A party

At Deb and Jim's on New Year's Eve:

There was a disapproving cat in the window to greet all arrivals.

There were platters of buckwheat blinis with gravlax, pigs in blankets, devils on horseback, veal meatballs with artichokes (which disappeared before I could get to them), porchetta and rolls and a delicious herb paste. There was smoky mezcal brought over the border from Mexico and mixed into Paloma's. There were buckets of bubbly. And English roses. And a tablecloth you could draw on. And bright vegetables.

There was Uncle Joey, a hybrid of Joe Pesci, Lilyhammer's Steven van Zandt and an ounce of De Niro. He orders a fillet mignon a week from his butcher whose shop is below his apartment in Astoria. His butcher chops it up for hamburger patties for the week. He loves his two cats. He says, Yous guys. Guys rhymes with mice.

There were lifelong friends, stories of heroic acts in Des Moines, and grapes with more genes than humans, according to the evolutionary biologist.

There was a demonstration of Gangnam Style. Am I the only one who had never heard of Psy?

There were cupcakes with champagne frosting, rescued from a misprinted or untested recipe in Sweet Paul magazine (2 sticks butter, 1 cup confectioner's, 1 cup Champagne? Don't try this at home).

There were streamer bombs and horns and tiaras and silly hats and a beautiful tree.

In short, everything that is required of a good party.

Thank you, Bonbon, thank you Quasar.

And happy New Year to each and every one of you.