Love love love this so bad. You mind if I add a bit?
Thinking about the kids coming across these vendors and getting spooked when they recognise them and call out their names. Initially they assumed it was because they're the child of Bruce Wayne but then the vendors made the food just how they like it–less onion or extra sauce–and treats them with the hospitality of a regular customer.
They learn it's because Bruce frequents these vendors when drunk and rambles on about his babies, showing pictures and making sure the vendors know their particular preferences when making the food.
"Treat that old man of yours a bit nicer, won't ya?" They'd say, handing their orders. "Lord knows the poor lad tries his best."
"It's on the house, just give the boy my regards," the sweet lady would include when packing up their food. "Now you be good and careful on your way home."
Even when Bruce starts drinking less or quit, he still stops by those carts after attending galas like it's tradition. He'd spend a good while just talking to the vendors, talking about his day or the recent thing one of his children did that made him proud, buy something and gives a ridiculous amount of tip before going on his way. Or he'd stay there and talk until Alfred arrives.
One of the sweet shawarma lady nearly got mugged on her way home when Batman intervened. After checking out she's alright he offers to walk her the rest of the way home.
"Up for something warm, sweetheart?" She says, unlocking her front door with keys as the Dark Knight stood guard behind her. "There's even some more for the kids at home."
Batman visibly freezes, and the sweet lady laughs.
"Did you really think i wouldn't recognise you, young man? I'm not that old. Now come, it won't take long."
The kids are confused when Bruce comes out of patrol with a bag filled with warm, fresh shawarmas, but they're not complaining.
Gotham really, really loves their Bruce Wayne.
