By Anne M. Haule

One Saturday morning I arrived early at Alexis’ Greek Café on Fifth Avenue in Hillcrest. Even though it doesn’t officially open until 11 a.m., Jorge, the proprietor, welcomed me in. A slim, nice-looking man with great dark hair and eyes, he handed me the menu as he wiped off the dozen or so white tables in preparation for the lunch crowd.

As I perused the plastic-covered menu with three columns of choices — including both Greek and American — I watched Jorge, clad in his long white apron, crisp white shirt and black slacks, continue to spray and wipe the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered his patrons one of the best people-watching views in Hillcrest.

I am originally from Chicago, where many downtown city diners are owned and operated by Greeks, and where Greek Town on Halsted Street is a local and even national attraction. So my nostalgia led me to become a bit of a regular at Alexis. Typically I order a Greek salad, pita, falafel and a glass of $2.50 wine. Usually I come alone and listen to the classical music playing in the background and let my mind fantasize about the sun-filled Greek islands displayed in photos on the walls or ponder the lives of people passing by.

Without regard to the season (each being very subtle in San Diego) many of the pedestrians wear sandals, jeans, T-shirts and flat-brimmed ball caps some worn forward and some worn backward. Most are engaged with their smartphones. There are young couples holding hands and laughing and there are just everyday folks in unremarkable garb coming and going at the corner bus stop.

As I sat there musing, I wondered if Nora, an older petite woman with bright blue eyes, clear skin and thick white hair, would show up today.

It wasn’t long after Jorge pulled the cord lighting up the “open” sign that Nora daintily entered the cafe with the help of her wood cane. She was wearing her signature beige cotton hat and a bright green sweater over an orange shirt with disc earrings picking up both vibrant colors. She headed directly to her “reserved” seat next to the cash register.

I first met Nora over a year ago when we were the only two people in the café — each having an early lunch a few tables apart. I had smiled at her and said hello. She had smiled back and told me she couldn’t hear well, so I needed to speak up for my voice to carry across the tables that separated us. I learned that she was a retired teacher living nearby and that her memory was fading and I should not be insulted it she forgot my name.

Over time, I observed that Nora and Jorge had their own ritual. He would greet her by name with a welcoming smile and ask her if she was hungry. She would say either “very” or “somewhat.” She would next take her usual seat and he would bring her a diet cola with a straw. Today was no exception.

“Hello Nora, are you hungry . . . what would you like today?”

"Soy muy hungry today . . . but I never know what you have . . . so please decide for me.”

“Let me see what I can put together for you today.”

Before long, Jorge brought her a half of a toasted ham, cheese and tomato sandwich cut in half.

While she began to eat, Jorge had a little time between customers and began to fill me in on his friend. He recalled that she had been coming to his café for over 15 years — usually twice a day for an early lunch at 11 a.m. and an early dinner between 3:30 and 4 p.m.

He told me that Nora is always very friendly and enjoys talking with others while eating her meals. Frequently he will ask a regular customer dining alone to join Nora at her table so that she can enjoy the company.

Luckily, she likes a lot of different kinds of food, so he changes up her menu with an eye to nutrition and mostly finger-food for her ease in eating. He told me she used to have a glass of wine with her meal but switched to soda about a year ago when she began using the cane.

He smiles as he describes Nora as a happy person with a love for life. He explains that over the years her eyesight, hearing and memory have all declined but that these deficits do not deter her mobility and spirit.

He told me about her annual birthday parties at the café every July 23 when a dozen or so of her friends celebrate with food, wine and music. At her most recent party, she turned 93, he said.

When I asked about him, Jorge told me that he’s from Mexico and has been at the café for over 20 years where he learned Greek cooking from his former boss who was from Greece. He was proud to tell me that the café has been operating for 23 years and has mainly regular customers.

After Nora finished half of her half sandwich, Jorge took the other half and boxed it up for her telling me that she no longer eats very much at a sitting.

Finished with her meal, Nora was happy to answer my questions – although warning me that she is now “an ancient” and she often forgets in mid-sentence.

With a beautiful sparkling smile, she reminisced about her teaching days telling me how much she loved her students. She told me she was from Canada and of Irish heritage. And that she is particularly fond of her middle name – Valentine.

When asked about family, her smile fades a bit as she tells me how much she and her husband had wanted children but were unable to do so. She told me her husband had died and apologized for forgetting his name.

Her smile reappears when she speaks of her friend, Jorge, telling me he is a “a splendid man, a good man and a true friend” and that his café is “her second home.”

Pretending to be busy wiping a nearby table, I glanced in Jorge’s direction and just in time to see him smile the loving smile of a true friend – and I ponder the unlikely and enduring friendship that blossomed over time in a very special café in Hillcrest.

—Anne Haule is a writer from Hillcrest who can be reached at annehaule@ymail.com.