Subway’s Latest ‘Refresh’ Barely Impresses

Many of us come from places where superb sandwiches are easy to score.

We’re talking about well-endowed Reubens at Jewish delis; toasted hoagies layered with spiced meats from corner pizzerias; toothsome banh mi baguettes in Vietnamese eateries; and French dips and BLTs that are hallmarks of family-friendly diners.

Yet it’s baffling how Subway, in all its mediocrity, ranks as as the most ubiquitous sandwich chain in the world. There are nearly 44,000 locations across 110 countries. (From a business perspective, that isn’t bad for two Connecticut guys who invested $1,000 to open their first Subway shop there in 1965.)

After periodic waves of sour publicity over the past decade, Subway now finds itself introducing “fresh ingredients” and a couple of new sandwiches, all of which taste like a cry for redemption.

The Offenses

In brief, Subway’s most recent blow is a current lawsuit by two California customers claiming that its tuna salad comprises a weird amalgamation of mysterious fish that doesn’t involve tuna at all, per an independent lab test conducted earlier this year. The company calls the accusation “outrageous.”

Then there was Subway pitchman Jared Fogle who bathed in the limelight after losing a couple hundred pounds from eating Subway’s veggie subs. He was shortly after convicted of possessing child pornography.

And let’s not forget when the rabble-rousing “Food Babe” (Vani Deva Hari) aggressively petitioned the company to stop using a yoga-mat chemical (azodicarbonamide) in its bread recipes, and meats containing antibiotics. To Subway’s credit, those requests were eventually granted.

I loathe Subway for additional reasons, starting with its homogeneous-tasting cold cuts and those little triangular slices of generic cheeses, which leave my normally keen palate unable to differentiate between Provolone and Swiss. I’ve also never been impressed by the service; the workers are generally smile-less trons burnt out from customers making nitpicking specifications all day. Given there’s never a clear-cut order, I too would probably hate all of humanity by the middle of my shift.

Also, in no other sandwich shop will you witness condiments applied directly onto the proteins and garnishments rather than up and down the sides of the roll. This defies the basic tenets of sandwich-making when using mayo, mustard and sauces. The “method” brings mushiness to the fillings and deprives the bread of moisture.

Taste Tests

Lured by the words “big changes” stated boldly on a window decal at my local Subway, I stepped inside to behold its recently introduced ingredients: fresh BelGioioso mozzarella; “new crispy bacon;” oven-roasted turkey; reinstated rotisserie chicken; and fresh avocado.

“What’s different about your bacon now,” I inquired while gazing at the sad-looking strips sitting in a metal cubby on the sandwich board.

“Oh nothing,” the employee answered as though she found the question odd. After pressing her a bit more she added, “I guess it’s because we cook it here instead of having it delivered already cooked.”

Either way it’s made ahead of time.

When I asked how the new turkey differs from the old turkey, she giggled when saying with a high level of indifference: “We just call it ‘roasted turkey’ now. I think it’s sliced thinner, but it’s the same turkey we always used.”

It was those thin, wavy slices of pressed poultry that landed on the new Cali Turkey sub I ordered, a six-incher for $7.29. (The foot-long costs $11.49). The sandwich also includes bacon strips, clumps of smashed avocado, and a layer of the fresh mozzarella, which seems too aristocratic for Subway.

I was mildly impressed with everything until watching the employee dispense my request for light mayo between the bacon and the turkey. More disappointment ensued when biting into the updated “artisan Italian” bread roll, which I requested toasted. Forget it. The roll was barely crisped despite its scalding temperature. And the interior sported the kind of off-putting sponginess that microwave ovens inflict.

Nothing new there.

On a return visit I tried a rotisserie chicken sub. It’s made with a somewhat frugal foundation of shredded breast meat, which is supposedly extracted from seasoned birds cooked on warehouse spits. I would get this again, and with the same low-key garnishments I chose—lettuce, red onion, and the house vinaigrette spritzed appropriately over the veggies.

The other new sandwiches are a Cali Steak using “thicker and juicier” beef, which visually resembles carne asada. (A discriminating friend recently told me it’s “decent but nothing memorable.”) There is also a club-style sub for which I’ll never muster an appetite, thanks in part to processed Black Forest ham and American cheese used in the construct. It also layers in turkey and bacon.

For sandwich connoisseurs like myself, Subway turns us into lazy hypocrites because of its sheer convenience and fleeting specials on foot-long sandwiches. On my next visit, in maybe two or three years from now, I expect there will have been more improvements made for PR reasons, but still to no level of greatness.

(Photos except that of the Cali Turkey sub by The Hash Star)