Nostalgia Tripping With Dear Old Friends

As usual, I’m my nostalgic self, only more so, of course, on this trip to my home state and home city. J and I have seen family and friends. There’s no way for us to see everyone in the course of a week, and my sinus issues knocked out a couple of prime opportunities with some very special people in my life.

Today I got to have lunch with my old pal Jem. I met him at his office building, just north of Astor Place. It was a fitting spot; many of our youthful indiscretions occurred within a ten block radius of that location.

After the handshake/hug, Jem started listing lunch possibilities, but I had one place on the top of my list.

“Is the Yaffa Café still in business?” I asked.

His eyes curled up and he smiled that big smile of his. “I knew you were going to say that,” he said.

We made our way east on 8^th Street, all the while looking around to see what was still open from the days when we were kids. The Continental Club on 3^rd Avenue was still there, and Jem noted that it was surrounded by six ATM machines, something you couldn’t find except at one bank on the corner of First Avenue and Avenue A, back in the day.

As we reminisced, I was pleased to see the Holiday Bar was also still operating. It was – and still looks to be – a no-nonsense dive bar. My favorite kind.

Crossing First Avenue, we were both pleased to see that the Yaffa Café, a regular haunt of ours in the late 80’s and early 90’s, was, in fact, still there, still open 24 hours, and, as we entered, we saw that it was virtually unchanged. Jem had the same thing he used to have when we were young(er) – the Yaffa salad. I ordered us some hummus and pita to start with and then went for the turkey burger. This was the place where I first experienced a turkey burger, and it tasted exactly the same as I remember it tasting then.

We filled each other in on our lives – our children, our siblings, our jobs, and what we’ve been reading. The familiarity of this friend, with whom I connected so immediately on an autumn evening playing guitars in our Syracuse dormitory, came right back, with no awkwardness, no stumbling.

I grew not only nostalgic, but also a little self-pitying. In Austin, I have some budding friendships, but nothing so familiar as this. They say that you leave your family at a certain age, and that your friends become your family at that point. This is certainly true of my bond with Jem. He is like a brother to me. It’s not a fair comparison, I know. We’ve only been in Austin for three years, and that first musical (that’s being kind) meeting between me and Jem happened thirty years ago this coming September.

J and I met with more recent, but equally dear friends, for dinner tonight, when we visited the new home of our former next-door neighbors, the Savinskys. We created a strong connection during our time as new parents in the Park Vanderbilt apartments from 2002 to 2008. Our friendship was, and is, based on laughter, conversation, our children, and good meals.

Both Yan and Olga emigrated from the former Soviet Union, from Ukraine and Russia, respectively, and they always make a point to feed us a generous spread of delicacies from their homeland. Tonight, in their lovely seaside condominium, with the view of Manhattan and Brighton Beaches, was no exception. As with Jem, the chemistry of our friendship slipped right back into place. We ate, drank, and laughed, as our boys played loudly with their old friend, Misha upstairs. We were all sorry to say goodbye.

J and I believe in our Austin experiment, and we’re both willing to see it through. I think this visit is making both of us a little melancholy, though, as we are reminded of all these wonderful, beloved people we have left behind.