Durf’s

Durf’s, a local institution in Fairport, New York, since 1986, was one of several of our “Big Chill” weekend hangouts for me and my high school class of 1958 buddies and their lovelies. Sporting our Lake Ontario hats in support of the locals who want to preserve the historic name, the seven of us planned our brief catch-up time together over the weekend around eating out at our past hangouts. Durf’s homemade jams and whole wheat bread, the best corned beef hash-all our favorites were there. The menu was largely unchanged, except for the prices. I was happy to see that Durf’s was one of several still-surviving gathering spots, some going back to our teenage glory days: Caruso’s on Main Street, Ponti’s Pizza on Lake Avenue, Dons Original at Sea Breeze, and Spring House on Monroe Avenue--all still in place and serving great food to yet another generation.

Despite the good cheer, our time together chatting, reminiscing about the past—the good and the sad—settled us all into a mood of contemplation. How fortunate this small group of 80-plus-year-olds still had the good health to travel and meet up, yet again. Usually, we gathered at my camp in the summer. This time we decided on Rochester, our hometown, at a rental farmhouse with an oversized fireplace and ample overstuffed sofas and chairs to ensure our comfort.

First up in the morning, we prepared coffee in a vintage Mr. Coffee machine. The conversation around the well-worn dining room table began with the day’s weather report due to a threatened Northeastern storm, which was on everyone’s mind. For those of us who flew in, the concern about delayed or canceled return flights was paramount, although what would be so bad about a few more days in the house? The locals among us were comfortable with whatever.

Once the weather patrol settled down, we planned our day. Lunch and dinner with a few hours to visit the Zoo at Seneca Park, a boat ride on the Erie Canal, and, of course, the George Eastman Museum. All the special events we did as youngsters. Goodbyes were hard hugs and the guys kissing on the cheek. Catch-up on our home turf was different than visiting at camp in Maine. Rochester was the water we all drank and the air that filled our lungs each day during our formative years, and it felt good to be back in it. Though Don’s Original quarter pounder didn’t go down quite as easily as it once did (especially with the hot sauce, ketchup, mustard, and relish), it was a restorative return home.