The college I work at is located right smack-dab in the heart of a food desert.
Two years ago, though, a Chinese restaurant, called Shin-chan (新ちゃん), opened a five-minute walk from campus. It was an oasis—cheap, good eats, nice and spicy. The Chinese couple, Shin-chan and his wife, running the place were always cheerful and friendly, making it a nice little refuge from work.
A few months ago, I noticed that they had some renovation work done. The name had changed, too. It was now called Lucky something. I didn't think anything about it, except maybe things were going well enough for them they could now afford to put money into the place.
Well, today I finally went there for lunch. It had been about four months since my last visit, so I felt a bit guilty when I stuck my head in the door.
An old Japanese man with half his teeth missing nodded at me as I entered. Who’s this, I wondered. There was another man in the kitchen, with back towards me, cooking Qīngjiāo ròusī (青椒肉絲) in a wok. When he turned around, I saw that it wasn’t Shin-chan. What the hell?
I ordered mābō don (麻婆丼, rice topped with Sichuan style tōfu), figuring you can’t screw up mābō don.
I figgered wrong.
That little oasis of mine which nourished me for years had dried up and was swallowed up by the desert.