Look at this. For the love of god, look.
That’s a “sandwich” which is freely available from a non-descript corner store in Cardiff, Wales. Inside the crusty white baguette roll is a filling combination comprised of lettuce and slice up chocolate orange. Mercifully, this one-way-ticket to constipation is unbuttered, which feels a little like the hangman using silk rope for your noose.
For starters, in what hellish Lovecraftian wasteland does anyone decide to combine lettuce and any kind of chocolate? Particularly if the lettuce isn’t crisp? The wilted leaves melding with a half-bite of chocolate in your mouth should fuel nightmares for eons.
But beyond that, chocolate orange? The bastard of all bastard chocolates. A creation so diabolical that its primary function is to accumulate that gross white shit.
Who, in their ever-loving right mind, looks at a flavour combination of what is basically wet leaves and dirt, and decides to shove all of that inside a a standard-issue roll?
And yet somehow it gets worse.
A liquorice all-sorts sandwich. A lolly reserved exclusively for doctor’s waiting rooms nestled betwixt a half-limp bun.
This is the kind of meal a 12-year-old left alone for the weekend for the first time would make; a delicious sugary main course to complement their entree of Twisties coated in Ice Magic.
Far be it for any of us to pass judgment on food choices; lord knows all common sense tends to hit the floor once the clock strikes 4:20. But there’s being a culinary explorer and then there’s Willy Wonka sticking his dick in your butty.
Wales. As a country, it’s not right.