Opal Restaurant and Port Port

I wrote about Opal Restaurant a few years ago, so if you want to see some pictures of some of the food I discuss, see here.

The other day I learned that the government of Abu Dhabi was planning to do some major renovations in the Zayed Port area (see here). They talked of “overhauling” many of the outdoor markets in the area, including the plant souq, the fish market, and the fruit and vegetable markets (odd how we use “souq” to describe the plant souq, but none of the other markets in the immediate area).

Reading about the planned regeneration of Port Zayed, I felt my stomach drop through the floor. My thoughts immediately went to Opal restaurant, a little cafeteria set right by the fruit and vegetable markets in the port. For the last two or three years I was living in Abu Dhabi, Opal was one of my mainstays amidst ever changing living spaces and a rotating door of friends. I felt like if Opal were demolished then my memories of that time would go along with it.

I first went to Opal sometime during my senior year of college, after finding out about the Chips Oman sandwich¹. My friends and I would go there pretty regularly to get some late night snacks. After returning to NYUAD as a staff member, one of my friends turned me on to their lunch thali, and we would go once or twice a week for lunch. After the university kicked me out of housing on campus I started going to Opal a lot; there was a period of time when I would go to Opal twice a day, for breakfast and a late lunch. Often, these were the only two meals I would eat.

This was not a great time for me. It was the middle of summer in Abu Dhabi, and my employer had just kicked me out of on campus housing for reasons I could rationally understand, but I could not emotionally fathom. I was living in uncomfortable share houses and impersonal hotels, spending long days in the office because I knew only loneliness awaited me back where I was sleeping. Weirdly, this loneliness only seemed to breed more loneliness. Despite the fact that some of my friends had stuck around during the summer, I found myself not wanting to spend time with others. In the middle of all this uncertainty and sadness, Opal emerged as a constant in my life. The food was pretty much the same every day. I got to know when certain servers and managers would be working there, and we would occasionally strike up brief conversations about the food, the weather, or if I wanted a syrupy sweet chai to go. I woke up many days looking forward to sitting down in that cool, brightly lit cafeteria, where I would eat parathas and chana, occasionally sitting long enough that I would see a few groups of people come and go.

Eventually, with the help of some persistent friends, I found myself lifting out of my funk, and Opal began to take on a new role in my life. It became a place of respite for me and my friends whenever we wanted to escape the inane pressures of life on campus. Late at night, a little drunk, we would go and eat Chips Oman sandwiches, sometimes plain, sometimes with egg or chicken tikka, sometimes with a side of sweet karak.

Opal was not a perfect place. More than once, I saw cockroaches skittering across the floor. It was not an entirely friendly place to bring female friends – many of our fellow patrons would openly stare at us as we ordered and ate food. Sometimes language barriers made it difficult to ask for what we wanted, or to connect with some of the folks I would see almost every day (sometimes multiple times a day). Sometimes, the soups served with the lunch thali were cold or too thin, or the parathas were reheated from earlier. Sometimes Opal was closed for health code violations.

Looking back, it feels like Opal and the surrounding area was one of the main places where I started to form my current adult identity. At some level I know that even if that area changes so as to be unrecognizable, my memories will still remain. What scares me the most is the idea that it might be forgotten, its contribution to peoples’ lives unacknowledged.