Generally, I have found New Year’s Eve to be, well, a massive let down. I have yet to attend a sparkly, glamorous party with elegant finger food and live music. So far I’ve been to numerous less-than-average Greek restaurants, and, on a particularly bad year, been squashed with 70 other people in a dilapidated prefab outbuilding of an insalubrious pub, with cheap paper tablecloths and a limited air supply due to overcrowding. Sat miserably alongside my cousins, hearing relatives complain about the food, the alcohol, the music and each other, these evenings were spent desperately wishing for the arrival of midnight in order to get the night over with as quickly as possible. Another memorable year was spent coughing in bed, garbling some fever-fuddled rubbish as I waited for the out-of-hours doctor to give me an appointment for antibiotics. Oh, and let’s not forget the time a stocking fell off the mantelpiece onto a candle flame during a New Year’s Eve dinner party, causing a minor incendiary incident that left us all in shock.
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| New Year rarely stands up to the magic of Christmas |
New Year’s Day has not been much better, either. In my experience, no one tends to be in a good mood on the first day of the year unless they are still drunk from the night before. Because, let’s face it, we all know what comes after New Year: January. And even worse, February after that. There are no more long, luxurious days of Twixmas to anticipate, no more gifts to unwrap or special dishes to prepare. It is no longer acceptable to forget the date, or to spend an entire day on the sofa with back-to-back films and a tub of Quality Street. All that remains is taking down the decorations (deeply depressing), and preparing to go back to work, knowing that winter has only really just begun. It’s no wonder people turn to drink.
Worse still, I’ve found that New Year tends to make grown-ups overly emotional. There’s nothing like having your dad sob on your shoulder as the clock strikes 12 to make you feel positive about the years ahead. Joking aside, it is of course natural to feel inclined to nostalgia at the end of the year. We can’t help but look back over the 12 months and analyse (and, invariably, criticise) the actions we did or did not take. The failed initiatives, the paths left untrodden, the hurts given and received, the people we met and the people we lost. The ending of one year and the beginning of another reminds us of the brevity of life, of the need to seize the day and make the most of our limited experience. Faced with all this, shedding a few tears is probably justifiable.
As with any soul-stirring festival, New Year comes with a host of superstitions, and thus rituals to keep bad luck at bay. Countries around the world offer multiple menu suggestions for ensuring good fortune in the coming year, including marzipan pigs in Germany and Austria, round fruits (specifically 13 of them, if you’re in the Philippines), blackeyed beans, cornbread and greens in America and lentils in Italy. In Greece, they take the slightly more violent approach of smashing a pomegranate against the front door—the more seeds are scattered, the luckier the household will be. All of these foodstuffs have one thing in common—they symbolise financial prosperity, usually because of a physical resemblance to coins, gold or cash. (Except the pigs, obviously.) While this might seem disappointingly mercenary, it’s a reminder that historically, good luck for the new year didn’t mean meeting a partner or getting promoted—it meant having enough wealth to see the whole year through. A sobering thought.
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| In America, eating greens is supposed to bring good luck for the year ahead |
Rather than going into the new year with a loud bang, I’m tending to favour a softer, quieter approach these days. (I’d like to say that this is due to my increasing interest in mindfulness and the healing power of solitude, but it’s mostly due to a lack of invitations.) There’s certainly something to be said for not expecting or wanting it to be the party of the year: relieve the pressure on 31 December and it has less potential to disappoint. Not that I’m suggesting we treat it like any other day, more that we’re open to celebrating it differently, especially if classic parties leave you cold. A friend once told me he likes to spend New Year's Eve eating bacon sandwiches and playing board games with his parents. Another friend prefers to see midnight in doing yoga by candlelight. Two years ago I spent it at home watching Groundhog Day and doing a Christmas jigsaw with my mum. Call it lame, call it boring, but as with any big celebration, I reckon the “right” way to do it is the way that makes you happiest. So I’m not too worried about the lack of canapés and party poppers.
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| Breadmaking on the first day of the year can be soothing |
As for 1 January, I’m keen to adopt a tradition espoused by Nigel Slater in his book The Christmas Chronicles. He says he likes to start the new year “with flour on my hands” by baking a loaf of bread. There is something sturdy and soulful about breadmaking: the frugality of the ingredients, the sweat-inducing labour of kneading (I stand on a stool for a better bicep-to-dough ratio) and the patience required during proving and rising. Furthermore, what smell could be a better harbinger of good days to come than that of baking bread? As with anything made by hand (not that I judge anyone with one of those fancy dough hook things), a homemade loaf brings a great sense of satisfaction, of “I made this” pride, which might just be the confidence boost we need on the first day of a new year. And as exciting as it may be, all the pomp, glitter and endless rich food of the festive season can become exhausting after a while—a simple loaf is the perfect tonic. It’s a way of bringing you down to earth after the excess and excitement of the season, but with a nice soft landing.
No amount of fresh loaves, pigs or pomegranates can protect us from pain, disappointment or loss, of course, and we must all go into the new year knowing that we can only control certain aspects of the days to come. Life is scary, and it’s easy to feel powerless, rudderless and with no general idea of what the hell it is we’re doing or where we’re going. We can only try and start the year on the best foot possible, with an open mind and hopefully limited trepidation. I’m still going to cook some lentils, though—just in case.
