Let us address the elephant in the room. You are so predictable. You are so absolutely boring when it comes to food and you know it; each and every time you wander into a supermarket, a corner shop, a Subway you purchase / order the same thing. They have a full menu of sandwich fillings and all of them are ignored so you can eat the same dull slice of nourishment.
You need to buck your ‘chude up, sunshine. You think your good lady wife is going to stay with you and your sluggish Ham ‘n’ Cheese forever? No way. Both of you are teetering on the edge of a marital precipice and the only way to tip it in the direction of the future is to fill your plate with something different. Grab your raincoat and follow me.
Nestled in the wonderful corner of the world that is somewhere nearby, Random Sandwiches offers a world of culinary perfection unseen in the rest of the country. Their list of fillings would blow your mind if you saw it in person and so everyone who wanders into the shop must wear a blindfold, and have it read to them by a woman with a posh voice.
The most popular flavours at the moment are as follows:
- Jagged glass and American irony;
- Rubber dingy, yeast and sun-bleached afternoons;
- Heron and scotch egg;
- Two lemons encased in a pagoda of dreams;
- Swordfish eczema on naan bread, smothered in forgotten dances from the 1920’s’;
- A fresh pair of stressed socks under a splodge of elk light bulbs and mayonnaise.
I don’t know about you but my mouth is already watering as I finished typing this. I can’t wait for them to re-open after the lockdown so I can grab a patronising handshake on rye and crisps for lunch.
16 comments on “Random Sandwiches”
If I was running a business called Random Sandwiches I wouldn’t have a menu. Customers wouldn’t get a choice, they’d just get something random given to them, and they’d need to pay before they opened it because there’s no guarantee they would enjoy braised beef, crisps and Nutella on wholemeal pitta.
It would be a pot luck lunchtime phenomenon, a random tombola of tucker tomfoolery. I suppose then you could buy any old shit that was about to expire in Tesco and flog it to someone for £5.00 or more. Would you base your shop in London or somewhere reasonable?
Reasonable? Me? No, it would be in hipster Shoreditch. Those idiots would lap it up. I’d be on the cover of Vogue in no time. Where I belong.
They’d love not knowing what they were paying for. Even if it was that faeces laced with poison they’d still finish the plate and buy another one.
Road-side chumps. Fancy onion hags.
Exactly. I’d open up next to the Cereal Cafe and siphon off their queue of gullible idiots.
Also, why has nobody yet suggested calling this business “Randwiches”?
Maybe people would thing you’d be filling the sandwiches with South African currency?
Also Randwiches sounds like they should be served in a dingy shop with no name and dark shutters, and blinds covering the windows.
You’ve pretty much described the shop in the picture. I wouldn’t eat anything that came out of there.
What about if Rachel from S Club Seven came out of there but she was made of three different flavours of jelly; would you eat her?
Would she be aggressively eating a salad while you sit on a stool and watch her?
No. This time she’s made of jelly and out looking for a good time. It’s another universe where she’s provoking me from a distance, violently shovelling pieces of lettuce and cucumber into her mouth, never losing eye contact no matter how much she puts in there…
She could be made of jelly and still sit on a stool eating salad. The two are not incompatible. Just saying.
Imagine trying to control yourself around a Rachel Stevens made of jelly who is deliberately provoking you using vegetables. I don’t know what I’d do but I know that I would regret the whole thing the next day.
I think I’d find the combination of jelly and salad a bit distressing. They shouldn’t go together. It would be very offputting, and I’d probably just make an awkward excuse and then leave.
Sounds like what happened at the wedding to my fifth wife!!!