On curbside pick-up last Saturday evening: I have always enjoyed meals at Khyber Pass, an Afghanistani restaurant close to home on Grand Ave. It has been a bustling place, tribal rugs draped across the ceiling, large photos of indigenous folk on the walls, music on Thursday evenings and plentiful delicious food for those seated at the many small tables in the dining area. The owner is a charming and gracious gentleman who has enjoyed mingling and chatting with the diners, receiving compliments for the various dishes cooked by his wife and others in the kitchen.

On Saturday evening, I phoned in an order for the Vegetarian Shola ($13). I was told I could come by in 15 minutes, then to wait outside the door of the restaurant and pick up my meal. In precisely 15 minutes, the owner emerged, his face covered by a mask, a bag of food in hand and a brief “thank you” from the gentleman with whom I had chatted at length during lunch or dinner on many other occasions.

The contrast between the easy fellowship associated with dining in a room full of guests all enjoying good food and good conversation, and the lonely figure of the masked restaurant owner handing me my bag of food, was so stark that it moved me to tears as I was driving home. I can only hope that enough of us can support him in this new reality so that he can, one day, again open his doors to us all for more of the dining experiences that we so dearly miss now.

I’ve never been part of a blog before. I blush to admit that I didn’t even really know what a blog is until some days ago Keith sorta talked me into it :-). I’m a technical neophyte — and then some — and didn’t know even where to begin. Luckily my daughter was here for Mothers’ Day yesterday and she and Keith together got me set up. Now I’m delighted and humbled to join the group.