Four years ago today, Derek and I decided to go to the Japanese Steakhouse down the street for our Christmas Eve dinner. We had recently closed on our house and didn’t have much in the way of furniture or kitchen supplies; we hadn’t fully moved out of our condo in Lowell. It was kind of a gross restaurant, but the people watching was sublime, and honestly, it’s hard to truly screw up grilled food. When we got home we snuggled up on Derek’s old sofa, propped my computer up on a couple of book boxes and watched Elf. The next morning we flew to Florida, and all I could think about was our kooky night at the steakhouse. The next year we went again and were not disappointed in the company, though again, the restaurant itself left a bit to be desired. Our house was fully furnished so we curled up on our sofa and watched Elf on our full sized television when we got home.
Last year we broke with tradition slightly and went to a new Japanese Steakhouse by the mall. It was clean and pretty on the inside and the chefs pulled out all the stops. We’ve both been to our fair share of this style of restaurant so we sort of thought we’d seen it all when it came to hibachi chef skills, but we were both pleasantly surprised to see new tricks. It was a great night and we realized that we had inadvertently established our own unique tradition.
This year, in the weeks leading up to Christmas Eve, all I can think about is our annual dinner at a Japanese Steakhouse; I am nearly giddy with anticipation. Tonight, we’ll sit down in our seats at the hibachi, laugh at the fact that I can’t ever catch the food the chef hucks at my mouth, and eat way too much. It is a delicious tradition that I hope we’ll continue for many years to come.