Off the Cuff: A pit-stop for shawarma, suleimani

Around the corner, and a five-minute walk away, lives Khalid in his shawarma stand cocoon. He is there every evening until late into the night. In brief, but frequent interludes, he emerges butterfly-like to flit from customer to boss and back again.

Khalid has a smile that lights up the entire street, and although he makes shawarmas, he seems to be all over the place, shouting orders to his co-workers and boss, greeting customers and checking on the roasting chicken and bubbling falafels. His restless energy is contagious, infecting his colleagues and energising the waiting crowd.

After a tiring few hours of shopping and laden with bags, I sometimes collapse at one of several small tables set up outside Khalid's pokey little establishment. He nods an enthusiastic hello, waves and wishes me, always with that big smile. My order's quickly taken, another smile and bobbing head, and a few words in Arabic are yelled towards the general interior of the restaurant. As Khalid gets busy sharpening his long knives and I close my eyes to enjoy the soft breeze and the aromas around me, a "suleimani" magically appears on my table and my protests are gently but firmly overruled by Khalid. It would be rude to refuse. I drink up obediently and savour every sip.

Once I'd dragged my son along to go shopping and when we made our pit-stop at his place, Khalid rushed over to make small talk with the boy. In a mixture of his broken English and my more broken Arabic, he communicated that he had a family back home in Lebanon and his wife had just delivered a boy. I wished him a thousand congratulations and watched him try to imagine his baby's face as he twinkled at my son. We finally walked away, refreshed with tea and humanity.

When a new food outlet opened up in the neighbourhood, famed for its grilled offerings and shawarmas, we raced to sample the fare. Interiors of wooden beams, wooden furniture and terracotta floor tiles attempted to portray an earthy, rustic ambience. The food was good, and the service was prompt and polite, but the waiters were as cold and clinical as the hygienic stainless steel counter-top they worked on. They seemed clean, dry and no doubt well manicured in their crisp uniforms. No sweating brows, no multi-tasking and there were also no smiles, no warmth and no energy. In short, there was no one even remotely like Khalid.

Tables were set up outside, with a few languid customers. No one was talking. Some were watching the huge, droning TV. Most were bored and lifeless. It felt claustrophobic in the open air. We collected our order and as we drove home, I thought gratefully of the choices we had. I thought gratefully of pokey, little places with lively staff and simple camaraderie.

I missed the easy familiarity at Khalid's place, comforting after a long day. And not least, I missed the steaming, bittersweet suleimani.