ew Year for most of us means the calendar new year that starts on January 1st.

The Romans named January after Janus, god of doorways, deity of time and transitions. He has two faces because he looks backwards and forwards.

I don’t make New Year resolutions – instead I have a psychic clear-out. What would I prefer not to repeat?

It’s not just History with a capital H that repeats itself; it’s our personal history too. It’s hard to shift negative patterns and negative thoughts. It’s hard to do things differently, to stop destructive and self-destructive behaviours, to stop colluding with our own worst ­enemy: ourselves.

I prefer to have a New Year’s Day party than a New Year’s Eve party where everyone gets drunk and sings out of tune.

For me, New Year’s Eve, like Christmas Eve, is an opportunity for reflection.

And it’s a time to remember.

Memory doesn’t happen chronologically. Our minds are less interested in when something happened than in what happened, and who happened. Getting the year or the month wrong seems less important as time goes by. We can’t always say when, but we can always say, ‘This is what happened.’

Memories separated in time are often recalled side by side – there’s an emotional connection that has nothing to do with the diary dates and everything to do with the feeling.

Remembering isn’t like visiting a museum: Look! There’s the long-gone object in a glass case. Memory isn’t an archive. Even a simple memory is a cluster. Something that seemed so insignificant at the time suddenly becomes the key when we remember it at a particular time later. We’re not liars or self-deceivers – OK, we are all liars and self-deceivers, but it’s a fact that our memories change as we do.

Some memories, though, don’t seem to change at all. They are sticky with pain. And even when we are not, consciously, remembering our memories, they seem to remember us. We can’t shake free of their effect.

There’s a great term for that – the old present. These things happened in the past, but they’re riding right up front with us every day.

A bit of self-reflection on New Year’s Eve is no substitute for the all-over detox that going to therapy makes possible, but a bit of self-reflection on New Year’s Eve can help us look at our mental and emotional map – and see where some of the landmines are.

And some bad memories are really other people’s baggage but we drag them along as if we’re working for a diva who always packs several trunks but can only be seen carrying a purse.

Why am I portering this shit? It’s a good New Year question.

In the Jewish tradition Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, falls ten days after Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. I am married to a Jew, who tells me that the whole period between the New Year and the Day of Atonement is a period of reflection – a time for starting again, and a recognition of what needs to be atoned for. Judaism is a practical religion. You don’t just wring your hands and wail ‘oy vey’; you do something about it.

I like the idea of atonement – a practical response to where we know we’ve done wrong. Maybe others won’t atone for the wrong they’ve done us, but maybe we can atone for the wrong we do ourselves; the self-harm.

And, as Freud so brilliantly understood, you can go back in time, you can heal the past. It may be fixed as a fact – what happened happened – but it isn’t fixed in the ongoing story of our lives.

Memories can be tools for change; they don’t have to be weapons used against us, or baggage we have to drag around.

And memories, sometimes, are places we go to honour the dead. There’s always that first, terrible New Year when our loved one won’t be here.

It’s good just to sit quietly in that place of loss and sadness, and let the feelings be the feelings. Those memories are liquid; we cry.

And good memories, happy memories also need to be honoured. We remember so much of the bad stuff and we are so careless with the good stuff. Remember the year for what it brought. Even if there was precious little, that little is precious.

But, you may say, what has all this got to do with cheese crispies?

Whether it’s for a New Year’s Day party or a little personal party for you and the cat and dog on New Year’s Eve, these biscuits are the best.

I love them with a cold, dry, salty sherry from the fridge or a vodka and soda with chunks of lime. If you want red, try a light red you can chill, like a Chiroubles, a Gamay or a Zinfandel or, if you are adding extra Parmesan, a Dolcetto d’Alba. Just lovely.

I started to make my cheese crispies when I noticed my favourite Dutch brand were putting palm oil in their biscuits. Palm oil isn’t good stuff, for humans or for the planet.

My golden rule is: don’t buy foodstuffs that contain ingredients you’d never use yourself if you were making the same kind of thing.

Cheese crispies don’t need shelf-life – they get eaten in ten minutes max.

So try these. Quick. Simple. Fun. And a bit of self-reflection deserves a biscuit.

YOU NEED

½ lb (225 g) good salted butter

½ lb (225 g) organic plain flour

½ lb (225 g) cheese mixture

Salt to taste

About the cheese mixture: unpasteurised cheddar should be your staple here – but I also mix in Gruyère and Parmesan. Yes, all ­unpasteurised. I could write a long essay here about bacteria, but it’s Christmas, and bacteria aren’t that festive. I don’t blame them; it’s just not their way. So look up the pros and cons of pasteurisation once we’re past Twelfth Night, and see if I ain’t right . . .

On the choice of cheese, well, you can’t use blue cheese or cream cheese, but if you have a hard cheese you like, one that’s local, or some old thing in the fridge you need to use up, then experiment. You’ll soon find the flavour you like best, and I bet cheesy biscuits were invented the usual way – needing to use up a surplus of something – or because something was past its eat-me date. In this case, whiffy cheese.

(Author’s note: dogs are also a good way of using up whiffy cheese.)

METHOD

Rub the butter and flour in a bowl until it looks likes breadcrumbs – you can whizz it in the food processor if you want to.

Add the cheese until the whole thing is a nice, doughy mixture. If it’s too dry add a bit of milk or an egg.

Knead it all out till smooth and firm.

Roll the mixture into logs about 8 inches long – too short and it’s fiddly, too long and it’s unwieldy.

Put the logs in the fridge to stiffen up (I know you’ve made a sex toy but we won’t go there).

When you want your cheese crispies, heat up your oven to 180°C or whatever. HOT. I have an Aga and I don’t really understand other ovens – the noise makes me nervous – but we can work it out.

If you too have an Aga, it’s top oven, obviously.

Lightly oil a baking tray to prevent STICK – or use baking paper (useful as a firelighter afterwards).

Slice your logs into thin slices – imagining the biscuits you want to eat – and stick them in the oven for 15 minutes.

These logs freeze well.

And that’s it! Even if you make these for your ungrateful party guests, keep a few for yourself, the cat and the dog, and that time of reflection.