It had been a late one the night before. An acquaintance had rolled into town on business. Before I knew it, what started out as a casual drink turned into a talkathon that wound up at a sha- warma stand on Diyafah Street at 3am.
It was with a deep sense of dislocation, then, that I was ferried through the searing and deserted streets of Dubai and deposited in the empty lot outside Keva. Slight dementia has a nasty habit of cranking up a stuck jukebox in my head and the journey across
the melting neighbourhoods had been soundtracked by an endless loop of The Lovin’ Spoonful’s stressed-out 60s classic ‘Summer In The City’.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, my in-cranium sound system took a more melancholy tack as I opened the door to the restaurant: the mournful ska strains of ‘Ghost Town’ by The Specials accompanied the dispiriting sight of a dark, empty room populated by a man shifting a table and a doleful-looking waiter.
Any more trauma would probably have pushed me over the edge – or at least got me humming Simply Red hits – but it gladdens me to report that the only cadences prompted by my journey into Keva’s dark heart were vocal eulogies extolling the virtues of one of the best – and most unexpected – curry epiphanies I have had in Dubai.