The Thing About Birthdays

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Today I turn twenty-five. It’s a big deal. Or, at least, it’s a deal I suppose. It’s one of those years that everybody says is important, a milestone of some sort. Really, I don’t feel all that different…what I do feel, like every other day of my life, is goddamn hungry.

Luckily, there are some treats in store for me today. Now, I don’t get all that excited about birthday cake. For me, birthday cake does not a birthday make. Sweets aren’t really my thing…but a deluxe bagel with whitefish in the morning and and a three course meal at night makes me feel like maybe growing a year older ain’t so bad after all.

My folks have made the trip down to NYC from Vermont, where they live. They’ve made a reservation at a restaurant they assure me I’ll enjoy. I’ve wracked my brain about what’s in store; is it a tasting menu at a swanky experimental molecular gastronomy joint? A classic meal at an acclaimed NYC mainstay, like La Bernardin? Is it an adventurous meal exploring an ethnic cuisine with which I’m not yet familiar?

No matter what, I trust the parents with these things. They are the ones who instilled within me the blessing, and curse, of an obsession with food since childhood.

Whichever way it goes, I’m pretty sure that twenty-five calls for a bottle of Champagne.