The Arby's in the food court at the mall has never had a line. It's remarkable that it is still in business. Respected chains like Taco Bell and Sbarro have come and gone, but Arby's has been a food court mainstay for as long as I can remember. And I can't remember any lines. The lasting image I have of Arby's is one in which two Arby's employees, bored out of their gourds, check to see if their manager is watching them and, upon realizing that he is not, jump over the counter and run next door to Chick-fil-A for a quick photo oppurtunity with the Chick-fil-A cow mascot.
Every so often, the food court will be just full of people, and lines will form in front of every eatery aside from Arby's. These are the times I go to Arby's. And every time, I am reminded why there is never a line at Arby's: the food is horrible. They've somehow managed to screw up the roast beef sandwich. It's cheese and beef and bread - how hard is it to make a decent-tasting combination of those three ingredients? Every time I get in line at Arby's, I sort of convince myself that the food is not as bad as I remember it being. Yet every time, it is. Their curly fries are soggy. Their barbecue sauce is terrible. Their mozzarella sticks are dry and flavorless.
Arby's also features one of the world's biggest disparities between the way the food looks on the menu and the way the food looks on your plate. on paper, the cheeze is yellowish orange and of a perfect melty viscosity and the roast beef cold cuts are a hearty pinkish brown. In reality, the cheese is a pale yellow liquid and the meat is thin and grayish. Right off the bat, when you see your food emerge from its bag and wrapper, you're regretting "thinking Arby's."
Still, I continue to try it out every now and again. Maybe I'm forgiving. Maybe I'm hopeful. Maybe I'm stubborn, and just cannot accept that a roast beef sandwich can taste so bad. Whatever the reason, I give Arby's chance after chance to impress me. Since it's still around, I guess everyone else does, too.
Every so often, the food court will be just full of people, and lines will form in front of every eatery aside from Arby's. These are the times I go to Arby's. And every time, I am reminded why there is never a line at Arby's: the food is horrible. They've somehow managed to screw up the roast beef sandwich. It's cheese and beef and bread - how hard is it to make a decent-tasting combination of those three ingredients? Every time I get in line at Arby's, I sort of convince myself that the food is not as bad as I remember it being. Yet every time, it is. Their curly fries are soggy. Their barbecue sauce is terrible. Their mozzarella sticks are dry and flavorless.
Arby's also features one of the world's biggest disparities between the way the food looks on the menu and the way the food looks on your plate. on paper, the cheeze is yellowish orange and of a perfect melty viscosity and the roast beef cold cuts are a hearty pinkish brown. In reality, the cheese is a pale yellow liquid and the meat is thin and grayish. Right off the bat, when you see your food emerge from its bag and wrapper, you're regretting "thinking Arby's."
Still, I continue to try it out every now and again. Maybe I'm forgiving. Maybe I'm hopeful. Maybe I'm stubborn, and just cannot accept that a roast beef sandwich can taste so bad. Whatever the reason, I give Arby's chance after chance to impress me. Since it's still around, I guess everyone else does, too.
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