An Intimate Dinner for 22

Saturday night, yes on Valentine's Day evening, Mr. B. and I attended a romantic dinner along with about 20 other family members to celebrate all of the February birthdays in our family. It served to further cement my dislike for large family gatherings held in public places. Mr. B. and I sat at one end of the table across from Mommy Dearest and my sister, both of whom we see about 5 nights out of 7. My daughter KT sat next to me; I see her 7 nights out of 7. Way down at the other end of the long rectangular table sat the February birthday people; the people I see about 3 times a year. They laughed a lot down at the other end of the table; at our end we looked at each other and tried to come up with some new and interesting topic of conversation that hadn't already been discussed a million times before during one of our 5 out of 7 evenings at my mother's house (aka "the manor"). Don't get me wrong; I relish the nights we spend at the manor. We play cards and banter 'til the cows come home, with Mommy Dearest holding center court. But somehow we're a more subdued bunch outside of the manor, or at least Mr. B. and I are more subdued.

Maybe it was the thought of the cash outlay that we knew would result from the fine dining experience, or maybe it was just being overwhelmed by the sheer number of people at the table. Whatever the reason, ours was the boring end of the table. While laughter sprang forth from the other end of the table like birds chirping on a wire, you would have thought a church service was being held at our end. A somber church service. For my part my mind was occupied with the thought of how much money this dinner was going to cost us.

My niece suggested playing musical chairs so that we might all get a chance to talk to people seated at opposite ends of the table and we were all game but then Mommy Dearest spilled the beans about the plan to the waitress, who squashed that idea. "If any of you moves one inch I'll throw you all out," she said with a smile. I could hear her teeth grinding, so I think it's safe to say it was a forced smile.

She took our orders in an organized fashion, starting with the far end of the table. By the time she made her way to our end of the table her patience was stretched a bit thin. She breathed a deep, cleansing breath and asked my sister for her order. "What'll you have?" she said between clenched teeth. My sister scanned the menu for the millionth time, still not finding the one dish she hoped to see -- spaghetti. It's an Italian restaurant, after all -- why wouldn't it have spaghetti?

C pushed her glasses up on her nose and glanced at the waitress. "Um... can I order something that's not on the menu?" she said.

"What do you want that's not on the menu?" the waitress said, tapping her pencil against her order pad.

"A half-order of spaghetti."

"Well, if it's not on the menu they won't make it, not tonight." "I don't make the rules, I just repeat 'em," the waitress said with a barking laugh that sounded forced, just like her smile.

My sister sighed and the waitress started making suggestions for alternative dishes my sister might like. With each suggestion my sister wrinkled her nose and squished her mouth into a tighter line until I thought her face would implode.

"They have hamburgers, C." I said, knowing that if all else fails C will go for a hamburger, even if she hates them. So C ordered her hamburger and the waitress asked if she wanted anything on it, to which C responded by wrinkling her nose and squishing her mouth again.

"I take that as a 'no'" the waitress said, and finished taking the rest of our orders. I ordered cannelloni, hoping that it would be better than the last time I ate there. I think it would've been, too, if the waitress hadn't been in a hurry to get us served so she'd be through with us. I swear I saw her turn on her heel and walk into the kitchen where I imagine she told the chef to stop grinding the hamburger for my cannelloni and just stuff the darn thing; I don't know how else to explain the fact that it held such a close resemblance to a McDonald's quarter pounder.

For dessert my niece gave us each a box of candy sweet tarts; it was a sweet ending to a less-than-perfect dinner. And you couldn't beat the price.