My Birthday, January 2, 1999, by Lucas Robinson

From MemoryArchive

Who: Lucas Robinson
What: Birthday celebration
When: January 2, 1999
Where: Toronto, Ontario

Days before Mel Lastman assaulted the ego of Torontonians and called in the Army to help remove snow from our sidewalks[1] [2] [3], I celebrated my 21st birthday. In Canada, or at least in Ontario, turning 21 is really just another peg in the board; the ability to get drunk legally happens two years earlier, driving two years before that, and insurance premiums don’t change for at least another four years. My 21st birthday, however, turned out to be something quite special.

At 6pm that night, I started my regular Saturday night shift at the Queen Mother Café – a rather famous culinary landmark in the city. The snow had started, and the forecasters predicted it wouldn’t stop for days. (This time “they” were right…) The restaurant was deadly quiet, and as the “host” I was finished working minutes after I clocked in. The Chef that night, Scott, said, “It’s your birthday. I will make you anything you want.” Anything? “Anything.” 40 minutes later, I was dining on an enormous tuna steak, rare, with a perfectly spicy wasabi sauce, and a perfectly moist sweet potato. The baby greens were garnished with avocado, roasted nuts, and a wonderfully tangy vinaigrette. I will never – ever – forget the explosion of taste when I sipped on the glass of red wine that was poured for me as I sat at the bar.

The day after the day after New Year’s Eve is rarely a wild party. Most people are still nursing a hangover. But when several friends arrived to finish off that bottle of red, and perhaps a few more, things at the Queen Mom were suddenly bustling.

We left around midnight – long after the last paying customer – and began wandering into the city’s Club District. The streets – now covered in half a foot of snow – were desolate. Still, more than one club bouncer insisted on $10 covers... “Uh, we’re the only customers your bartender is going to serve all night – and we’re going to be drinking all night!” No dice. So I’m not ashamed to say that a few snowballs were thrown once we were a safe distance away.

Finally, covered in snow, we arrived at another fail-safe Toronto institution: "the Peel Pub". Arguably the downtown equivalent of Bloor Street’s “Brunswick House” (or Madison Ave’s “Madison Avenue”.), this is Toronto at both its best and worst. Or perhaps just its most honest. Remarkably, others in the city had also found their way to King Street that night, and the Peel Pub – as it had so many times before! – rose to the occasion.

More than one original dance move was invented on the beer-and-slush-covered dance floors that night. Special thanks of course to Tone-Loc for his 1989 classic “Wild Thing”, which continues to ring in my ear, now over seven years later (don’t worry, you didn’t miss it: I’m sure this still makes for regular listening at the Peel Pub).

The ordinarily short walk back to Beatrice Street took more than two hours – stopping often to help the brave (or silly) Taxi drivers along Spadina Avenue who, with bald “All Season Radials”, were sliding in all directions.

Happy Birthday to me. Thanks Toronto.