Questions,
answered.

mayz is where you host a gathering at home, or take a seat at someone else's. It can be a potluck where everyone brings a dish, a supper club where you cook a beautiful dinner for the table, or small bites with tea and coffee. Food is just the catalyst: the real idea is sitting down together and having a conversation. Bring a friend, they bring someone new, and by the time you sit down, half the table is people you've never met.

You pick the day and time, the place and what everyone brings. mayz handles the invites, the RSVPs, the dietaries and the reminders. You handle the music.

You find a table, request a seat or RSVP to a direct invite, and share any dietary notes. Once the host confirms you, mayz sends the address and reminders. You show up, and bring what's asked, if anything.

Nobody remembers what you cooked. They remember whether they felt interesting.

So put your attention where it counts. Introduce people with a detail, not a job title. Ask the quiet one a question. Sit down instead of hovering in the kitchen. And decide things, because a host who decides nothing leaves guests to work it out for themselves, and that's what makes a night awkward. Pick the seating, pick the question, call the start.

Burnt food is a funny story. A tense host is a bad night.

One conversation, one question everyone answers, and a host who asks the quiet person what they think.

Pick one of our questions when you set up your mayz. Ask it at the start, everyone answers in turn, and you go first. Answer it slightly deeper than is comfortable and the table will match you.

From a two hundred year old dinner party. Thomas Jefferson hosted small dinners at Monticello with one table, one topic and one conversation everyone was part of. Hosts still run them today and call them Jefferson dinners. A table of eight having one conversation is a completely different night from a table of eight having four. In four conversations you meet the person on your left. In one, you meet everybody, and you find out what they think rather than what they do.

The Art of Gathering by Priya Parker is the best book on hosting anything, and it isn't about food. It's about deciding why you're gathering people and shaping the night around it. For single conversation tables, the Jefferson dinner guides take ten minutes to read. And we send every host prompts and a short guide before their first mayz, so you don't need to have read any of it to host well.

Turn up on time. Say hello to everyone, not just who you came with. Ask two questions before you tell your own story. Talk to the person who's gone quiet. Offer to help. Message the host the next day.

Phones in the bowl by the door. One conversation, not three. No politics, no religion, no selling. What's said at the table stays at the table. Turn up on time, because someone shopped for you.

Politics and religion are out because they rarely go anywhere good at a table of new people. Nobody changes their mind, and the room gets smaller. There's more than enough else worth asking each other about.

At a dinner party you already know everyone. At a mayz table there is always someone new, but never someone who is a stranger to everybody. That one degree of separation is the whole design.

Neither. No pitching, no selling, no agendas, no name badges. Just a table where people are curious about each other.

Joining mayz is free. Each table is priced by the host, because they're the one shopping, cooking, setting the table and turning the lights and the music on. Potlucks are usually free, small bites are modest, supper clubs cost a fraction of a night out. You always see the price before you request a seat.

The food, and the person who made the night happen. Someone planned it, shopped for it, cooked it, set the table and cleaned up after you. Paying for that is the point, not an apology.

Set the date and the seats. We build the invite, share it with one link, chase the RSVPs, collect the dietaries, send the reminders and put it in everyone's calendar. You answer the door.

mayz offers the seat to the waitlist automatically. No scrambling, no 4pm messages, no cooking for eight when six turn up.

Because the reason people stop hosting is almost never the cooking. It's the admin. The chasing, the maybe I'll let you know, the group chat you have to reread to work out who's actually coming.

No. If you can set a table, play good music and make people feel welcome, you can host. We send you conversation starters before the night.

Four chairs is a table. Host a potluck, or do bread, cheese and a big salad. Nobody leaves disappointed because the host didn't make their own pasta.

Enough to cover your ingredients and your time. You planned it, shopped, cooked, cleaned and brought people together. That's worth paying for, and there's no shame in it. The test: would you happily host again next month? If the number leaves you out of pocket or quietly resentful, it's too low.

Yes. Hosts who cook well and run a good table build a following, and there's nothing wrong with that paying for itself and then some.

Guests pay when their seat is confirmed, and the money reaches you after the table happens. You can shop knowing your headcount is real and paid for.

You don't. You trust the person who brought them. When your friend brings someone, they're putting their own name on that person in front of you. Trust doesn't come from us. It travels down the table, one real relationship at a time.

It solves two things at once. You meet someone new, and you meet them through someone you trust. Nobody at a mayz table is more than one person away from you.

Host one table with two friends and ask each of them to bring one person. That's five people, three of them new. Your network doubles in a night.

You see every guest's profile before you commit, including who invited them. Hosts approve every guest personally.

Once the host confirms you. Home addresses are never public.

Leave. No explanation owed, no penalty. Then report it, and we'll act on it.