Illustration: Marcos Chin
Ask anyone what they think of New Year’s Eve, and the following brunch day, and invariably they will claim to hate it. Amateur night and holiday sloppy seconds are the phrases most invoked. But if everyone truly hates New Year’s Eve, then who are these throngs of boisterous and bawdy revelers who fill every restaurant and street in nearly every major city? No matter how you resist it, the New Year’s bug affects us all.
There are classy ways to ring in the new year. In Paris one year at a chic bistro, I saw the hour noted at first only by the tinkling of one diner’s knife on a champagne flute. Soon the whole room was clinking—no shouting—and then, just as subtly, the glass tapping died down and people went on with their dinner. Despite being super low-key, it was memorably convivial: You glanced around the room and nodded, and even though there was no random spit-swapping, everyone chatted like old friends as they departed.
My friends Anne Swift and Lee Lord, owners of Second Act Farm in Roxbury, Connecticut, do something they call the “kettle of hopes and dreams.” Everyone writes down secret wishes they want to come true in the upcoming year. (If memory serves, you’re allowed more than one.) It helps that they have a giant iron kettle and a big old hearth, because after everyone deposits their papiers cri, the whole mess gets lit on fire to smolder away. What ruins it for me, of course, is that you are not allowed to talk about what you wished for, for fear of squirreling the deal with the spirits.
Then, of course, there are those resolutions that people are always talking about. I remember reading once about how new gym memberships soared in the first few weeks of January, often never to be used again after a few weeks of devoted puffing on a treadmill. My birthday is in mid-January, and when I’ve celebrated it, I’ve noticed half the room will take a drink while the other half still cling to their sparkling soda with lime (one of the reasons I rarely celebrate).I think the problem lies in the nomenclature. Resolution sounds so final and intimidating, almost begging to be broken. So I propose a slight amendment: Instead of resolutions, let’s just ask people to show some resolve. If you resolve to stop doing something, and you fail once in a while, it’s forgivable, right? It’s not like you broke a resolution or something. Think of it as the Malibu Promises/Lindsay Lohan version of New Year’s commitments. So for you party folks, I’m suggesting a few things we can all resolve to address in the coming seasons.
Resolve to: Spell people’s names correctly, particularly in “expected V.I.P.” press releases. Names I see misspelled all the time: Diane von Furstenberg (I mangled her name once, and she was nice about it, but now I catch it all the time), Muffie Potter Aston (they always write “Muffy”), Adrian Grenier, and Jane Krakowski (everyone adds a “c”).
Resolve to: Keep that notorious crasher “Shaggy” out of your parties. I know it’s hard; he made it into a party in my office once, but seeing him just ruins it for me.
Resolve to: Never use plastic cups with a cheap rough edge. They make everything taste bad. Have you noticed these glasses get the most play at high-society stuff?
Resolve to: Stop serving mini hamburgers, and also please stop calling them “sliders.” They are hard to eat, stick in your throat, and make you feel fat and guilty after the fact. Also, they are no longer new, which counts for something.
Resolve to: Send invitations on time! That means four to six weeks prior, folks.
Resolve to: Greet every guest in person, like Bryan Bantry does at his fancy screenings.
Resolve to: Stop the madness known as chicken on a skewer (unless the chicken is poached and tender).
Resolve to: Bring back cocktail nuts. Forget those mixes with stale pretzels and orange baked stuff—just give us the nuts. And can they be on every bar? They really take the edge off waiting.
Resolve to: Stop serving dessert items at cocktail parties. There is this idea that after you cycle through your savory items, you bring on the sweets. But since you never get enough to eat in the first place, the sweets seem like a “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out” gesture.
Resolve to: Eliminate brochures in gift bags. Explain to sponsors that not only will such materials not be read, they will be discarded with disgust in the backs of taxis, in the valet line, or wherever guests can unload them fastest.
Resolve to: Not over-invite, and then turn guests away when they call. (You know who you are, and you got off easy.)
