I entered a market in Berkeley to the sound of an older couple bickering in Arabic. An old fat lady in a muumuu shot me a quick glance and then continued berating her husband who was standing behind the deli counter.

It looked like a few things had changed since the last time I had entered the market. The shelves were nearly bare and the beverage cooler was in complete disorder. New owners, I thought to myself, and a chaotic transition. There were a few new items, all with Arabic script on the labels.

The old owners ran an American market with a Middle Eastern deli. The new owners seemed to be trying the opposite, a Middle Eastern market with an American deli. I thought they would likely fail.

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