We made reservations for New Year’s Eve ’21 at our local diner.  It promised to be a classic night, according to the advertisement sent out.  Appetizers, music, and dancing it promised.

Mini Beef Wellington.  Chicken Cordon Bleu.  Smoked Salmon Pinwheels.  Mini Eclairs, Mini Cheesecakes.  Gingerbread Stock Topped with Bailey’s Infused Whipped Cream.  Music.  Dancing.  Champaign to welcome in the new year.

Oh, my!

The mini beef wellington was akin to a greasy pizza puff.

Chicken Cordon Bleu?  Fried cheese ball, it was.

The Salmon Pinwheel was raw salmon rolled into a flour tortilla with cream cheese.

There was not an éclair in sight, but instead, days-old cannoli.

And forget the mini cheesecake and gingerbread thing.  Stale and unappetizing.

The funny thing about this, is that the diner always touts a “chef” who goes out of his way to create the most succulent dishes.  Nope.  There is no chef.  Short order cook, yes.  But chef?  No.  There is a penchant for buying pre-made factory-processed foods from the big box warehouse clubs and microwaving said “dishes.”

The night went on with a disc jockey who used a generic mixed music format with imitators, and it was so discombobulated that I wondered aloud what he was smoking.  In fact, the music was so loud I’m sure it could be heard in Havana. What a bust. Speaking of busts, the fried cheese ball thing crisp and hard, that I feared that my fork wouldn’t pierce it, but rather, serve as a catapult to let the fried ball fly into the blouse of the woman who sat across from me.

It was a disaster of an evening while we were there, for no one could comfortably talk due to the Boom!  Boom!  Boom!  of the “music.”

It was time to leave.

We returned home and spend the rest of the evening with a bottle of wine, a few Seinfeld episodes, a sparkling Christmas tree, lit candles, and a jolly “Happy New Year!” at midnight.

That was the best part of the evening, indeed.

Lesson learned here:  Sometimes going out for revelry is not worth the fun one makes on his own.  This so-called food that night smacked too much of pre-made and frozen and phony.

Happy New Year, and may this year bring all that you hope for.

~Colcannon Metropolis