Sixteen years is a long time to be married. Consecutively, that is. It is definitely something worth celebrating; something to make a big deal about. In 1999 when we hit the ten year mark, we started to make a fairly big deal about our anniversary.

Staying at the Paramount Hotel on West 46th Street became our annual ritual.

The first five years at the Paramount were fine. But last year, they told us there were no rooms left (even though we had a reservation) and then proceeded to give us what must’ve been the tiniest room in a hotel full of tiny Phillipe Starck designed rooms. And the crisp white design – white everything except for the gilt-framed artistic headboard – wasn’t so crisp and white anymore. There were cigarette burns on the white carpet and a soft patina of gray everywhere else.

And, to make matters worse, a clock radio went off FULL BLAST in the room next door at 4:30 a.m. Hotel security came upstairs immediately and knocked vigorously on the door until the guest turned it off.

So it wasn’t exactly the perfect night away from the kids that we always fantasize about.

This year we decided to be low key, even blase. Why make such a big deal about it anyway? It’s only 16 years. Plus making a big tadoo arouses expectations and sets you up for disappointment. This year, our pproach was: take it easy, take it slow. Wish each other a Happy Anniversary and have a nice dinner in Brooklyn.

And that’s exactly what we did. At Brooklyn Fish Camp on Fifth Avenue at Warren Street, the chilled bottle of reasonably priced white wine from Australia was all we needed to enjoy the sultry summer night sitting in the restaurant’s large, lovely backyard. We reminisced about our wedding 16 years ago, remembering what we were doing when.

And both of us agreed that this new addition to the Fifth Avenue restaurant scene had the feel of a lobster restaurant in Welfleet, or some other Cape Cod town. We felt like we were close to the ocean, not Fifth Avenue. 

Even though the service was unbelievably slow – the kitchen was extremely backed up during the rush hour of Saturday night dinner – the food was excellent and the wait staff was friendly, attentive, and full of guilt about how long it was taking for the food to come out. Our waitress, April, kept giving us progress reports and assurances us that the food was on the way.

And we didn’t get antsy or annoyed. First off, we were just glad to be out without the kids, away from our apartment. Alone. That in and of itself is special.

And the restaurant’s shortcomings felt appropriate somehow. It was real life, not the fantasy of "the big night out where everything is perfect." Kind of like marriage: full of minor inconveniences and annoyances. It isn’t easy, it isn’t always fun, and sometimes it’s downright frustrating.

Nothing a nice bottle of chilled white wine from Australia can’t fix. That’s just the way it is.