Earlier tonight, we went out to dinner for my daughter’s fourteenth birthday. As is the family tradition, she chose the restaurant. The place she chose has great Belgian fries, and this is the main reason she chose it, as she is a true french fry connoisseur. However, this particular restaurant makes their own ketchup (which she does not like), and they make a point about not having any “normal” ketchup on hand. We usually get around this by sneaking in ketchup packets for my daughter whenever we go there.
Tonight, however, we forgot the packets, mainly because it was my job to bring them since my wife was meeting us at the restaurant. The look on my daughter’s face when she realized she had no ketchup for her fries at her own birthday dinner was truly heartbreaking. The creamy aioli sauce just wasn’t going to cut it.
There was only one thing to be done. After we’d ordered, I snuck out of the restaurant, walked a block to a burger joint, filled two plastic ramekins with ketchup, and brought them back to the restaurant, where the birthday girl hid them under her napkin until the fries arrived. (Not that the waitress would have cared, but my daughter was sensitive about it.) Birthday dinner saved.
Sometimes it’s the little things that count.