over simmering water, heat the butter and chocolate together until the chocolate is almost completely melted. While that's heating, beat together the eggs, yolks, and sugar with a whisk or electric beater until light and thick.

2. Beat together the melted chocolate and butter. Pour in the egg mixture, then quickly beat in the flour, until just combined.

3. Butter and lightly flour four 4-ounce molds, custard cups, or ramekins. Tap out the excess flour, then butter and flour them again. D ivide the batter among the molds. (At this point you can refrigerate the desserts until you are ready to eat, for up to several hours; bring them back to room temperature before baking.)

4. Preheat the oven to 450°F (230°C). Bake the molds on a tray for 6 to 7 minutes; the center will still be quite soft, but the sides will be set.

5. Invert each mold onto a plate and let sit for about 10 seconds. Unmold by lifting up one corner of the mold; the cake will fall out onto the plate. Serve immediately.