Columbus, 10 years later

Moses bedding down

A decade later, the navigation skill fades. This degradation cannot halt – I spent too much time away, and the switch in one-way streets, new construction, torn-up roads and throbbing festivals led to more diversions than I expected. Trees at one apartment loom large. Owners of another tore out several old trees, including one where a red-tailed hawk once eyed Percy behind the glass.

For the first time, Nancy and I drove into Columbus to visit the nation’s 14th largest city. As long as I lived there, Columbus ranked as 15th biggest. In the latest census estimates, Columbus moved past Indianapolis to become the Midwest’s second-largest city (catching up to Chicago might require a few centuries). The size of Columbus surprises too many people. It lacks the big name of Cleveland or Cincinnati, although the combined population of those two better-known cities does not equal that of Columbus.

Columbus was a hard place to quit. As the first post-college town, Columbus grew into home, part of my fabric every bit as much as Cleveland and Erie. We live in Nashville, but I will never consider Nashville home. My old friend Ben resides in the Northwest Columbus, a region where many houses have Columbus addresses and suburban ZIP codes. It’s a good base for a Columbus trip, and Ben is always a gracious host – he even calls his spare bedroom “Melville’s Room.” How can we not stay?

Early-morning sandwiches wore off by the time we passed Cincinnati. Less than a mile from Ben’s house sat Café Istanbul, a local chain of Turkish restaurants. The Riverside Drive location boasted impressive views of the Griggs Reservoir on the Scioto River, several boats passing as we worked through a late lunch. Nancy had okra stew with lamb, while I picked my Turkish stand-by, Iskender kabob.

For a few hours we sat on the Bexley porch of our old friends the Braithwaites. As their elder son painted on the sidewalk, we talked and their four-month-old alternated between their laps, his wide blue eyes taking in everything this new world offered. Outside Bexley, the Asian Festival sent flocks of people to Franklin Park. The beer tasting was inevitable. Ben and I accumulate local beers for each other, then share when we can. I threw in a few Tennessee options, including a Bearded Iris pale ale guaranteed to convert any newcomers.

For dinner, we went pure Columbus. Ben ordered Tommy’s Pizza, a local institution entirely worth the wait. A thin crust pepperoni, mushroom and green pepper pizza satisfied every taste bud. The peppers were crunchy and the thin crust didn’t have a soggy inch.

If Nancy and I have a Columbus tradition, it revolves around Mozart’s, the Austrian bakery and café in my old neighborhood, Clintonville. Although we missed our usual Mozart’s companions Katy and Nick on vacation New York City, we could not skip Mozart’s.

Like clockwork, owner Anand Saha emerged to greet us. Anand and I had kept in touch across my decade away from Columbus, and he was still responsible for one of my unexpected moments as my departure neared. When I last dined at Mozart’s as a Columbus resident, I told Anand I was moving. He asked me to stay where I was, and came back with a gift pack of Mozart’s mugs and CDs. The moment was unexpected and sobering, a little validation that sometimes as a reporter, I might have levied more impact than what I credited myself.

We talked with Anand for a little while, catching up before our server deliver bountiful plates of food. Nancy had a smoked turkey quiche and toast with homemade raspberry jam. At first, I thought a coffee and pastry would sustain me, but I always caved when presented with the Mozart’s menu. I picked a chicken schnitzel sandwich, the lightly breaded cutlet among the best friend sandwiches I ever tasted. After a while, I shed the bread and just devoured the cutlet with its delectable sauce.

The best part about visiting Mozart’s is not saving room for dessert, because then you can bring dessert home. Nancy picked out desserts for us and her family, who have tasted its bakery delights and know what treats its produces. At least for the extended family, Mozart’s has placed Columbus on the map.

We had another laidback afternoon planned. Planning was not my strong suit on this Columbus visit but Columbus doesn’t require reservations. In Central Ohio, you can find your way by winging it. Every corner of Columbus has a restaurant where you haven’t eaten, a store you haven’t explored. But mention of stopping to visit Ben’s parents gave us an alternative. I hadn’t seen Ben’s parents in many years. But they were game for a visit and so were we. Nancy and I stopped at Giant Eagle and Nancy put together a quick flower arrangement for Ben’s mom. It was well-received.

