The line for dinner is interminably long. But I fly on faith. I trust a recommendation from a virtual stranger: Tayyabs in Whitechapel. I learn to let go.
Inside the restaurant, I examine the sweets on display. I practice restraint and resilience; I dodge servers coming and going. I think also about the granola bar in my purse but do not give in yet to hunger.
An hour later, seated finally, with food, glorious food on the table, with lamb, chicken, okra and naan before us, I understand the wait.
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