Please, Someone, Buy Eric Schaefer Jack in the Box Tacos for His New Year's Eve Birthday
A Jack in the Box taco. Stick a candle in it.
This holiday season, Chow Bella asked some of our favorite writers to regale us with tales of the holidays -- and food. We're at the tale end this week, with New Year's. Today: Eric Schaefer on the
joys horrors of a NYE birthday.
- Champagne: Good, Better, Best Options with Kimber Stonehouse of Sportsman's
- Where to Drink and What to Eat in Phoenix on New Year's Eve
- Eating Christmas: Valley Writers Nosh on the Holidays
Take my word on this: Don't have sex in April unless you're supremely confident in your chosen form of birth control. Had someone shared this sage advice with my parents nearly 40 years ago, there's a chance that I wouldn't be forever cursed with a birthday that falls on the worst day of the year: New Year's Eve. Don't take the chance of inflicting upon your child the lifetime of misery that was unwittingly bestowed upon me.
New Year's Eve is the holiday that we all secretly despise. We feel compelled to go out and have a great time but, really, it's never very much fun. We force a smile as we adorn ourselves with stupid New Year's themed accessories, and feign excitement as the clock ticks down to midnight. Driving will get you a death wish or a DUI. And even the best restaurants frequently disappoint. Recent years have included an almost-unheard-of lackluster experience at Binkley's, a culinary clusterfuck at Quiessence, overpriced glitz at Dominick's and even dinner at my beloved that Noca failed to excite.
What normally costs $25 is $50 on New Year's Eve. When we go out with the expectation that it has to be fun, it almost never is and you'll pay through the nose for the privilege of feeling disappointed.
Truthfully, I've only had three truly great New Year's Eve birthday dinners. The first was in Amsterdam and that's probably because I only vaguely recall the bulk of it. Something about several grams of Jamaica's finest, a live sex show, and a banana, but I digress. My friends told me I had a good time. The second was a meal on the beach in Nice, France, but the fun quickly came to an end when my girlfriend overindulged on Grand Cru and spent the night getting intimate with our hostel's plumbing system instead of me. We missed our train to Florence the next morning and she dumped me a few weeks later.
Happy birthday to me, indeed. I should have opted for a tall glass of hemlock instead.