I think one of my saddest personal news that happened in 2020 was that Younes café closed down in Bliss. I felt like a little piece of me died as I read the paper saying they were “moving.” As if they could move a whole world and justify it. How could they?
You might have passed by Younes once or twice, and if you passed by the Bliss one, you are fortunate. It’s a little vintage coffee shop with wooden chairs and tables and wooden everything. It can get crowded during exams, but I was lucky enough to reserve myself the “terrace” spot for years.
Younes cafe was my favorite place on earth, the warmest. My waiter, Mohammad, used to call me “the ashtray girl” because I always asked for an ashtray. They didn’t have any ashtrays because they didn’t have a smoking zone, but for someone that uses tissues as much as I do, I needed an ashtray. So Mohammad started to get creative, getting me small plates and paper cups. On my birthday, he cut out a Younes cup and wrote “happy birthday manfada (ashtray).”
He was so welcoming and sweet. I started going less when my best friend traveled, and I promised Mohammad that if I ever came to Younes with anyone but my best friend, it would be with my crush. I broke my promise and came with others, and I would have to tell Mohammad that “no, this is not my crush; you can stop with the goofy smile and winking at me from behind the glass.” I never came to Younes with my crush, and just like my crush, Younes went away.
Nestled in a busy street near Bliss street, Younes is a vintage cafe with a wooden interior and beautiful atmosphere. I’ve had breakfast near the window on a rainy day, had my heart broken and drank my Ethiopian coffee to wash it all away, waited to see Ghassan Kanafani movie, and sought comfort after one of my very first anxiety attacks. A place like this is too hard to be forgotten and too hard to let go of.
They re-opened a few streets away, in an old yellow building, one of those famous old Beirut houses, they even took the chairs and tables and all, but it wasn’t the same. They don’t have honey mustard chicken ciabatta anymore, and the people are too modern and different, and I never saw Mohammad again.
I had so many photos of the interior, from the big dining/meeting table to the portraits to mirror selfies, but they are lost in between the endless photos and memories. I’ll leave you with a few photos that I saved from my social media accounts.
