Opinion | I Miss Sitting at a Crowded Dinner Table - The New York Times
It took me far too long to start a conversation with an old Iraqi man named Monther. This is something I will regret all my life. I was never sure where Monther lived, but I always knew where he could be found: at a small Middle Eastern place near my house that regulars call Ya Hala. First he was its owner, then its most loyal patron. He would always sit in the same corner booth laden with woven red cloth, taking his lunch or coffee or tea. I can still picture him there now, eating his favorite mix of chicken and labneh with cucumber salad, waving me over to join him. In Ya Hala, since renamed Grill House, the voices of Fairouz and Umm Kulthum ring about the dimly lit dining room, where dramatic Arabic calligraphy adorns the decorations on the walls and the doors. I like to think it’s the kind of old-fashioned cafe easily found in Baghdad or Damascus or Beirut, but instead tucked away, inconspicuously, on a busy road just outside New York City. It feels like the sort of place wher...