Positively Fourth Avenue < The Happy Monk Baking Company

Vancouver’s Fourth Avenue used to be a rag-tag collection of funky used clothing shops, esoteric bookstores, leather sandal makers 1 and vegetarian restaurants. Higgledy-piggledy. There was a smattering of old residential homes in poor condition, built in a bygone era. In the late 1960s, when I first saw the neighbourhood, it was a hippy haven. I was barely 11 years old and wide-eyed.

Today, it’s high-end! Burger bars and pubs, sporting goods and bike shops, brand-name shoe stores, Whole Foods, a butcher and greengrocer, and a third-wave coffee shop. Some of the old record stores are still there!

Vibrant street life

On a recent visit to Vancouver, Jennifer and I drove slowly up the Fourth Avenue hill, westward from Burrard, enjoying the vibrant street life, then coasted down the quieter, more residential side towards MacDonald Street. And almost at the bottom, before Fourth flattened out again, we stopped at The Naam Restaurant.

Anyone who’s stayed in Vancouver for a time knows The Naam. This storied vegetarian eatery started in 1968 when Fourth Avenue was better known as Rainbow Road. It’s precisely the same today as it was then, a little rustic, the food’s hearty, nourishing, a little bland. It used to be open 24 hours and used to have live music.

Jennifer had the Buddha’s Feast, and I got the Loco Moco (a tofu veggie patty on a bed of brown rice and caramelized onions with Miso Gravy). For old-time’s sake, we shared an order of Sesame Fries with Miso Gravy on the side for dipping.

We sat at a table by the window, looking out onto the sidewalk. I was struck with a vivid memory of sitting at the same table nearly 40 years earlier. I was with my first wife, Anne. We were there for dinner before a concert at the Soft Rock Café, a folk/jazz club at the corner of Fourth and Cypress Street. We were going to see Ferron, a Vancouver resident and folk music star, on the rise. She’d just put out an album called Testimony.

An unabashed dreamer

It was a cool October evening, and we’d just walked down Fourth from Burrard Street. When we got inside the Naam, it was lovely. Warm, candle-lit, crowded, lively folk music playing on the sound system. Beautiful vibe! We were hungry and eager to put in our orders; there wasn’t much time to have dinner and then walk back to the Soft Rock.

Out of the window, I saw an old childhood friend, Jim, standing on the sidewalk beside a parking meter, smoking a cigarette. He wore a long raincoat, slick, almost like an oilskin. Anne suggested I go and ask him to join us, which I did.

I hesitated to do this because he had mental health issues. The last few times I’d seen him, he was a little crazy, over the top. I wasn’t sure I wanted to bring him into our night out, if only for a quick meal. As kids, Jim and I had grand plans for our lives; we would be hockey players, musicians and artists in that order. Jim was still that way, an unabashed dreamer, though he now behaved like a wild messianic poet with no boundaries.

We told Jim we were going to the Ferron show. He disapproved and told us we’d be disappointed for sure. He was trying to be a folk singer and saw Ferron as his competition. He’d been playing smaller venues around Vancouver, including the Naam. He was putting in his time at coffee houses and believed he was far more deserving of a headline show at the Soft Rock than Ferron.

Maybe I was different too

Poor Jim. And poor Anne! She was silent and told me she wasn’t impressed when he left. After we’d finished our meal (Jim ate most of my sesame fries with miso sauce), we hurried out and back down Fourth Ave. to the Soft Rock.

I kept thinking about Jim as we walked. There hadn’t been much connection between us at the Naam. He was different than in our earlier years: speedy, angry, a bit paranoid. But maybe I was different, too, I thought. I wondered when I’d see him next. Sadly, I didn’t see him again. He had a sad end to his life not long afterwards.

I knew nothing about Ferron. Me! Mr. Music Know-It-All! Someone must have told Anne we should go see her. I was reluctant because I’d never heard of her and was more interested in the post-punk music scene in Vancouver those days.

But Ferron was a revelation! She had tons of stage presence and charm, and spoke intimately with the audience with poetry and wisdom. She had a big head of hair. Her guitar playing was skillful beautiful, and her world-weary songs and stories were exhilarating. The lovers in her songs were women, though the stories about love and sadness were universal. Every time I looked at Anne, she was rocking her head back and forth, her eyes closed. I was often near tears.

Bittersweet evening

Many in the audience knew the lyrics to her songs, notably “Misty Mountain,” which was a fierce anthem about finding one’s identity with a very catchy, driving rhythm. Another song, “Ain’t Life a Brook,” was a bittersweet reflection on the end of a relationship. The melody was so beautiful it ran in and out of my mind for days afterward.

It was a bittersweet evening, and every time I hear those songs, I think of the times I walked up and down Fourth Avenue. The Soft Rock is long gone, but I could point the place to you where it used to be; I could sing you those songs and transport myself back to those young days. And then we could move on to the Naam for some proper comfort food.

The Naam, at least, is still there, though the property and business are currently for sale. The online listing strikes an ominous tone for devotees of the restaurant: “This future redevelopment property is located in beautiful Vancouver, BC,” it reads. It’s “a great investment opportunity … in one of the most sought-after neighbourhoods” in the city.

It can be had for just short of six million dollars. But really, some things are priceless.

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Vibrant street life

An unabashed dreamer

Maybe I was different too

Bittersweet evening

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