I’m in the habit of writing down memories whenever they present themselves.

Today, I woke up recollecting a lunch with Jay Nordlinger and Vahaken Mouradian at Junior’s Restaurant off Times Square . . . it was the fall of 2022. V and I were in town for an editorial meeting, and having just returned to the office after lunch with the other junior staff, we discovered Jay coming out of his office. He looked around at us young’uns and said, “Anyone in the mood for lunch?” Others begged off, having just eaten, but V and I figured we could happily eat to shame Kobayashi if it meant exclusive time with a writer and thinker we’d both admired for years. Jay led the way, moving through the crowded streets in the easy, fluid way that longtime New Yorkers do. V and I did our best to keep up while plying Jay with questions about his move from Michigan to New York, his time with Buckley, and all those other niche questions that fans of our publication have long wondered.

Once we were seated on Junior’s patio, it was Jay’s turn to ask the questions. For those who have never had the pleasure, Jay is one of the most distinctive interlocutors you’ll ever meet. For one, no question is a throwaway . . . he wants to know. Whether that question is about Sheboygan’s beaches or Vahaken’s native Cyprus and its politics, Jay’s ice-chip blue eyes set behind a seemingly permanent inquisitive squint communicate how much he seemingly cares about what’s coming out of one’s mouth. I imagine it can be unsettling for some; V and I found it flattering beyond belief to have the Nordlinger Inquisition care what we had to say, absorbing our backgrounds and opinions and then, in an unhurried, azygous cadence, asking follow-ups that had us racking our brains for anything brilliant enough to match the question’s quality.

The three of us sat on that patio for a good couple of hours. Burgers arrived, then some cheesecake, if I recall correctly. It didn’t really matter what fare was put in front of us. The conversation was rich enough to warrant an FDA nutrition label all its own. Upon our return to NR’s floor, Jay wished us well and took to his office to write up his latest column. He was still in there when I left later that night, his eyes fastened on some concept or world altercation of which we’d learn its import when he published the next day.

Now, I’ve been writing a bit floridly, so let it be said that Jay is an imperfect man — he’s a Michigan fan, you see — but a fellow can’t be held responsible for the place of his birth.

Jay is an open-handed man, both toward his inferiors and the oppressed peoples of the world. I look forward to his future work and its compassionate defiance regarding all manner of despotism.

Heippa!