Subs To The Rescue

If you’ve ever lived abroad (yes, Canada and the deep South count as abroad) you know that no matter how open-mined and experimental you are when it comes to cuisine, sometimes you miss the culinary comforts of home (just ask Caitlin). And I used the term ‘culinary’ quite loosely because I’m not talking about your grandma’s home cooking or your dad’s famous barbecue. I’m talking fast food of the familiar kind. And no, McDonald’s doesn’t count.

It so happens that on Thursday I was feeling a bit cranky, due to a combination of hockey-related happenings, some inflamed bursitis of the hip, humidity levels and dwindling peanut butter supplies. I think we all know that it is clearly stated in the Handbook of Living with Lane: cranky leads to grumpy, which leads to whiny, which leads to homesickness. And homesickness left untreated leads to cataclysmic meltdowns. Hunger, factored into that equation anywhere, is deadly. So Dave, being the incredibly loving and self-preserving human that he is, whisked me off in the VW Polo (our hot whip) on a 17 kilometer trek to Subway to seek a cure.

Listen, don’t start with me o.k.? I have two kinds of readers so I will address both snotty comments that I would otherwise be fielding in the comments section: 1) I know fast food is the devil, that chains are taking over, and that the Man is out to get us. Damn the Man…makes good subs. 2) I know Subway isn’t the best fast food in your opinion. You prefer Burger King or KFC or Taco Bell. Next time I’ll think more carefully about your predilections when I’m feeding my inner needs.

The sub was delicious. The Parmesan Oregano bread, a fancy name for spongy white bread with herbs sprinkled on top, was freshly baked. There were toppings aplenty and the sauces were abundant. The Diet Coke wasn’t called Cola Light and it flowed like wine from a soda fountain. The cookies even tasted like home, soft and sickly sweet, much different than German baked goods.

We spent the next couple hours strolling through the town of Zwickau, pushing the limits of Dave’s ability to look at Christmas crafts and burning off the sub/cookies/chips. By the time we were in the car home to Crimmy, I felt better. I felt full of familiar food, I felt refreshed after escaping our village for a while and I felt lucky to have a companion who is so patient and understanding. And who loves fast food more than he should.

2 thoughts on “Subs To The Rescue

  1. Ah bless, the expat formula for happiness is finally public. Yes, it’s the comforts of home (wherever that is) works quicks than an A-Class prohibited substance. Hope you feel better!Suze x

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