ne of the great joys of my birthday each year was that I got to pick any restaurant in the city in which to go eat, and order anything on the menu I wanted. Every year, I always picked the Howard Johnson's Restaurant and ordered the all-you-can-eat clam special.
I don't know what it was about clams that excited me so much as a kid, but boy did they ever. Much like a lot of things from my childhood, it never occurred to me that I could order clams from any restaurant on any other day of the year, and so I would spend weeks each late February salivating over my upcoming seafood treat. All-you-can-eat specials, of course, is one of the smartest things you can offer a child. A kid hears those magic words and envisions an unending series of heaping plates, food coming from every direction. In reality, you've just charged an adult price for not even barely the equivalent of two kiddie plates of food.
The HoJo was swanky, I can remember thinking. We used to get all dressed up for my birthday dinner. There were cloth napkins instead of paper, and a woman actually came to the table and took your order. And each year, to my constant surprise and amazement, the kitchen staff would somehow supernaturally know that it was my birthday and out would come a complimentary dish of vanilla ice cream with a vanilla wafer stuck in the top.
The HoJo was sold in the mid-80s and the restaurant turned into a Denny's. They don't serve clams.
