I have never understood making January 1st a holiday. In a nation allegedly dedicated to the ideal of improving your station in life through hard work, taking the first day of the year off seems perverse. Unless of course, the ideal is a standard other people are held to, not one you actually apply to yourself.
That said, I'm not working. Because it is my normal day off, not because we're closed. The GM is at the restaurant and The Sardine is sleeping. And I'm enjoying the quiet that comes with everyone else being hungover and closed.
I've had my fill of Hoppin' John. Last night we covered two sides of my heritage by serving lentil soup with pancetta and salami (for my half Italian blood-line), and sauteed halibut with Worcestershire butter sauce, scallion spoonbread and Hoppin' John (for my Southern childhood, with wry nods to my English/Welsh blood-line, my Northern Ca culinary sensibilites, and my Francophilia).
I started the day with more Hoppin' John. I resolve to be luckier this year.