£11-ishSt. John's Wood
Popping up on the corner of the diabolically boring St John’s Wood highstreet is your run-of-the-mill healthy eating bullshit kind of place.
Occupied with the occasional A-lister and twats in plaid shirts writing scripts (like the bellend in front of me), The Good Life Eatery is a magnet for creatives with Macs, stuck up vegans, and bored housewives that mindlessly stir their coffee and look out upon the middle distance wondering what would’ve been had they not just chased a husband for money instead of love.
I stood at the counter and waited for the four morons behind to finish wiping down their mess like I was part of the shitty, school-classroom decor. Finally after a rude amount of time, I managed to order the Sunset Club sandwich and a flat white coffee then took a wooden seat by the window that framed the world’s most boring street.
As I was flanked by the types of people who would fold into dust under the pressure of something as trivial as not having bottled water about their person, my skin began to crawl at the thought of how these idiots will ruin humanity for the rest of us but the arrival of a luke-warm coffee made my displeasure rapidly switch lanes.
Drinking industrial coolant would’ve made for a more relaxing time than this dusty cup of stupidly burnt coffee. Overly bitter and ludicrously watery; it was a scientific miracle and should be a case study in how to avoid destroying the very idea of coffee.
Soon after, a paper-lined tray with my sandwich was plonked on the table. I hatefully resent having to pay for something I know factually that I could knock up in my own kitchen with my narrow food-making skills within two minutes, and this was one of those times.
I don’t know what planet’s sunset they named this sandwich over, but that sun must’ve been ice fucking cold. The Tesco Value bread seemed to have been toasted with ice and then blasted with sand, the Tesco Value chicken slices were forged in a glacier, and everything else was fresh out of the freezer.
The Club sandwiches I’ve had in my life have been around a 20/80 warm to cold split, but this is by far the coldest tray of garbage I’ve ever had the mind-bending misery to eat. My stomach felt like an over-inflated Space Hopper filled with jagged rocks being kicked about the room; nothing about this sandwich did me any good. It didn’t sate my hunger, or satisfy my soul in knowing I had parted with my money for something worthy of the price.
As the disappointment inked its way around my body like the darkest cloud, I looked around to room at the patrons of this pretentious shitbox eating their green crap and drinking celery and onion smoothies (or whatever these ‘Macbook Pros for emails only’ millenials drink) and had to run out through the door to preserve the dying tendons that stuggle to hold my sanity together.