I Found the Beef! (But I still can't eat it)

As a result of being an American Jew who speaks almost no Hungarian, I have become more Hungarian than the average Hungarian (yes, I had Quantum today. Why do you ask?).

Case in point: Food.
Today I had dinner (that's not the interesting part). As usual, when I found myself simultaneously in my lazy and hungry states (Schrodinger's Undergraduate), I defaulted to my favorite 3-ingredient meal:
1. Frying Pan
2. Sunflower oil
3. Stuff
The third ingredient comes in many varieties: Stuff I Need to Use Up, Stuff I Bought on a Whim, Stuff That Was Leftover From Yesterday's Stuff, etc. Today, I used the original flavor, Stuff That's In The Fridge. Since I need a segue to the next part, I'm going to pretend you asked me "What is this stuff?"

I'm glad you asked! Because that's actually the point of this entry (okay, "point"). Stuff That's In The Fridge generally consists of freshly picked Hungarian stereotypes, namely cabbage, potatoes, and sausage. However, this is not because I have a particular fondness for any of these ingredients, rather because I am incapable of buying anything else. Why? I'm so glad you asked!
At the grocery store, the meats are divided into two sections: sausage, and not sausage. The sausages are in the aisles, and therefore easy to recognize and put into the basket without feeling like an idiot. The other meats are usually only available at the counter. Hence, to obtain said other meat, I would have to communicate with an actual Hungarian. In the past, this has not worked out so well for me. Today, for example, I tried to ask for two bags in which to put my sausages, cabbage, and other things. I pointed at the bags and distinctly said "kettö" (two). The cashier looked at me, nodded politely, and handed me one. Yes, apparently I pronounce "kettö" the same way Hungarians pronounce "egy" (one). And don't get me started on the time I tried to get half a kilogram of cheese. I'm pretty sure I would have started WWIII (or possibly bought 7 kilos of broccoli) if Lovely Roommate Stephanie hadn't intervened. Hence, the thought of actually trying to communicate to the man behind the meat counter that I want half a kilo of chicken or beef kind of terrifies me. I would probably end up with a metric boatload (thanks Amanda!) of fish liver. I wonder how that goes with sausage?