The joy of junk food
Because there's nothing better than something greasy after a night out
Parmo: Because you know you want it
It’s a well known fact: there is nothing nicer than a greasy takeaway after a night out on the tiles, drinking fizzy pop.
At home, finding a good pizza shop within a three minute walk of where you are is as easy as ABC. There is, after all, only one club, and all the bars are on the High Street, so in a town like mine, you’re never really that far away from anywhere.
In the city though, the hunt for food after a night out is a very different experience. In my home town I always know what I want, or more precisely what I need to avoid that killer hangover. The best hangover prevention comes in the form of bashed chicken, fried in breadcrumbs, topped with béchamel sauce, and sometimes, if you’re lucky, a sprig of parsley. Yes. To you folks who live near Teesside, you will know the wonder of which I speak. The Chicken Parmo. To those of you who don’t (and who aren’t vegetarians), get up to Teesside and try one. They are fantastic.
Here in Liverpool I have yet to find a satisfactory pizza shop that provides me with a decent pizza, let alone a substitute for a parmo. I made the mistake of trying a chicken kebab, in the hopes that it was just the chicken that did the trick for the hangover. That was a mistake. It was pretty foul when I ate it, and to wake up tasting it the next morning was even more grim.
Another thing that bothers me about chippies in Liverpool is the hygiene. Call it naivety if you will, but I’m fairly sure the pizza shops here aren’t as clean as the ones at home, and I’m fairly sure that the food isn’t cooked to the same standards. It’s not like I’m expecting much. I know it’s a pizza shop but I don’t know…maybe that chicken kebab has affected my mental health a bit more than I originally thought.
It’s funny. My boyfriend said to me earlier: “Why is it that when takeways keep the hatch to the kitchen shut, you wonder what it is they’re hiding.” And he’s right.
I’m sure that there is a good pizza shop somewhere in this fantastic city; I just haven’t found it yet. Everything else in last year’s Capital of Culture is bloody brilliant. Maybe after being spoiled with the years of chicken parmo’s and the best meat feast pizzas in the world my expectations are just a spot too high. Oh well. Makes me appreciate cheesy chips in Liverpool even more.
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