Gunpowder treason!

Well, if you consider breaking a punchbowl as “treason,” I guess. It started with this New Year’s Eve entertaining idea, which was just crazy enough to work. Since we hadn’t really planned it, it wasn’t looming over our heads as a Big Thing To Get Done, and so throwing it together was fairly easy (the wraps were catered). Then I got to thinking that I should have some appropriate New Year’s Eve food, and the only place I could think of that really considered the New Year an important holiday was Scotland, where it’s Hogmanay, and they have the whole First-Footer tradition. So I went off to the BBC website and found a recipe for bannocks . . . highly recommended. Oats, a little flour, and more butter than you can possibly imagine. No sweetness, a nice change from all the sweets of the holidays, and when served alongside dried apricots, quite lovely.

Innocent enough. So then I thought, how about an appropriate punch? The constant dilemma for non-drinkers, finding a punch that tastes good to adults that has no alcohol. I’ve done it before with Brazilian Coffee (admittedly, not a punch), but that just seemed too heavy and a lot of work. Scanned the BBC sight and found a recipe for something called Gunpowder Plot Punch. “Please to remember / The 5th of November: Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot. / We know no reason / Why Gunpowder Treason / Should ever be forgot.” Guy Fawkes and all that. Not exactly New Year’s, but they celebrate Guy Fawkes Day with fireworks, so there’s some association. And it sounded luscious, with oranges, lemons, anise, cinnamon, and fresh ginger. You have to get over the fact that you’re about to boil ginger ale and orange juice. It’s REALLY good, and makes the house smell fantastic. But you have to do it when you’re going to serve it, because it’s meant to be hot. And so the Gunpowder Plot Punch Treason of New Year’s Eve — poured it into a punchbowl that we were sure could take heat. We were wrong. Big explosion, punch everywhere — down the side of the stove, into the cupboards below, all over the floor. I didn’t actually lose all that much, and I was able to restock the pot (from which I decided to serve directly). And now, thanks in a very indirect way to Guy Fawkes, the area under our stove is freshly mopped and sparkling clean to greet the New Year! Another reason why gunpowder treason should never be forgot.

Oh, the party? Charming. Too many wraps, but just about everything else we put out went. I ate way too much paté that someone brought, and was awake with the rich food buzz much of the night. Six little girls got into the dress-up box and held a series of parades through the house, changing costumes with each other for each parade. It was incredibly sweet. They went outside and played with their dolls early in the evening, for it was warm and calm here. We all had a delightful evening of mostly adult conversation, saw our guests off and put the girls to bed, with a promise to wake them at quarter of midnight.

Cossacks couldn’t have awakened them.

So it was just us and Dick Clark, watch the ball drop (a symbol I frankly have never quite gotten, but there it is, so what the heck) and off to bed. I was in the old Times Square for New Year’s once long long ago, and that was really enough. (One of my more embarrassing nights, drank like an amateur (which I certainly was not at the time), spent a little time throwing up in the beautiful Essex House on Central Park, went out into the night refreshed and relatively sober. There may have been some attempts to gain to the attention of Elvis Costello, who was playing Saturday Night Live that night and was staying at the Essex House. I may deny this in the future, just so you know.)

Today, bannocks for breakfast, and the aforementioned cleaning behind the stove. Thank you, Guy Fawkes! And Happy New Year to everybody else.