croque of shit.

starbucks, utrecht central station
november 10th, 2013 

it's generally assumed of me that because i "like food"* i also like exploring the towns we visit on tour and seeking out the most exciting food available. this is unfortunately not the case: (a) because i'm a coward; and (b) because i usually have no better company than myself, who i can't stand, which leads in an unfortunately circuitous route to the fact that i don't ever want to do anything at all ever. as a result of this i spend almost all of my free time by myself in shitty hotel rooms refreshing twitter. yes, i hear you say, but what about le joie de vivre? i don't know, dawgue (that's french for dawg).

this is the elevator door outside my hotel room in the nh hotel. i don't know much about life, but i know that elevator doors shouldn't expound populist wisdom. especially not when their smily face is merely the cover for a thirteen-storey drop.

anyway, so... on my way out to find some breakfast i stepped in the lift and met a friendly dutchman. i smiled broadly at him, instantly won his friendship, and invited him out with me to explore.

"friend! you, me, pancakes...?"

"why, yes, of course! that sounds like an excell-" he said, screaming uncontrollably while violently jabbing the emergency alarm.

after he'd climbed out of the lift somewhere between the twelth and thirteenth floor, i realised i had to fend for myself once again.

and so i ended up at starbuck's in the central station.

there was a period recently when, living on the whitechapel road in east london, my only real option for a quick bite to eat and a coffee was starbucks. i didn't like it, but i didn't like walking futher more, so i settled for mediocrity***. they did a passable toasted marmite sandwich, and although i failed to get used to the tone of burnt faeces in their coffee, i appreciated the speed and personal touch of their service.

what's your name?

ed--*clears throat*--sorry, it's edwin

great, aaron, it'll be ready in one minute

the truly remarkable thing is how they manage to maintain such quality control across so many thousands of cafes around the world. a starbucks coffee in utrehct tastes precisely as disgusting as a starbucks coffee in whitechapel. it really is a marvel of globalised business excellence.

anyway, that's a croque monsieur in the foreground. i figured because i was in american-owned dutch coffee-shop that they would do good french food, and i was right! toasted on one side, strangely damp on the other, filled with a single slice of plastic ham and a dousing of liquid cheese, with no  bechemel in sight--it was, quite frankly, a croque of shit.

*do i? or do i hate it all?**

**by eating it

***settling for mediocrity: an autobiography, available in all your local bookshop soon