Falafel Nazi

I was way too excited when I drove past 20th & Market and noticed a short line at the food cart.  I pulled over and called my friend to confirm the location and price and then scoured my wallet for $8. 

The aroma of grilled food filled the air as I walked back to the intersection.  I stood in line and nervously awaited my turn as I watched people receive their food, almost in lockstep.  Everything that my friend had told me about the standardized service was true:  no talking in line, no special requests, you hand him the money and he hands you the food, anything else could send him on a rant.

The cart was clean and lined with potted mums and fresh heads of garlic, the arrangement was anchored by a cinderella pumpkin and a ginger plant served as the centerpiece.  The "falafel nazi" whistled and bobbed his head to the Arabic music that was blaring.  No one said a word. 

I approached with trepidation when it was my turn, my heart was pounding as I watched him put the food on the platter.  I was shocked when he smiled at me; when he smiled again, the guy behind me looked confused.  He smiled once more as we exchanged the food for the money and that's when the coins dropped.  I was afraid that perhaps he wouldn't give me the food because I had broken protocol with loose change.  I muttered an apology and the salaams and he mumbled a response.  I scurried away with my skin in tact. 

I couldn't wait to get home to unwrap my purchase.  Everything had slid around a bit but it was very delicious.  A bed of greens (maybe oakleaf lettuce) was topped with yogurt sauce and hummus; a side of chick peas & pearled couscous; a grilled piece of baguette; with grilled chicken, grapes, and something akin to falafel. There was also pita and a plum in the bag.  For a minute I thought I was back in Al Ain.