Birthday Dinners
(Note: This also was an assignment for a writing class I took a few years ago.)
I sat closest to the fireplace and several large logs had
just been placed in the hearth. The red glistening embers that remained from a
fire started much earlier on that Sunday afternoon quickly ignited the new wood.
It was cold in early December and my back started to feel
warm from the fire similar to the way it felt on those sunny July days
that I had spent at the ball field. I was at the White Horse Tavern in northern
Kentucky with my parents and sister. We were seated around a large round table
to celebrate my eleventh birthday. We had celebrated many birthdays at the White
Horse Tavern which was the centerpiece of the Dixie Highway's "restaurant
row".
The tavern was a large, multi-floored building and I did not
recall ever being in the same area of the restaurant more than once. I
especially enjoyed being in
the upper level with the many small dining areas and the bright lighting from
the windows that covered all of the outside walls. It was a special treat to
have a seat by a window and watch the stream of cars that snaked around this
curved part of the highway. My father told me that a person could start on this
highway, Route 25, in Michigan and drive all the way to Florida. I
wondered how many of the cars I counted were traveling to Florida on that
particular day.
However, on my eleventh birthday, the table by the fireplace
had to be the best location in the whole restaurant. The waitress had given us
glasses of ice water and menus, but I knew that everyone had already decided
what we would order before we left home. We started with shrimp cocktail. I
would always study the price in the menu and was amazed by how much those shrimp
cost. I figured that I could use that money to buy five of my
"most favorite" double-decker hamburgers in the whole world, Frisch's
Big Boys. But the shrimp tasted wonderful. Their c-shaped figures hung from the
side of a special stemmed glass filled
with cracked ice. A red sauce, laced with horseradish, rested in the center of
the glass. I dipped each shrimp in the sauce, cautiously at first, and then with
greater enthusiasm after receiving my cue from Dad. "Makes your eyes water,
doesn't it?" he asked. I blinked and nodded yes.
My mother and I ordered southern fried chicken. It was
crunchy with a hint of pepper and other spices . The first few bites took my
breath away; the steam would rise into my mouth and cause me to gasp. The rolls were hot as I split them and turned their
white centers to gold with butter that I dug from a chilled silver cup. My
father always ordered Long Island duck with wild rice. The duck was in one
piece, and his adept use of knife and fork indicated that
he might have been a surgeon in another life. My sister was served fried
shrimp and we shared some of each other's food but no duck for me, thank you. I
had been very hungry at first, but later I simply could eat no more.
The waitress stopped by and asked if we wanted the take home
the leftover chicken in doggie bags. My mother said yes. After the waitress
left, she instructed me,
"Don't tell them that we don't have a dog". We all laughed. Mom told
the same joke whenever we went to a restaurant and had leftovers. It seemed to
become funnier each time. Just then, a log in the fireplace exploded sending a
shower of golden sparks up the chimney as if to share our special joke. We all
laughed again.
When the waitress asked about desert, my father looked at us
and said "Well, how about it?" Just as we always ordered four shrimp
cocktails, we also ordered four strawberry shortcakes. I had been growing fast
and it seemed that my pants were always either too loose or too tight. This
afternoon they had felt especially tight. After dessert, I tugged at my belt
line to relieve the pressure.
We gathered our doggie bags and headed to the front of the
restaurant. As my father was paying the bill, I glanced around the waiting area.
I spied pictures of horses everywhere. Many included jockeys and some were of
horses draped with garlands of flowers around their necks. I noticed the same
gray haired man in most of the pictures. My father explained that the restaurant
owner was a famous horseman and that he even owned a horse who raced in the
Kentucky Derby a few years ago. Dad enjoyed going to the races. Maybe that was
the reason we always visited the White Horse Tavern.
I climbed onto the back seat of the car next to my sister,
and we headed down the Dixie Highway back towards Cincinnati. There was a huge
bend in the highway where the side of the road dropped off sharply and deeply.
When we were past that point, I always felt less anxious. I was thinking about
my birthday and wondered if I would get a new bicycle. I felt a little sleepy
and very content. I probably dozed for a few moments.
Even as a young boy I realized that our family dinners at the
White Horse Tavern were special times for my mom, dad, sister and me. However,
it has only been in later years that I understand the true meaning. In our
family, we celebrated the individual's birthday in a special way to show that
each of us was a cherished part of the family unit. Now that I am grown, it has
become important for me to set aside time to honor the individuals in my family.
They have become the most important aspect of my life and birthday dinners are
my opportunity to remind each person that I care about them and to do it with
some flair. We must certainly start the meal with a shrimp cocktail.
May 1995, Carl H.