Döner boys

Two of my favorite locals aren't. Local, that is. They are originally from Turkey, but have been in Germany for over a decade now. They run one of the three döner stands that I pass on my way to and from work. This particular döner stand rises above the competition in several ways:

a.) It has the option of chicken döner. Not every stand has this option, and I find it much yummier than the other option, which is a mixture of lamb and veal. That weirds me out because for one thing, how can you "mix" a big slab of meat? I just don't want to imagine the chopping and reconstituting process that allows one to "mix" lamb and veal. And for another thing...well, I am not a vegetarian (anymore), and I totally respect our freedom to eat (sustainably) in ways that include meat, but it still gives me pause to eat anything that, when living, is cute and furry and will suck on your fingers for comfort. Maybe that is just my own idiosyncratic mixture of selfishness and environmental consciousness.

b.) Their white sauce is mayonnaise-based, instead of yogurt- and milk-based like that of the competition. Suffice it to say, the mayo stuff causes far less digestive distress in yours truly.

c.) These döner guys are ever so friendly, and they are my age. The easternmost döner stand is manned by a kid barely out of diapers, and the westernmost one is run by a pleasant but approaching-middle-age-fast gentleman. The one in the middle is just right for this Goldilocks. During the stage (not all that long ago chronologically, but thankfully ages hence in my attitude and experiences!) in which my most significant social contact came from ordering fast food, this was an Incredibly Major Consideration.

My döner boys always have a smile for me, even though they are stuck in a 4-foot-by-12-foot cubicle all day long (emphasis on long), on their feet, reeking of raw onions and grilling meat. They have one day off a week and put in 12-to 14 hour days. Slowly-- agonizingly slowly--our conversations have progressed from the superficial to the slightly-less-superficial (hey, what do you expect, when it takes approximately one minute to put together a döner and pay for it? I can only eat döner once or at the MOST twice a week). I think there is at least a bit of foreigners-must-stick-together solidarity in our acquaintanceship. And during the worst of times, they gave me sympathetic smiles, which in my book wins you big points.

Today, the Tall Skinny and Scarred Nice Döner Man told me that he's going to the hospital later this week for some sort of operation on his nose. And he is looking forward to it. Like vacation. Heather and I are planning to bake them cookies: partly for TSSNDM in the hospital, and partly for Short Skinny Nice Döner Man, who has to pick up the slack.