One of our local joints, however, seems to consistently give us (or rather, me) trouble. I faithfully order the same thing every time from the same guy behind the counter: "One shawarma menu, please, and one extra shawarma sandwich" (of course, imagine I've just said this in kindergarten-level Danish). The former is the Danish equivalent of a McDonald's "extra value meal": shawarma, fries, and a coke. The latter is, quite obviously, just the sandwich itself. The friendly Turkish chap behind the counter nods solemnly with understanding every time and shuffles off to put together my order.
Alas, there seems to be a persistent hiccup in our communication process. We always get the first part of the order, just as requested. But half the time I come home, open the bag, and am greeted by some sort of obscenely engorged shawarma mutant sandwich big enough to feed an average Danish family of four for a week. I have no idea what this is or how I continue to order it.
Here's some photographic evidence:
What you can't see in this picture are the three pounds of meat and streams of red grease that will soon come shooting out of this mutant sandwich with the next bite.
I remain committed to solving this communication problem. If it means eating shawarma three times a week for the remainder of our stay in Denmark then, by Morgan Spurlock, I will do it!