The pictures in the back of the in-flight magazine look so tempting when you’re hungry. And the descriptions make your juices flow.
Sub roll with peppadew cream cheese and mozzarella sounds just what’s needed – until it arrives and you have to knock together an archaeological dig with your magnifying glass to discover a single piece of peppadew about two millimetres square.
You’d have been hard pressed to find a drier roll anywhere on earth except perhaps in a mummy’s shroud somewhere in the Sahara. So dry that it hoovered up spit and made it impossible to swallow. After two exploratory bites I abandoned it in disgust.
Hubby didn’t fare any better with his chicken mayo bagel. Yet the cost for the two rolls and two 200ml cold drinks was a stratospheric R86.00.
I know we’re a captive audience on an aeroplane, but come on! I could put up with a bit of extortion if the grub was good. And I could put up with mere adequacy if the price was right.
But extortion for below-par grub is just plain sickening.
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