​Listen. Christmas is supposed to be about peace on Earth, goodwill towards men, and maybe a side of eggnog. But in my family, it's about our annual Christmas Dinner Quest. It's like a choose-your-own-adventure novel, but instead of fighting a dragon, we're fighting over whether or not to eat oysters.

"Alright, troops," I announced, "where are we gonna eat this Christmas? Anywhere but here. This house smells like burnt cookies and regret."

My wife, Jeannie, snarked, "Honey, it's Christmas. Since you’re choosing the Grinchy attitude, you lose your driving privileges."

 "Waterfront Bistro?" She suggested while grabbing the keys, "Seafood sounds nice."

The offspring, Milo, 24, and Claire, 21, groaned in unison.

"Seafood?" Milo scoffed. "You mean those… things… that live in the ocean?"

"They're delicious, Milo," Jeannie said. "Briny, delicate..."

"Delicate? They look like they're trying to escape your plate."

J and C were already settled in the back of the 2025 Toyota RAV4. You know, the one with all the gadgets. Heated seats and steering wheel? Check. That fancy heads-up display? Check. It even has a great JBL premium sound system. I tried it with some Beastie Boys until the wife, bless her heart, smacked my hand out of the way, changed the program, and started humming along to some Christmas tunes that were probably written by a guy who never had to deal with the existential dread of choosing a restaurant on Christmas Day.

We pulled into the Oxford Suites parking lot. The Waterfront Bistro, all decked out with those little Christmas lights, looked like a postcard. Then we saw the sign: "Two-hour wait."

"Two hours?" I groaned. "I could watch an entire season of 'The Office' in two hours."

Back in the car, the silence was deafening. Only the gentle hum of the hybrid engine broke the tension. I cranked up the AC, the dual-zone climate control a godsend in this stuffy cabin.

"Maybe the 19th Hole?" Jeannie suggested. "Sports bar, Christmas Day… could be interesting."

"Dad, no," Claire groaned. "Imagine being surrounded by screaming sports fans while trying to enjoy a lukewarm Christmas ham."

"Hey," Milo said, "At least there'd be wings."

The 19th Hole actually looked kind of fun. Festive decorations, the smell of good food wafting in the air... but the place was absolutely packed. It looked like the mailroom scene out of 'Elf' and was a little too charming for our snarky family. We decided that a more intimate setting would perhaps be better suited for Christmas dinner. 

"Okay, fine," Claire conceded, "how about that new Vietnamese place? New Leaf Pho? It's supposed to be amazing."

"Pho?" Milo scoffed. "On Christmas? You want me to eat soup on Christmas? I want a feast, not a bowl of warm sadness."

"It's delicious, Milo," Jeannie said. "Warm, comforting..."

"Comforting? I want something that screams 'Christmas,' not 'Tuesday night leftovers.'"

New Leaf Pho, sadly for us, was packed. We circled the block, the premium sound system blasting some Christmas tunes, none of which were "The Little Drummer Boy."

"Maynard's?" Jeannie suggested.

"Booked," I said. "Yacht Club Broiler?"

"Probably smells more like fish than Christmas," Claire muttered.

My brother-in-law, Mark, who'd been remarkably quiet, then piped up. "What about the Kloomachin Kitchen at the Point Casino?"

"The casino?" I exclaimed. "Genius! Gambling and gourmet? Sounds like a Christmas miracle."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Uncle Jim, you're not seriously considering the casino."

"Why not? It'll be festive. Maybe even some live music. And I hear they have desserts that will make a grown man weep."

Claire sighed. "Fine. But if I lose my Christmas bonus at the slots, I'm blaming you."

The Kloomachin Kitchen was elegant and the food, thankfully, was excellent. Even Claire, the self-proclaimed culinary critic, had to admit the seafood was… edible. Milo, predictably, inhaled his steak like he hadn't eaten in a week.

As we finished our meals, a live band struck up a rendition of "Silent Night." A hush fell over the restaurant, and for a moment, the cacophony of the casino floor seemed to fade away.

"You know," Jeannie said softly, "this might actually be the best Christmas dinner we've ever had."

I looked around at my family, at Brendan and Emily, now adults, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the Christmas lights. "You know," I said, "you're right. It's not about the food, or the place, or even the presents. It's about being together."

Emily smiled. "Yeah, even if we did have to endure Dad's terrible Christmas carols all the way here."

Brendan chuckled. "And Mom's endless complaining about the traffic."

We all laughed, the tension of the past few hours melting away.

"Here's to family," I raised my glass of eggnog. "And to making new Christmas traditions."

"To family," they echoed, clinking glasses.

This holiday joy, along with a bit of distracting flattery, helped me swipe the keys back from Jeannie. As we left the casino, I leaned back in the comfortable driver's seat, the heated seats doing their magic. "You know," I said, "this whole Christmas dinner ordeal was a lot less stressful thanks to this fancy car."

Jeannie smiled. "You're just saying that because you’ve got your driving privileges back."

"Hey," I retorted, "a man has needs..."

We drove home with Christmas carols booming and the panoramic sunroof gifting us glimpses of residential holiday displays. Between the chaos, stress, and utter ridiculousness of our annual journey, we always find our family Christmas magic. 

Merry Christmas, everyone. May your eggnog be spiked and your car be equipped with a really good sound system.

Categories: Social