Deux Amis

Two friends. Generally, that is the reservation I make at the French cafe in my neighborhood, regardless if I am heading there for brunch or dinner. A small, warm bistro snuggled in the East 50's, Deux Amis has served as the meeting place for two - usually, myself and one female friend or another, but the name is a misnomer, because you leave the bistro with a family of many.



The owner, Bucky, is Armenian, completely adverse to technology, but equally as completely and gloriously charming. He greets his guests with a warm hug or kiss on the cheek (pretty girls are privy to a scruffy but rapturous kiss on the lips) Of course, the food and wine will always impress, but it is the bistro's staff and patrons that distinguish it in a cut-throat city where one negative review sinks an establishment. The exotic and lovely waitstaff transport you to the transatlantic, to the point you envision yourself in Paris, Lebanon, or somewhere magical and otherworldly.

I have had rich Salmon served on garlic mashed potatoes, succulent mussels served in a white wine/garlic sauce, and many an omelette with pomme frittes. To say I have never been disappointed would demean the entire experience. The food, as amazing as it is, feels more a part of the comforting atmosphere than its star.

Deux Amis, a restaurant I've brought friends, colleagues, and lovers to, a place I've attended as one of a pair, but left with a fist full of business cards, numbers, and even more memories. A favorite memory formed on a night when I was to take a 5 am flight from LaGuardia and decided staying up all night was the best idea to address the early departure. I schlepped a beaten pink suitcase to Deux Amis, where the owner and his staff barely blinked at the obvious gaucheness of my arrival/accompanying accessories. Instead, wine was sent over, many joined our table, and when a very famous chef showed up on a double date (a surprise, like BAM!!) and I complemented the celebrity chef's tie in passing, he said "thank you" sweetly and greeted Bucky with a kiss on the cheek.

Bucky recently showed off a lime-green sports car purchase to me, dimpled grin in full effect. His raven-haired sister, who works commitedly to the establishment, smiled on in pride, an example of the lovely women of fairy tales who put the ambitions of others before their own desires. Perhaps it is a husband, or a family, maybe both she dreams of, but her love of family roots her in the bistro, continuously obliged to others and their desires, offering her happiness as an amous bouche, a one bite appetizer to patrons in homage of the love and commitment to the family she has. I find myself longing for her, wanting children, a husband to kiss on the cheek as I pour him a cognac, a kitchen of my own to create a new couscous.

One night, a homeless man wandered up to the bistro, loudly and desperately begging for money, food, both. He screamed, "My name is Thomas, I have not eaten all day long. Please, please, I need to eat. I'm black, but I'm not a drunk. I don't do drugs. I just need to eat." Thomas had only a small, ripped black plastic bag from a bodega to his name. Amidst the stillness of 51st and quiet hum of conversation at the bistro, the yelling stunned everyone. Most restaurant owners in the city would have called the police. (The fact of the matter is homelessness and pandering is a sad truth of New York. Many homeless are mentally ill, many are addicted to drugs and/or alcohol, and all are desperate and heartbreaking stories. The city moves forward, and quickly so, regardless, and the sad truth is that most New Yorkers are desensitized to, even annoyed at times by pandering.) On the other hand, Bucky quickly and quietly went to the back office, retrieved money for the fellow, and Thomas, stunned, embraced Bucky as though he was his long lost brother.

These people are part of my urban family, and I love them dearly. In fact, everyone I have met at Deux Amis has become a fast friend and loyal companion. The mysteries of the small Mediterranean bistro continue to unravel, in a compelling urban tale, that may, one day, evolve to legend. I want to see Bucky kiss a bride in wedded bliss, his sister holding the children I hope she has and quieting them during the ceremony, and the staff of Deux Amis pour champagne freely in light of these celebrations. I want perpetual happiness for these people I love, rather than ephemeral moments of joy that the city of New York passes out as freely as ads for faux sample sales.

From a restaurant named after two friends, I've gained three consulting opportunities, ten new friends, and a vault of memories that make me smile warmly even as the chill of autumn falls upon us. In a city of millions, where oxymornically loneliness prevails, finding warmth and connections in New York remains a critical survival tactic. Beyond this, and the fact that a lovely meal never goes unappreciated by New Yorkers, Deux Amis stands firmly planted, as unwavering as a holiday dinner with your extended family planned months in advance, where the good food is a given, but the impressive company is what makes the experience exactly that. Two friends...clearly a misnomer.