5 Birth Months Who Always Know the Best Place to Eat

“I know a place.” Four words that can rescue an evening after six people have spent forty minutes insisting they can eat anywhere. Someone finally names a restaurant, everyone puts their phone away, and dinner becomes a real possibility. Here’s a birth-month roll call of the friends you trust with that decision. These five have earned a little authority over where the car is going.

May

May, you can remember a meal with the accuracy other people reserve for their wedding day. The potatoes had those crisp, craggy edges. The bread arrived warm enough to melt the butter. There was a lemon dessert that briefly made you stop participating in the conversation. Ask where to eat and you can summon all of this, right down to which dish someone else ordered and immediately regretted not sharing. Your recommendations come from a very personal archive of pleasure. You will happily cross town for the right bowl of pasta, and when you take a friend along, you watch their first bite with ridiculous anticipation. There it is. The little pause. Now they understand why you insisted.

June

You went out for coffee and came home knowing where the barista takes her mother for lunch. June, this happens to you constantly. A conversation about somebody’s weekend becomes a tip about a bakery; a compliment on a coworker’s lunch produces an address and very firm instructions about the sauce. You remember who recommended what, ask questions, and eventually try it yourself. By the time your friends want dinner, half the neighborhood has contributed to your answer. Sometimes the recommendation comes with a name: “Ask for Rosa. Tell her I finally brought people.”

September

The beautiful restaurant has three entrées, all expensive, and your friend has already mentioned that money is tight. September, you’ve spotted the problem before anyone has booked a table. Your talent for choosing where to eat includes remembering who is actually coming. You know the place with excellent noodles and enough choices for the vegetarian, the friend who wants something mild, and the person who considers chili oil a beverage. You’ve eaten there, checked the menu again, and made sure everyone can order a proper dinner at a price they feel good about. Once you’re seated, you have a lengthy opinion about the dumplings. Your friends get to argue over which ones to share instead of quietly worrying about the bill.

October

“What kind of evening are we having?” October, you need this information before you offer a name. A loud, glorious birthday dinner calls for somewhere with big platters and room for another chair. Catching up with a friend you haven’t seen in months calls for a table where you can hear the answer to “How have you been?” You collect places partly by how it feels to spend time in them.

And you have standards for the food. The candlelit spot makes a mushroom tart you still think about; the bustling place brings out a sizzling pan that interrupts even your most talkative friend. You can put someone in the mood for dinner just by describing where you’re taking them.

December

Your friends have stopped asking how you found it, December. The answer usually involves a wrong turn, an extra hour, or deciding to see what was around the next corner. Curiosity has fed you remarkably well. You’ll walk into a place you’ve never heard of, ask what the person behind the counter loves most, and order something you hadn’t planned to try. Occasionally, lunch is merely lunch. Then there are the discoveries that have you sending a photo before you’ve finished chewing. Three weeks later, you’re bringing a friend down the same street, slowing at every doorway because you recognize the blue tiles but have completely forgotten the name.