You know, the kind of place you can order a 32 ounce Porterhouse. A T-bone the size of your head. A rack of ribs big enough to could pretty much stable them together and use as a belt. The kind of place people will drive miles out of their way for dinner.
It's less than a mile from our house, and it's where we took the Boy for his birthday.
Now, neither of us told the waitress it was his birthday. But she carded him for his beer, and a few minutes later when he got up to wander into the little boys' room, she came over and asked. She did it in a way that didn't make me think twice; he'd ordered some extra food to go and she mentioned she thought maybe it was for a girlfriend...and it just now occurred to me that she was pumping us to see if he was attached. But, she carded him, confirmed it was his birthday, and I didn't think anything about it.
When we were close to being done with our steaks (no I did NOT get the 2 pound Porterhouse...) she brought out his food to go, made sure he was done eating...and then throngs of waiters descended on the table. They put the hat on his head, gave him ice cream, and sang to him.
This was doubly funny because when he was about 13 we told a server at Applebees (while he was away from the table, and while we were with several friends, including a cute 13 year old girl) it was his birthday, and he about died when they started singing to him. Probably because it wasn't his birthday then...
He was a good sport about it tonight (might have been that giant beer he had on board) and was even willing to share the ice cream.
However, for my birthday...we're going to McDonald's...
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