Plucked up my courage (no, no courage needed, really, but just some space in my freezer), and ordered minced chicken from the butcher's today. Yes, minced chicken saga goes on.
The man, who told me that he would get me minced chicken, wasn't working. So, I asked about it to another old face, who happily nodded the head. (He is always cheerful and helpful.) So, I'll go back to the shop on next Tuesday.
Some weeks ago, I was told that minimum weight would be 5 pounds, but this time I was asked "How much do you need?" in a manner of "Any amount would be OK". How lucky. I told him that I had been told "5 pounds minimum", but he was happy to write down 4 pounds in the book.
Interesting thing was, he told me that he had never done minced chicken himself. He is several years older than me, and working as a butcher for goodness know how long. According to him, one of the workers did it before. So, I'm not worried or scared of getting minced chicken from that shop, but it's a surprising that such stuff is one of the rare orders in this country...
And one more thing. Now the butcher knows my name at long last. I knew some of their names because the name of whoever serving would be on their receipt and I heard some names in the shop. Maybe I should have told him my surname because it's very easy for him to spell, but I told him my first name just for badness. Of course I had to spell it out for him. I can imagine confused faces of butchers who read the order in the book. I wonder if any of them dare to pronounce it in front of me...
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