I've got a thing for my butcher

The best thing about living in the Middle East is how the merchants are still specialized - so you don't go to one big grocery store for all your needs. And I usually begin my initial search for merchants based on word of mouth recommendations. A vegetarian friend recommended a specific butcher shop that I happen to pass every day on my commute between home and work. The place is clean and cold, so it seems quite sanitary. But the best part of the place is the hot butcher.

I'm guessing his age to be mid-30s, he's got salt and pepper hair, and he is always smiling. Most importantly, he understands my half-assed Arabic when I try to explain how I want my meat cut.

I went in the other day to get some ground beef, and the guy was nowhere in site. There was a young kid trying to do something with a piece of beef, and an old guy who was a customer standing next to him with a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. A long line of customers waited as the young kid tried to figure out how to use the chopping machine. I was so deflated, it was like a different place without my butcher there. I was considering walking out, when suddenly, in through the swinging door in the back of the store strolls my butcher - all in white, with a big smile on his face. I swear, like in slow motion, all the customers suddenly stood taller and smiled. I felt so giddy as placed my order with him and put the money into his big, strong hands.