Apparently they did meet.
In the autumn of 1880 personal friends of Bruckner and Brahms, hoping to end the quarrel between the two masters, agreed to bring them together in a Viennese restaurant. Bruckner, quite amicable, had arrived early and had already had two or three portions of Nudel-soup before Brahms put in an appearance. "Stiff and cold they faced each other across the table," related one of those present. It was an uncomfortable situation and the well-meaning conspirators were highly disappointed. Finally Brahms broke the silence and called for the bill-of-fare. With a forced display of good-nature he cried out: "Now let's see what there is to eat!" He glanced along the list of courses, suddenly looked up, and ordered: "Waiter, bring me smoked ham and dumplings!" Instantly Bruckner joined in, crying, "That's it, Doctor! Smoker ham and dumplings. At least that's something on which we can agree!" The effect of this remark was instantaneous. Everybody shook with laughter. The ice was broken and the remainder of the evening proved to be friendly and jolly.
A real understanding between the two was, of course, impossible. It was a case of temperaments diametrically opposed, conceptions of art basically at variance, in short, an apt illustration of Kipling's phrase "And the twain shall never meet."