In my old town, I used to go to Alfredo. He would hand-slice mortadella with one hand and hand-cut gigantic steaks (this was Tuscany after all) with the other. If you forgot your wallet, he’d say, “That’s ok, just bring the money next time.” He knew the life stories of all his clients, of course, because they had all been coming for as long as he could remember.
I wouldn’t say I learned anything from him, but he learned from me. Not that I know anything about butchering (I don’t!) but because I would go in asking for cuts they don’t (or didn’t) have in Italy. He’d always oblige: short ribs, skirt steak, hanger steak, flat pot roasts. I would buy the skirt steak off every cow he would get and it became such a thing that no matter when I went or for what, he would greet me by saying, “I don’t/do have your cut today.” (Coincidentally, skirt steak -- diaframma, here -- and a few other American cuts are starting to gain in popularity.)
Now, in Milan, I have two. I go directly to a farm a half hour or so out of Milan and there I buy in bulk when I have room in my freezer, But for everyday, I go to a guy who has the biggest chickens I’ve ever seen in Italy, but very little variety or flexibility (he has what he has and that’s that). So he never has “my” cuts and won’t do them for me and if I need a whole chicken, I have to order it two days in advance (!!). But the quality is good, the prices are fine and sooner or later, I’ll bring him around. 
