The short version
A seven-question text you can send any new guest, a week before they come over. Covers dietary restrictions, allergies, access needs, house-rule compatibility, and a kid headcount. Takes you four minutes to send, saves you an hour of last-minute panic.
Why a pre-party text, specifically
You could call. You could ask at the door. You could assume everyone remembers to volunteer their own allergies. All of these fail in predictable ways. A text, one week out, succeeds because:
- It lands in a format your guests will actually answer (nobody answers voicemail anymore).
- It gives both of you time — you to plan, them to remember.
- It's written, which means you can't mishear it. The allergen, spelled out, doesn't get confused.
- It creates a paper trail. Six months later, when they come back, you can re-read.
The only risk is tone. A cold, bureaucratic seven-question form reads like an onboarding flow. A warm, brief text reads like care. The difference is a few words — see the template below.
The questionnaire (copy-pasteable)
Send this the week before your event. Update the opening line for the specific dinner, keep everything else as-is:
“Really looking forward to having you over on [date]! Sending a quick pre-party text so I can plan well and you don't have to caveat at the door. No wrong answers — I'd rather know now.
- Any food allergies, intolerances, or strong dislikes?
- Any dietary practice I should cook around (vegan, vegetarian, halal, kosher, keto, no alcohol, etc.)?
- Any access stuff I should know about — stairs, lighting, noise level, anything like that?
- Any hard no's on the day — perfume, specific music, something I wouldn't think of?
- House stuff: we're shoes-off, [pet situation], [smoke/no-smoke]. Any concerns there?
- Kids coming? If yes, ages + any kid-specific restrictions.
- Anything I'm forgetting to ask about?
No rush on the reply — early this week is plenty. Can't wait.”
Why each question is there
1. Allergies, intolerances, strong dislikes
Lumped together on purpose. Some guests will list an allergy but feel weird mentioning that they hate cilantro. The “or strong dislikes” at the end gives them permission. You'd rather know the cilantro thing now than serve a bowl of salsa they pick around.
2. Dietary practice
Different from allergies. A vegan isn't allergic to meat — they choose not to eat it. The distinction matters for how you cook (cross- contact is less critical for ethical veganism than for a tree-nut allergy) and for how you talk about the meal. Asking both questions gives you the full picture.
3. Access stuff
The word “accessibility” is a loaded one — it makes some guests feel like they're invoking a legal category. “Access stuff” is softer and more conversational, and it surfaces the things guests wouldn't otherwise mention: can they handle the three flights of stairs to your walk-up, do they need more light at the dining table, is the bathroom reachable without navigating your narrow hallway with a cane.
4. Hard no's
This is the question that catches the thing you'd never guess. A migraine triggered by perfume. A trigger word that will come up because another guest always says it. Chemo-induced sensitivity to smells. Ask broadly, let the guest fill in the specifics.
5. House stuff
The clever move: you state your house rules while asking about theirs. You don't ask “are you okay with our cat?” (too passive) — you say “we have a cat” and invite them to flag any concerns. This frames the rules as information, not as a test, and gives an allergic guest a graceful way to decline or ask you to isolate the cat.
6. Kids
Kids are their own category. Allergies often differ from parents'. Sensory preferences differ. Food textures differ. A three-year-old and a twelve-year-old eat different things, even in the same family. If kids are coming, you need the specifics.
7. Anything I'm forgetting
The catch-all. Every guest has one thing they're used to mentioning but don't know if it belongs in your list. Give them the space to volunteer it. You'll learn more from this question than from any other.
How to handle common answers
A few scripts for responses you'll get often:
- “I'll eat anything!”— Follow up with one concrete question: “No allergies at all? And you're good with [controversial ingredient you're planning, e.g. raw oysters, blue cheese, lamb]?” Don't take the everything-eater at their word.
- A long list of restrictions, sent apologetically.— Reply warmly and with a plan: “Got it — planning a menu that works around all of that. Won't be weird, promise.” Your job is to take the anxiety off.
- No reply after three days.— Re-send once, casually: “Hey — just want to make sure you got my prep text, no rush.” If still nothing, assume no major restrictions and keep a safe base menu.
- A reply that raises a new question.— Ask the follow-up immediately. “When you say a wheat allergy — is that celiac-level, or sensitivity-level?” Specifics help you cook.
A note on regulars
You don't need to send the questionnaire to your best friend of twenty years. You already know their preferences, and sending the form would read as performative. Keep the questionnaire for new guests, first-time dinners, and groups with unfamiliar restriction patterns. For regulars, a single “anything new on the food front?” text is enough.
The questionnaire is also a great way to start a notes habit: every guest you send it to, save their reply in a note named for them. Six months later, when you invite them back, you already have the context.
One more reason this works
When a guest walks in and everything is already set up for their preferences — the oat milk stocked, the salmon on the menu, the candle unlit because they mentioned the scent thing — they feel seen without having to explain why. The questionnaire is how you get to that moment. It's a few minutes of writing for you, and an evening of not having to be “the difficult one” for them.
For the broader system this fits into, see the Thoughtful Host field guide. For the specific case of serving a guest with a food allergy, the food-allergies guide has the cooking detail.
