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‘Totally bland’ Fast food hotspot in what should be a prime location fails to impress
HIGH five to the fat food critic, I boast, as we lope down Sauchiehall Street towards the hottest new ticket in town: I told you no one ever queues in Glasgow on a Monday night. And I’m right. The crash barriers from Filipino chain sensation Jollibee’s news-making and completely under siege opening weekend are still on the street, but right now they’re sad, lonely, sprawling and abandoned. The front door clear and inviting.
Imagine radio static and crackle. Pssst, whsst, woohoo, there ain’t nobody here but us chickens. Rodger. Psshhht. We’re going in. Rodger. I push the door and no! People. Ugh. Everywhere. Chaos. Sigh.
Not just one queue but three, no, four.
The sort of spilling, milling, politely jostling, completely headless Filippino fried chicken experience that is the stuff of punk-poet
John Cooper Clark’s nightmares. Evidently Chickentown should be playing right now.
Giant touch-screens spawn their own queues. Up-selling like crazy. Fingers punching while chicken frenzied zombies breathe down the neck.
Yumburger? Eh? Um, oh, ah, no. JollySpaghetti to go with that? Still no.
ChickenJoy? No, yes. Three pieces. Jolly Spaghetti with this? WTF. Still no. Fries? Loaded fries? Chicken Fries. Gravy Fries? Ice Cream fries? Big Bucket Gravy fries?
Spicy Chicken Sandwich? Yes. Tropical Sandwich? Jolly!Hot Dog, yes. Pineapple juice? Yes. Water? Yes. Rice? No. JollySpaghetti! on its own? Arghh OK.
And on it goes until a numbered receipt fires out and we’re in the counter crowd playing chicken bingo on a giant screen. Order Number Six-Five-Seven, a woman bawls. Six-Five-Seven! Again and again.
Jeezo, 657 is in deep trouble, I whisper to Debs, as still nobody shuffles forward.
Seven-oh-eight, then 669, are next from behind a counter where the clearly busy staff are giving off a strong vibe that they already deeply, deeply hate us customers. Twenty minutes pass before I meekly suggest that 695, yes, that’s me, was on the screen as being prepared but has now completely disappeared. And I’m pretty sure that’s it sitting there. Cooling. As it has been for a while.
Fast forward to us climbing the stairs, considering the decor, sort of tired concrete and grubby melamine, finding a table in the crowded room and I’ll say two quick things for Jollibee.
1) They’ve brilliantly managed to recreate in here the run-down and completely scuzzy style of Sauchiehall Street out there
2) I noticed this when Taco Bell opened in similar circumstances. Two or three days down the line and it already feels grubby to me. Tonight at least, tables weren’t being wiped, and debris lay uncleared. High five for authentic bottom of the fast food chain vibes then.
And the food? Words cannot adequately explain the disappointment experienced when the sagging cardboard container is flipped open on the chicken loaded fries box to reveal way, way too much empty space, not enough loading and piling and a sort of dry crunchy, biscuitty experience punctuated with miserable squirty trails of sauce.
The hot dog is at least still warm, looks attractive with melted cheese and some other sauce though tastes kinda rubbery. As for that JollySpaghetti! This was clearly designed for Buddy from the Elf Movie, actually designed by Buddy from the Elf Movie. Syrupy sweet sauce, microscopic hot dog disks, flaccid, bloated pasta.
Still, people come here for the chicken and we’ve got some of that. The chicken
sandwich is fine. Crisp, clean, the bread OK. But where’s our gravy? And the ordinary fries? Cue a trip backstairs downstairs. Gravy’s off. Would have been nice to have told us. Like when they told us there’s no water tonight. No water?
At least, there’s the chicken. This seems to be the thing they care most about preparing properly in here. It’s fairly hot, crisp, dry and the coating, a spikey, crunchy thick covering over reasonably moist chicken meat, is good. But it’s otherwise totally bland. Sigh.
If you know a restaurant Ron should review, email ronmackenna@me.com