Ah Subway, I thought to myself, this was bound to be an interesting dining environment. I had notions of Film maker Luc Besson's dystopian French masterpiece of the same name swirling round my head as I took the short walk across the road from my flat to the restaurant.
What eclectic wonders would this most famous of establishments hold I wondered? Barely able to conceal my excitement I crossed the threshold only to have my entrance blocked by a phalanx of flab. Four fetid fatties were rooted to the door area, chunks of meatball and bread spilling forth from the gaping hole which seemed to have replaced their mouths. Nimbly, breath held, I squeezed past into the bowels of the eatery.
Half overcome by my near gymnastic entrance, half overcome by the fact my coat had collected a fistful of what I could only presume to be dog hair on the brush past, I was in sore need of a seat and a stiff drink. Much like McDonald's, Subway have done away with any traditional sense of the restaurant experience. No table service, no attractive staff, no alcohol, no dubious sort attending the washroom and most oddly no booking required. The latter of which was to prove more than annoying.
SquareOne's Top Five Sandwiches
- Cheese
- Cheese and pickle
- Cheese and tomato
- Cheese and onion
- Cheese salad
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