As we talked, the Indians avenged several days of weak offense with 10 runs and a one-run complete game for pitcher Josh Tomlin. Apparently in 2017, the Indians can only deliver blowouts when I watch, although results when I don’t are rather dicey.

We also spent some quality time with Moses, Ben’s fluffy orange, 18-year-old cat. He might not have moved fast, but he never argued with petting and scratches. His voice was hoarse, but his desire for rubs led him to follow us from room to room. Moses wanted people around him. Ben told us Moses always walks him out when he leaves. Moses didn’t disappoint. As we headed out, he kneaded the mulch around the bushes, finding a shady spot for a nap.

After our time in Hilliard we took a brief sojourn to Seventh Son Brewing. The taproom had wide patios with umbrella-topped tables and a small interior with open garage doors. It was loud and chaotic, a far cry from the three esteemed breweries Columbus boasted when I left (Elevator, Columbus Brewing and Barley’s). The beer was quite tasty, but I felt out of place here. Afterward Ben and I sat on the porch, sampling a few more Ohio brews.

Tennessee just hasn’t reached this level yet, so it’s nice to taste the diversity. Among others, the city now boasts Seventh Son, Hoof-Hearted, Wolf’s Ridge, North High, Land-Grant, Actual –I have visited several iterations of the Knotty Pine in Grandview Heights, and now it pours house-made brews (we didn’t get there, but there’s always next time). For all those brews, Ben still saves other Midwest delicacies, especially those from Great Lakes Brewing, Athens-based Jackie O’s and Michigan-based Short’s brewing, which finally moved outside its home state in 2016.

We sampled a few on his porch as the day waned, the new Fleet Foxes album soundtracking our reminiscence about journalism and wondering about those who persevered in the field.

At Giant Eagle, I bought the most Cleveland order ever – a bottle of Bertman’s mustard and a Cavaliers Conference Champions T-shirt. I must have the Northeast Ohio staple in our pantry, and my bottle in the fridge was running low.

With the shirt, I figured it best not to take anything for granted. The Cavs are serious underdogs in these Finals, but I didn’t care. As long as they fielded Lebron James and a championship-level team, I have to remind myself that Cleveland fans live in a golden age. That age will end, but it’s better to revel in these times while we can. Maybe Kyrie Irving can evolve into the leader as age impacts Lebron. But for now, we Cleveland fans need to go with the moment no matter how the NBA finals pan out. As a surly teenager, I didn’t appreciate the overachieving Cavs of the late 1980s and early 1990s. Now I know that sports success is fleeting. One championship never guarantees another, nor does it even guarantee a watchable team (see Cavs, 2010-2014).

Over dinner we listened to a few vinyl version of classics from our youths, such as Alice in Chains’ SAP EP and REM’s Automatic for the People. While Nancy rested, Ben and I tried the Mikkeller-Lindemans collaboration beer SpontanBasil, a old gueuze sour dry hopped with basil. It was unlike any sour or really any other beer either of us tasted, its mellow sour character transformed by a broad range of herbal notes - not just basil, but mint, lemongrass, fennel and lavender. Few beers are worth $25 but SpontanBasil destroyed expectations.

On the holiday morning Columbus presented itself softly, the sunlight creeping up gently, a serenade of birdsong that never grew too intrusive. Humidity of the previous days slackened considerably, and brightened the day immediately. We skipped back to Clintonville to the North Star Café, which I had not visited since January 2008.

After filling breakfast and freshly squeezed juice, the time to head south arrived. So what if ten years slipped by? Columbus still bears a comforting familiarity. I might know fewer people and where fewer streets spill out, but I know enough, and never feel like one of those travel writers surprised at Columbus’ diversity and big-city charms. I know its depth, even if my knowledge has dulled around the edges. The surprises are pleasant and never unexpected.