There’s a breed of Armenian unlike any other. A string of old friends eating out. A group of retirees with wrinkled hands and stories to tell.
They’ve got thick accents, but not the kind you would imagine. They’re from places like Hell’s Kitchen in New York and Detroit’s District 9. They’ve got names like Harry and Marty and Onnik and Leon and Malatya Avo and Nick. The only thing they love as much as being Armenian is being American. They’ve served, but they don’t have anything to say about it. There isn’t anything to say about it. Lunch with the Old Men—it goes something like this…
Thursdays. They meet in Fort Lee. One by one, they walk into my house. No one knocks—they know the door is open. And although it’s lunch, all members arrive before 10 a.m. No one calls to check if you’re coming. You’re coming unless you call. Rule number one.
“Whose turn is it to pay?” They check the list. There’s an order. The person who’s paying that week chooses where they all go to eat. Rule number two.
There’s a slow descent down the front steps and into the van. They each have something smart to say about how slow the other is moving.
“OK, it’s your week. Where do you want to eat?”
“Eh, I don’t care.”
“OK, how about [insert the name of any restaurant here]”
“No! I hate that place.”
This guessing game goes three or four rounds, to no avail. They end up at The Point Diner. The usual.
Another slow disembarkment out of the van. Looks like a clown car. A hostess greets them but they sit where they want without her showing them to a table.
“Coffees all around. Put mine in the microwave for 10 seconds—I like it piping hot.”
“A waffle well done—brown as the table even.”
A happy waitress.
“Dry rye toast. Bacon well done—really well done.”
“One club sandwich and a diet peach Snapple iced tea. No ice.”
They talk… no, they disagree. Sports. The Yankees. The Knicks. College sports, too. Golf. Lots of golf. Courses and players and club sets. Politics. This one’s an idiot. That one’s a phony.
Pills. I started taking this or that. “Doctors don’t know what they’re talking about.”
No one has anything nice to say.
Until their grandkids are brought up. They’re proud—one more than the next.
“Armen made the Dean’s List.”
“Jamie took Lucas to see Santa at the mall.”
“Knar played great at church basketball on Sunday.”
“Lucine hosted a fundraiser dance for a camp in Armenia.”
“Kyle is in a play.”
“Simone and VJ had the kids baptized.”
“Shant is the president of the AYF Juniors.”
“Arev wrote an article for The Weekly.”
Only nice things once the grandkids are brought up. Rule number 3. Not really a rule but everyone follows it.
The bill is paid. Back into the car to head home. No one wants it to end. No one would ever admit that though.
“We on for next Thursday?”
We’re always on unless someone calls.
It’s the rule.
Arev Dinkjian
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Great job Arev.They all live for Thursdays. God bless them all.♡♡
There is also the Romeo club meeting every other Thursday
at Anahid: Retired-old-men-eating organization.
Absolutely loved the article! Authentic and warm.
Thank you!
Nice story, and very well written. Thanks.
OMG !!!! You hit the nail on the head. The only thing missing was the card game at the end of the meal !!!
Thank you for a good early morning laugh !
What a nice article! Great memories. I’m glad the Ladies having been following that tradition with their monthly brunch, albeit with less grumpiness.
Arev,,,excellent twist about a group of old men with an armenian bonding as we do in detroit at various sites. And as you depicted in your tribute to the “lunch with old men” we cover the same topics. as expected former Detroiter Nick Stepanian was a member of the Fort Lee “lunch club.” My old Mourad-Zavarian AYF unger passed recently. God bless his soul and thank you Arev for honoring the Fort Lee men with a true life story.
You gotta love these guys…they are very special to alot of us! so many of us!
When can I join their group..🙂🙂🙃🙂🙃
Lovely. Reminds me of my grandfather and his group of friends who would get together daily to play cards.
Arev you made me laugh and cry in the same article. I felt like I was there. RIP Avo and Nick.
I can’t believe that there was no singing or dancing at the lunch!!!! What self respecting Armenian would not sing and dance when with friends. Incidentally, Arev, you are Gorgeous!! Loved the Article. Guess Who????
Great article. I could totally invision it.
Bless our Armenian men. Abreek
Beautiful article, Arev!
To these young men I simply say, “Anush Ullah”.
Arev—a beautifully written tribute to the Fort lee seniors who shared their Armenian heritage, especially my old AYF pal from Detroit. the late Nick Stepanian. God Bless .
How can a picture make you cry, laugh, and smile at the same time. Thank you for this great memory Arev. Bravo. Tezi Mezi Medz Avedis.
Love it!
God Bless them, I love my heritage, growing up with my aunt, grandmother
taught me a lot about Armenia, how my grandmother came to this country when she was only 16 with her brother never to see her parents again.
I’m Proud to be Armenian even though only half my mother was Welsh.
Beautiful, touching piece, dear Arev. They are a special group and it is sad when one of them leaves us. Keep up this kind of writing, Arev. Best wishes to you.