Resolve to: Provide mailing and/or contact information in an event’s printed materials. I am continually amazed when I go home with an auction list and can’t find a phone number to call to pay for my stuff the next day.
There are classy ways to ring in the new year. In Paris one year at a chic bistro, I saw the hour noted at first only by the tinkling of one diner’s knife on a champagne flute. Soon the whole room was clinking—no shouting—and then, just as subtly, the glass tapping died down and people went on with their dinner. Despite being super low-key, it was memorably convivial: You glanced around the room and nodded, and even though there was no random spit-swapping, everyone chatted like old friends as they departed.
My friends Anne Swift and Lee Lord, owners of Second Act Farm in Roxbury, Connecticut, do something they call the “kettle of hopes and dreams.” Everyone writes down secret wishes they want to come true in the upcoming year. (If memory serves, you’re allowed more than one.) It helps that they have a giant iron kettle and a big old hearth, because after everyone deposits their papiers cri, the whole mess gets lit on fire to smolder away. What ruins it for me, of course, is that you are not allowed to talk about what you wished for, for fear of squirreling the deal with the spirits.
Then, of course, there are those resolutions that people are always talking about. I remember reading once about how new gym memberships soared in the first few weeks of January, often never to be used again after a few weeks of devoted puffing on a treadmill. My birthday is in mid-January, and when I’ve celebrated it, I’ve noticed half the room will take a drink while the other half still cling to their sparkling soda with lime (one of the reasons I rarely celebrate).I think the problem lies in the nomenclature. Resolution sounds so final and intimidating, almost begging to be broken. So I propose a slight amendment: Instead of resolutions, let’s just ask people to show some resolve. If you resolve to stop doing something, and you fail once in a while, it’s forgivable, right? It’s not like you broke a resolution or something. Think of it as the Malibu Promises/Lindsay Lohan version of New Year’s commitments. So for you party folks, I’m suggesting a few things we can all resolve to address in the coming seasons.
Resolve to: Spell people’s names correctly, particularly in “expected V.I.P.” press releases. Names I see misspelled all the time: Diane von Furstenberg (I mangled her name once, and she was nice about it, but now I catch it all the time), Muffie Potter Aston (they always write “Muffy”), Adrian Grenier, and Jane Krakowski (everyone adds a “c”).
Resolve to: Keep that notorious crasher “Shaggy” out of your parties. I know it’s hard; he made it into a party in my office once, but seeing him just ruins it for me.
Resolve to: Never use plastic cups with a cheap rough edge. They make everything taste bad. Have you noticed these glasses get the most play at high-society stuff?
Resolve to: Stop serving mini hamburgers, and also please stop calling them “sliders.” They are hard to eat, stick in your throat, and make you feel fat and guilty after the fact. Also, they are no longer new, which counts for something.
Resolve to: Send invitations on time! That means four to six weeks prior, folks.
Resolve to: Greet every guest in person, like Bryan Bantry does at his fancy screenings.
Resolve to: Stop the madness known as chicken on a skewer (unless the chicken is poached and tender).
Resolve to: Bring back cocktail nuts. Forget those mixes with stale pretzels and orange baked stuff—just give us the nuts. And can they be on every bar? They really take the edge off waiting.
Resolve to: Stop serving dessert items at cocktail parties. There is this idea that after you cycle through your savory items, you bring on the sweets. But since you never get enough to eat in the first place, the sweets seem like a “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out” gesture.
Resolve to: Eliminate brochures in gift bags. Explain to sponsors that not only will such materials not be read, they will be discarded with disgust in the backs of taxis, in the valet line, or wherever guests can unload them fastest.
Resolve to: Not over-invite, and then turn guests away when they call. (You know who you are, and you got off easy.)
Resolve to: Provide mailing and/or contact information in an event’s printed materials. I am continually amazed when I go home with an auction list and can’t find a phone number to call to pay for my stuff the next day.
