I was waiting at the cheese & meat counter in the supermarket to order a small piece of feta, while the two assistants were each busy cutting meat for one guy standing next to me. They had chunks of meat, probably ham, as big as heads in their hands. Taking off the plastic cover seemed quite an adventure for them. It took them minutes to cut half a kilo into
slices. Back and forth, back and forth went the machine. I took a look of the guy who ordered all that meat. The man looked like a builder in his fifties, muscular not big, healthy as far as I could tell. In total he had ordered about two kilo of five different sorts of meat. I stared at all the cut slices that looked much more palatable than the big chunks before.
Somehow, I had couldn’t hold myself back.
I turned and looked directly at the guy, and asked:
“Can I ask you for how many persons you buy that?”
He answered, his eyes smiling “It’s just for me. It will be gone in 24 hours.”
My eyes widened. Did he just say that to impress me? I was.
But I had no more questions.
“I was just interested, because I am a Vegetarian.” I explained.
We stared at each other.
He was first to say
“The Dolmades are good. You should try some.”
Of course, I knew them, but I didn’t say anything. Dolmades are wine leaves filled with rice, a balkan dish.
I ordered some. He ordered some, too.
“Have a nice day.” he said
“You, too.” I said.
We both meant it.