For dinner last night, we called in a delivery from one of our favorite restaurants, Brandy Ho’s. It’s a venerable Chinese restaurant beloved by both locals and tourists, perfectly located on the border of North Beach and Chinatown, just a block or two down the street from City Lights Bookstore. I’m a regular there, and back when life was normal, frequently picked up the lunch special on my way to work. We took my parents there at least once. My father, who loved peppery food, told me before he died that he regretted he’d never get another taste of their black bean chicken. 

I could think of no higher compliment, so I told the owner this, and afterwards he sometimes came over to talk to me when I was there. The week before the quarantine, he strolled to the counter where I waited for my take-out. “Nobody is here,” he’d said, looking around at the dining room. “Lunchtime and it’s almost empty.”

“Maybe it’s the weather,” I said, not really believing it. “When it’s chilly and damp nobody wants to go out.”

He shook his head. “No. People are afraid. They think we all have COVID.”

Then he complained, as he has every time I’ve seen him since it was passed, about the local ban on plastic forks for takeout, “When you run a small business in this city, it’s like everyone is against you.” 

Michael and I felt good about placing a big order with Brandy Ho’s. Long may they live. The fragrant, spicy feast that arrived an hour later did a lot to lift our spirits. No plastic forks, of course, but lots of noodles and veggies and enough leftovers to last us a day or two.