La Centrale

First of all let it be known that I am reviewing only the part of this places food that is neatly placed among plastic leaves in a glass display by the counter. I heard they won second place in the annual shawarma competition. I am sure the pizzas and bald glazed chikens are fine, or rather live up to the standards of the cuisine that dominates the streets of Copenhagen, a modern greasy blend of cheese, dough, meat and salt in various disguises usually sold as Italian or Middle Eastern treats, quite charming but not fooling any mind but the most feeble about being anything else than slabs of filling for drunk or lazy stomachs. Fine by me, I even indulge myself once in a while, when feeling one or both. What is much rarer however is an easily accesible light bite, snack if you will, consisting mostly of vegetables (and dough again) and catering for the more hasty or healthy. This is however in no way the case regarding what makes up the glass display at La Centrale. It is a trick of the mind, a cheat, an optical illusion, shamelessly trying, and often succeeding I might add, in fooling one into believing that what you are about to have is something actually nice or at least decent. It is no different, nor more innocent, than a player with a card up his sleeve, a weighted die, a dog with lipstick. What is served here can most accurately be described as a rock drenched in cumin. An uncooked potato or a crust of bread wrapped in a string of spinach, a brick of cold cheese with sugar and pepper. It is so dry that the cells in your mouth creak and twist into themselves. Like an oasis in the desert but the exact opposite. An island of chalk. It is overly perfumed in spices to mask the unpreceded blandness, dryness, tastelessness and bleak consistency of these various shapes of shit. Feta pie. Spinach roll. Egg and pepper slice. All icons carved out of the same blubbering fossil of a pile of stone and potato. Salt and cumin. Put there to rest at dick temperature under a red light for centuries, keeping it just warm enough to fool your hands as you leave. No moisture, no depth. Not even the regular papersoaking grease you normally get at places like these. Let me again use the word SHAMELESS. Do not be fooled. Do not abandon your drunken stroll around these parts just to stick in yourselves these bread paperweights. Do not tell me that the taste of paprika and olives shrouding what is essentially a book, discarded from the library for crumbling, is nice. It is not okay, fun, different, sufficient or passable. It is an atrocity. I have never reviewed a place in my home town before but this glass display has popped up in my walkings about and has been looming in my mind for too long. I am taking action, being the change I want to see in the world. I hope I do not offend the men at this place as they seem quite nice but I am sure they will not read this as they are too busy collecting sawdust and stuffing it behind their ballsacks until it is just solid enough with sweat and pubes to be laid there in the red light. A red light district of pastries; just as dishonest, dissatisfying, undignified and miserable as a bunch of cheap whores. Let not yourselves nor your children be fooled. They have a beautiful chain of blinking colored lights. Walk on for your own sake

The prices seemed reasonable so my sister and I stopped by here for lunch. I ordered the half chicken plate and she had the shawarma. You get huge portions for a small price. We both tried each other’s meal and agreed they tasted great. The owner gave us quick and attentive service. Great place for a nice lunch.