Writing about New York’s late, lamented Balkan Armenian Restaurant, HG recalled a disastrous breach of manners he perpetrated at this resolutely Armenian eatery. At the conclusion of a delightful meal, HG was approached by the restaurant’s very genial and welcoming proprietor, Ed Berberian. “Would you like something else?,” he said.
HG thought about the BA’s thick, sweet, comforting coffee brewed in a little copper pot. “Yes, some Turkish coffee, please.”
The air turned frigid. Berberian’s face turned to stone. He hissed, icily: “You mean Armenian coffee.” A shamed nod and murmured apology from HG.
