Drink in the beginning of 2023
Eric Felten
Christmas is an unambiguous celebration, the hap-happiest season of all. Sure, there may be varieties of joy involved — on the simple side of things, the joy of gift-giving. On a rather more profound note, the joy the hymnist had in mind. But New Year’s Eve is tricky.
When it comes to Christmas, there are more songs than can be counted and cataloged. But when it comes to New Year’s Eve, few are the songs to be found. The most famous, “Auld Lang Syne,” is all but inscrutable to those not steeped in the Burnsian brand of old-school Scots-speak. Then again, hardly anyone knows a lyric beyond “Should old acquaintance be forgot.” There’s a charming song by Irving Berlin that talks about watching the old year die. And, aching with looming disappointment, there’s Frank Loesser’s “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?”
Back in the day, New Year’s Eve was a big to-do. People tried a little too hard to have a great time. When I worked with various bands in college, playing trombone in local big bands and electric bass with a couple of variety bands, New Year’s could be counted on for a handsome payday. It was with thoughts of how I would spend that bounty that one New Year’s Eve, I took out my trombone and settled in on the stage of a resort ballroom. I don’t remember whose band it was, though I do recall wearing a uniform powder blue polyester tux coat (I won’t dignify the odious thing by calling it a dinner jacket).
Alas, it wasn’t long after we had started playing that there was a commotion out on the dance floor. A reveler had suffered a heart attack. Paramedics were there quickly, and the man was conscious as he was wheeled out of the ballroom. For the next hour, we played quiet dinner music, but eventually, we had jumped up the tempos and the volume. The dance floor was packed, and the party was in full swing. There was another commotion. Another man had suffered a heart attack. But he was dead long before the paramedics got to him. Wisely, the management had the band pack up and go home before the midnight countdown.
Since then, New Year’s Eve gigs have never been an unalloyed source of pleasure. That poor man on the dance floor all those years ago had taught me something about the old year and what it stands for. I don’t mean mortality per se, but something more like ephemerality. Howard Dietz’s lyric in “Dancing in the Dark” — “Time hurries by, we’re here, and gone” — captures the sentiment. It should be thought of as a New Year’s Eve song.
But let’s not be morbid. Ephemerality is par for the course for those of us who scribble in newspapers and magazines. And yet, every now and then, something comes along to show us that what we do may stick around longer than we expect it to.
Some 15 years ago, I wrote a newspaper item about wonderful holiday Champagne punches that were popular in the 1950s. I was delighted to hear from a young couple, now married, who made one of the punches for a holiday party they threw when they were dating. They remembered it and wanted to make it again. The young man tracked me down and asked for the recipe. I was more than happy to dig it out of my files, happy that this bit of ephemera had proved to have staying power. I’m going to make it this New Year’s Eve, and you may want to give it a try too.
Here’s how: In a punch bowl with a large block of ice, combine one bottle of chilled Sauternes, 5 ounces of Cognac, 2 ounces of Cointreau, and 2 ounces of maraschino liqueur. Add a cold bottle of good Champagne and stir gently. Garnish with maraschino cherries and slices of orange and pineapple. Serve in punch cups.
But first, wish one and all a happy new year.
Eric Felten is the James Beard Award-winning author of How’s Your Drink?