Year of Eating Differently (3): Just Felafs, Wardour Street

My appetite for felafel is difficult to diminish. Last August I spent a week in Stockholm, surrounded by a multiplicity of different cuisines. And what did I eat? Felafel, at least once a day. One day, I ate felafel four times. Admittedly, the dirty felafel store was just around the corner from the bar where we were drinking, which increased its allure, but proximity is not enough. There has to be that terrible feeling of transgression, that the reformed chickpeas you're cramming into your gob are in some way wrong.
Just Felafs, unfortunately, instead of going for the junk-food-you-can-eat-in-a-kebab-house-when-you're-vegetarian vibe, tries to be all clean and nice. Ethical, even. There's a sign on the wall about how they recycle their glass bottles and run the place on wind-powered electricity. They're still flogging cans of Coke though - how does the big corporation fit into all of that? Pricing has changed recently, in such a way that you can't figure out the menu without a man explaining it to you item by item, but what is there to say? You get some felafels stuck in a wrap, some veg in there, a bit of hummous. If you were adventurous, you might choose something with a terrible pun for a name. I just had the FLT - Felafel, Lettuce & Tomato. It's a bit bland - previously, they made every one on request, so you could load up with chilli sauce, but now they're pre-wrapped and ready for take-away, you don't get the same zing.
And sadly, that's it. Filling, but a bit dull, and for £5.75 that's quite a lot to ask, especially when it's all ethical and moral. When you've a job in advertising/selling bombs/flooding emerging markets with cheap cigarettes you need some filthy food to take your mind away from the dirty mess your life has become. You need a dirty burger. Which leads us to tomorrow...