Tab Tries: Van of Death
Quite literally risking my life in the name of journalism…
Wander the dark, menacing back streets of Cambridge (ok, market square) and you will come across a van. A van that supposedly sells the sweatiest, greasiest, fattiest takeaway food in the whole of the city, if not the world. Yeah.
Students who have eaten food from there go unseen for days after. We don’t question why. On behalf of The Tab, I went undercover to investigate.
Walking through Cambridge on the way to complete this, my most dangerous feat to date, I felt a tangible sense of foreboding. My stomach rumbled. But it wasn’t hunger. It was fear. It knew it was time.
Passing Gardies, I felt a sense of yearning. A yearning to eat food from a place that’s got a one star hygiene rating, but a hygiene rating nonetheless. Yearning to hear the sweet sweet call of ‘cheesy chips to go’ after smiling for a picture that, when placed upon the wall, provides instant BNOC status. I didn’t know what was awaiting me at the Van of Death, but I knew it would not be this.
The next landmark passed on my journey was the Van of Life. Drunken students who had peaked too early were staggering up to this sacred place, handing over their money in exchange for the infinite vitality and rejuvenation that a classic cheeseburger and chips can provide. The jealousy was real. But I had to continue my plight.
At last I saw it. Tucked away in a dark, sinister, ominous corner of market square. The Van of Death. My time had come. Browsing the menu, I realised that it was time to make some big decisions. My head was telling me to play it safe, to go for chips and cheese, but my heart was saying chicken nuggets. I decided to follow my heart.
Let me tell you, ordering was an emotional rollercoaster. At first I was excited and actually quite impressed by the fact that students get a 10% discount on all food. Winner winner (questionably cooked) chicken dinner.
But then something monstrous happened. Something really really bad. I was…OVERCHARGED!?! I mean, I did call the guy out on it. He apologised and said he had made a mistake. Momentary outrage over.
After a tense, nerve wracking 1 ½ minute wait (good service time though, you’ve got to give them that), my dinner was served. I decided to take it home. If I was going to die that night, I would at least do it in comfort.
Back at home, I transferred the food from takeaway box to bowl. My heart was pounding out of my chest as I took the first bite. I had gone straight in for the nugget…
I checked my pulse. It was still going.
After receiving confirmation that I was in fact alive, I could then focus on the food. I must admit, I was impressed. The nugget was brilliant. Nice and flavoursome. It had that greasy, artificial, slightly gross vibe going on, so basically everything you could ever want in a nugget. And the chicken to batter ratio was second to none.
I soon finished the entire meal. Portion size was substantial. I was satisfied, but not overly full. I also felt quite healthy after the protein intake from the chicken, and carbohydrate intake from the chips. Gainz. Nutrition, gratification AND I was still alive. What a result.
So I did it. I ate from the Van of Death, and I lived to tell the tale. What a miracle. And, surprisingly, it was actually kinda delicious.
If you’re looking for a wild night in Cambridge, this is probably the best you’re going to get.
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