Banger, noun:
A badass party, or big celebration
That party was a banger.
I love that word. I’ve picked it up from a certain DJ friend and I’m going to use it from now on instead of “rager.” It can also describe a great song (like this one; I’m obsessed), but today I’m using it in the context of the going away party I threw for my very best friend in the world, D.
Remember D? She’s the one with the amazing lake house upstate. She’s moving to Paris for three years. Bien sur, I wanted to send her off in style. The resulting party was a melange of green principles and French style. And here are the ingredients:
Laduree Macarons
The flagship Laduree store is on the Champs Elysee in Paris, but now New Yorkers of good taste are swooning over the new outpost on East 70th. It’s a smaller version of the original, but the pastel walls and classy white adornments are all the same. And of course, the macarons are still to die for. And it’s not just me. The New York Times says so.
Good things come to those who wait. I got in the line full of tourists, foodies, and pretentious Upper East Side girls (“Did you know that girls who wear giant bows in their hair actually exist outside of Gossip Girl?” I texted D) outside of Laduree that stretched down the sidewalk, thinking, “I can spare a half hour.” A half hour later I finally made it inside the door and found the line snaking back and forth, taking up every square foot of available space. But I was already invested, so there was no way I was going to leave. Another half hour later and $70 poorer, I left with a box of 24 macarons in flavors like rose, orange blossom and anise.
Everyone melted at the party when they tried them. And I had to snatch the box away from one greedy couple who kept trying to sneak another. The next morning, I practically hugged D when she reached up into the cabinet and brought out one last coffee-flavored macaron she had hidden. No, they aren’t organic. But you can’t win them all, can you?
Long story short: get the macarons. They’re worth it.
Champagne
This worked out so ridiculously well, I think I’ll do it for every party I have, ever.
The local wine shop will deliver a case of wine, chilled, right up to your apartment. They even walked it up three flights of stairs! That is service.
Why champagne? Well, after that big Hungarian spill of the toxic, red byproduct of aluminum cans, I’m partial to glass and cork in lieu of beer cans.
For this we chose not an actual champagne (What am I, made of money?) but a sparkling French white wine, by Paul Bernard. For what it was—fake champagne not even made in the champenois method, it was delicious. And at $8 a pop, it was also a steal.
Reusable Red Cups
We set up a table for champagne pong, and instead of the red Solo cups I used reusable red cups. Everyone was so impressed by them. I only got enough for a game of six cup, but that was fine because they make the game a little more challenging and long—they don’t have the kind of give that regular cups do. You can buy your own from Amazon.
No Paper Towels Allowed
It wouldn’t be a party without at least one party foul. But when someone would start searching the kitchen for paper towels, Dor I would laugh and hand them a kitchen towel. I’ve got a couple sets of towels: my cute ones and my cheap ones. The latter can always be used for spills and washed over and over.
Low Light
Save energy, make it more romantic … yup, dimmers are key.
Banger Tunes
Yay, I used the word again! Oh, I’m such a nerd. Anyway, I mixed hip hop, intense pop and dance, thumping remixes, classic rock and a few frat tunes into a six-hour-long playlist that continued until 2:30am (well, 3:30 if you take into account Daylight Savings), when my downstairs neighbor texted me, politely asking me to turn it down a notch.
If you have Spotify, you can enjoy it here.
Good Friends
It was an intimate crowd, and a perfect one. We had such an amazing time. Thank you to everyone for coming!
(By the way, Taylar on the left and Agatha on the right in the above picture both have their own blogs. Taylar’s is Scotch Pancakes and Agatha’s—which she shares with her sister—is called A Good Hostess Knows When to Use the F-Word.)
Now, I have to decide: my birthday is coming up. Should I throw another party? It just won’t be the same without my best friend here …
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