If there was anything that could get me to pack my bags and move back to dreary London, it wouldn't be for friends, family or money. Ho-no.
It would be for Subway sandwiches. These rolls are like the bunnychow of the health-concious, the shining beacon of fast food that outplays all competitors. When greasy KFC and fatty McDonalds gang up to attack Gotham, Batman better move aside for a caped Subway sandwhich that will be there, tights on, ready to defeat the evildoers. It's that good.
So you can imagine the utter shock I experienced while walking around the Ballito Junction yesterday, only to turn the corner and come face-to-face with this: A Subway store. In KZN. Un-fucking believable!
Now I know that going to Ballito is ALMOST like visiting another planet, but for a moment I had to check around for further signs that I hadn't stepped through a wormhole straight to Shaftesbury Avenue. No "Underground" signs anywhere? It's not raining, and I'm not being threatened by a pack of 12 year olds in hoodies... no, this is definitely not London.
And yet, there it was. The white and gold capital lettering, those small pointy arrows garnishing the ends. The familiar daily special, and comfy yet practical couches dotted around the entrance. The real mccoy indeed.
I put them to the test. Entering the store, I quickly skimmed the menu and selection of ingredients. Everything was fresh, all was available. A smiling face appeared from behind the counter, ready at my beck and call to assemble the finest and wildest sub-roll my imagination could command. I opted instead for the safe bet: "Why, a 6-inch Italian BMT, my good lady".
There were questions asked, tough ones; but I knew the answers would come, if I listened to my heart:
"Type of roll?" That's easy - the seeded one over there!
"Fillings?" The works, of course.
"Sauce?" Don't mind if I do, darling!
The answers were delivered with fluidity and accuracy. I was back in the Subway game, and it felt good.
The quality of the sub was unmatched. The soft, fresh roll was complimented perfectly by the crisp lettuce and green pepper; all the while the subtle tastes of the cold meat easily surviving the often-overpowering tang of the tangy mayonaisse.
As I reflected on the unsurpassed quality of my meal, and thought back to life in Durban, I thought about how much money I'd blown on sub-standard fast food: KFC, Steers, McDonalds, even Debonairs was a culprit. Would I ever get back those years of my life, now lost to poor health?
Please, Subway, my love; come to Durban. Or I may have to seriously consider packing my bags... and moving to Ballito.