Today I had a hangover.
We all know that popular cheap London sandwich chain must be doing something dodgy with immigrants, for every single person that works there is eastern European and probably paid seven pence an hour to serve the cheap sarnies.
And we also know that they are so cheap the meat must be at the very least, questionable.
By the way I am basing this on no facts whatsoever, just my own conclusion from my head. I have not researched in any way, unless you count eating their sandwiches (for a cheap lunch I recommend tuna & cucumber on white bread with a back of crisps £1.70 bargain)
So as ethical places go – it’s not on the top of the list.
But I had that hangover. I went to the hot food counter and ordered me a sausage and bacon torpedo.
Every time I order one I foolishly think it’ll be enjoyable, but like a beaten wife who keeps going back to her husband I can never imagine that I’ll get some crispy pigs turd in a stale roll.
I presume that the bacon was originally bacon when it was unfrozen that morning. But maybe in Eastern Europe it stays in the pan until it’s needed – and in Eastern Europe they need it pretty quickly.
But in London the bacon frying since six am had become a piece of dark brown plastic by midday.
The sausage has that uncanny knack of being grilled in thermonuclear conditions, the crusty outer skin needing a tungsten drill to penetrate and yet still a bit raw in the middle.
But the one thing that always gets me, that really makes it unenjoyable is when I ask for sauce.
In fact, they ask me what sauce I’d like. I say, “red and brown please†is this so fucking odd? They look at me like I’ve asked to put my penis in the panini grill.
“just brown?†trying to dissuade me by pretending they misheard, so I repeat my refrain and they write it down with a look that tells me I’m scum.
The little box they tick also has a space for mustard too – I’d quite like to have all three – but I’m too scared.