Nando’s: An analysis and epiphany.

by B Thornton- Harwood

I find that I use Nando’s as a benchmark quite often when referring to restaurants. To me it defines cheap and cheerful, easy and relatively tasty food. It’s a happy medium between paying £7 for a MacDonalds with all the trimmings,  and going to a proper restaurant where you might have to put on deodorant or phone and book a table beforehand.

That is perhaps why Nando’s can feel so hit and miss, with the promise of a shit load of chicken and bottomless drinks you can kid yourself into thinking that it is the be all and end all of hangover cures, that nothing can compare to the hot sauce drenched poultry found inside, but more often than not I find myself stuffed to the point of pain with a wallet a lot lighter than I’d hope.

Last Tuesday however I had a revelation, after having a top-notch lunch, I was full, happy with my purchase, had a slight sweat on my ‘tache from the correct amount of spice (not something I can say for Coast to Coast) In short I was content and all for £11. So what made this trip so special?

It was on a whim. Out of the blue I said to Laura, “Oi, I haven’t had a Nando’s in a while,” (because romance is still alive and kicking, kids.) There was no after affects of gin to fuck with my taste buds or appetite; there was no big deal made of the fact that I had a whole chicken worth of stamps in my wallet and every last morsel of the cunt was getting eaten; in short there were no expectations.

For that reason I think Nando’s should be treated like a Thursday night at Liquid; if you go all the time or plan a big blow out, the end result is always going to be fairly rubbish, and cost you a lot more than you want. If it’s out of the blue with no preconceived anticipation you’re gonna enjoy it a shite sight more, and spend a shite sight less.

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