Happy Deutchday

Dad's birthday (Oct. 25) was fast approaching with two weeks left, so I hashed out restuarant ideas with Mom.

"Dad would like Italian," I said, because Dad loves it anytime, even when the quality stinks.

"No, no. Dad wouldn't like that," she said. "He wants something different."

I couldn't think what. The only what I came up with he hasn't tried is a medieval jousting restaurant in New Jersey. Let's be patriotic and save gas.

Stumped, I eventually got Dad alone and asked, "If you could eat anywhere, where would it be?" His answer dumfounded me.

"Oh," he said, nearly floating on air. "Your mother and I had our first date at a German restaurant with German music and folk dancers."

That could explain a lot of things, I thought, If our family started off this way. Mutual nuttiness, for one. "Okay," I said, dismissing it as an impossible find. And why would anyone choose sauerkraut over lasagna and linguini with white clam sauce? But then he is half German and his favorite deli is a German deli that still serves liverwurst sandwiches even though this is neither 1456 nor 1932.

So the birthday discussion committee came to an impasse.

Three days ago a friend invited me to lunch. "Ever been to the Milleridge Inn?" she said, clutching her hands.

It began as a two-room cottage in 1653, and in its backyard was a small antiquated village with a bake shop, toy shop, candy shop, housewares shop, and a general store. This wasn't an eatery, this was a town! A Long Island treasure.

We opened the menu and there were the words that make the diner faint: scallops, salmon, mashed potatoes, mashed butternut squash, Waldorf salad. Cake, cake, and more kinds of cake. For twenty dollars I received an appetizer, salad, all-you-can-eat popovers and iced cinnamon bread, an entree with two sides, dessert, and coffee or tea. The portions were perfect, so there was no bother bringing food home. This was my kind of place.

On the back of the menu were details of the Milleridge history. I looked across the room and there it was: the original fireplace, as big as a buggy and still in use.

Then I looked down at the menu again and saw it: the sentence at the bottom of the page. Oompah Band and Traditional German Dancers--Oct. 28.

This Friday and this Friday only. On the week of Dad's birthday. I laughed out loud. "I don't believe it!" I said, then explained to my friend.

Soon after, missives were fired across cellular lines with urgent information to my brother, my mother. Both subscribed to the secret op and confidential reservations were made. Our subject had no clue, which can only be attributed to our past cleverness in inquiring where he'd like to go and then subverting the plan with something we liked better.

Do we, as a family clan, like sauerkraut? No, we hate it. But this time there'll be no subversion because I guess by now we've decided Dad is more than worth getting exactly what he wants for his birthday.

Shh! Don't tell!