The Return of the Nymphs: In Praise of a Little Inconvenience

By Yvonne Vávra

Electric blankets could be the end of us. They can lull us away from reality and make us forget what matters about being alive, what it means to be human. I learned that at the Café des Artistes at 1 West 67th Street. Or rather, in a version of the Café des Artistes recreated as the set for My Dinner with Andre, which was released almost exactly 45 years ago, on October 11th, 1981. One of my favorite movies.

“Wally, don’t you see that comfort can be dangerous? I mean, you like to be comfortable and I like to be comfortable too, but comfort can lull you into a dangerous tranquility,” Andre says, talking about the refuge an electric blanket offers from the hard edges of New York life. Wrapped in its warmth, how do we know it’s cold? All sorts of things might occur to someone who is cold. But when we’re seeking comfort and pleasure, trying to smooth away every friction, we risk falling asleep to life.

I can’t wait to contemplate all of that sitting by the nymphs painted on the walls of the new Café des Artistes, which is set to open early next year. The restaurateurs behind it have promised to revive the lavish glamour of the original, which was a favorite haunt of New York’s bohemia from 1917 to 2009. Meanwhile, I’m wondering what Andre would think of our 2026 levels of comfort. If he worried that modern life in 1981 was insulating people from the real world, what would he make of us now?

We can have almost anything delivered. We can regulate the temperature exactly to our liking, eliminate boredom, avoid waiting, get around without getting lost, eat without having to cook, and communicate without having to speak to anyone. Technology tells us what to do, where to go, what to watch, what to read, and even how to respond to a message from someone—or, increasingly, to a message from someone’s technology.

And yet, Upper West Siders still deliberately seek out inconvenience. We just have great places that reward us handsomely for it.

Without the help of search engines or algorithms, we browse the shelves at Book Culture on 112th Street for a book we never find. But we go home with the one we actually need.

At Zabar’s, we patiently wait behind three undecided Upper West Siders as they deliberate over which brisket to pick. We go to supermarkets where they’re out of what we came for, but we’ll find other things worth standing in long lines for.

We walk for blocks and blocks because this place is so beautiful it would be madness not to.

We put up with the grumpy waitress at the diner and surrender to the restaurant’s rhythm, letting them decide when we order, when we eat, and when we’re finally allowed to go home.

We don’t give a flip that Spotify could instantly offer us an endless stream of exactly what our ears desire. Instead we go to Westsider Records on 72nd Street to thumb through records, enjoy the smell of cardboard, and lose track of time looking at cover art. There’s Paula Abdul, and there’s a crate of Händel scores. We hunt for treasures and trade notes about B-sides with Bruce behind the counter. But then he’s busy because a woman has come in looking for a CD of The Nutcracker and asking where she should start her search. And together, they disappear between the boxes.

Life could be easier. But would it feel as alive?

What touches me most about My Dinner with Andre is the way the two men connect at the Café des Artistes. They’re clearly finding delight in their conversation. Even when Wally and Andre disagree—and they do, a lot—they listen to each other with interest. They seem to enjoy discovering the other’s point of view, no matter how strange or misguided they may find it. They’re getting something out of this: a challenge, new perspectives, laughter, and company. Someone to talk to and be fully present with.

That last one might be one of the things we’re becoming less and less comfortable with, right? Real conversation asks a lot of us. You have to listen. You can’t scroll away, edit yourself, or disappear for hours and come back when you’re ready. You don’t get to curate the experience but have to stay for whatever happens.

Soon, we’ll have a Café des Artistes back in the neighborhood, a perfect place to practice just that and become each other’s electric blankets to soften the hard edges of New York life.

Also, there’ll be nymphs on the wall.

Yvonne Vávra is a magazine writer and author of the German book 111 Gründe New York zu lieben (111 Reasons to Love New York). Born a Berliner but an aspiring Upper West Sider since the 1990s (thanks, Nora Ephron), she came to New York in 2010 and seven years later made her Upper West Side dreams come true. She’s been obsessively walking the neighborhood ever since.

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