Yearly growing up, my family would get all dressed up and head to ‘Wellington’s of Calgary’ for a fancy steak dinner. It was a pre-Christmas tradition: Grandad McKenzie’s treat. They would charboil their steaks in a little glass room at the centre of the dining area. The man had mutton chops and wore a chefs hat. They prepare the caesar salad tableside, mixing together all the fresh ingredients right before your eyes.
To a young Megan, this was the epitome of fine dining. I was usually the youngest person in the room, and always on my best behaviour. I was a teenager the last time we all went and after my Grandad passed away it felt like a tradition best left to memory.
2019 marks the year we decided to give ‘er a try again. I was the instigator; Nana McKenzie wanted to take everyone for the traditional pre-Christmas dinner, but we weren’t sure where. Weren’t sure?! Where else would we go?
Although it might be bittersweet without Grandad there as the central figurehead, I was excited to share this little piece of my life with my partner on the same day we would fly in from Vancouver. I told him how great all the food was, that it was this really fancy place so he had to be ready, but also how special the restaurant had been to my family and me.
Bittersweet it was, as the rose coloured glasses of my evident nostalgia had perhaps led me to over-hype this experience. The dining room was busy and the servers seemed to be scrambling around. Although they are attentive, we were waiting a long time between ordering and things coming out. Again, they were busy, but we all eventually agreed that we didn’t remember it taking so long.
I ordered what I always order, a filet mignon, medium, with a twice baked potato. My brother and I shared a bottle of wine, something I wasn’t able to partake in the last time I was here. The steak was good, as Alberta beef always is, but it wasn’t as good as I remembered. I looked over at my boyfriend, his plate already cleaned, and felt a tinge of embarrassment, wondering if he was thinking, is that all there is?
However, I was so caught up in what I wanted the place to be, that it wasn’t until I had nearly finished my meal that I appreciated what it was. While my family sat around the table, reminiscing about how Grandad used to love the escargot (but mostly the garlic butter they come in), how every time someone ordered lamb he would make the joke, “How was the lamb? Not baaaaaaaahhhhh-d?”, and how much he would love us all around the table again like this, the man with the chefs hat and mutton chops was grilling away steaks in that little glass room.
It was the same man, the same everything, and while I had been thinking about what was missing from the evening, I was missing out on what was happening. My nephew told me, with a little gleam in his eyes, how well he was doing in school and how proud his teachers are of him. Family members who haven’t seen each other in a while were gathered around, laughing about how spicy the horseradish was. While I was caught up in the memory of it, we were making a new one right then.
Maybe one day I will be nostalgic for this one.
Meganificent Writing 