Road Runner's Secret Service

Road Runner

Website: http://roadrunner.com.pk/

Phone: 0334 1310131 (OR) 0334 1311131

You can also find Road Runner on Facebook & Instagram

On a scale of 1 to Immobile Lout, how lazy are you? If you’re tipping towards stationary lump, a killer delivery service is a godsend. That’s why Road Runner rules the hearts of hermits all over Lahore. Aside from the fact that they’ll deliver pretty much anything — a winter blanket dropped off at your doorstep? Hell yeah — the service is speedy, the charges are reasonable, and, when you’re in no mood to step out, they’ll happily to trek all over the city for you. 

Near-instant gratification and almost zero hassle, I was sold the second Road Runner launched. More recently, though, they’ve got me hooked on to their latest secret service.

Ready? Okay. Hold on to your undies, because Road Runner had set up an in-house kitchen and they’re knocking out some of the most delicious Khao Suey in town. The chicken coconut curry is creamy, the noodles are tender, topped with a small mountain of crispy onions, a generous sprinkle fiery chili flakes, sliced scallions, and a big squeeze of fresh, zingy lemon juice — cozy night in a bowl, babies!

Literally, Road Runner, just take ALL of my money! Take all of eeeetttt!

For your chance to WIN A FREE KHAO SUEY MEAL FOR TWO FROM ROAD RUNNER*, don’t forget to enter The Road Runner Giveaway, happening on Facebook and Instagram. Giveaway starts on Saturday, 11 March, 2017 and closes Thursday, 16 March 2017 at 11:59 pm (PST).

* Prize generously sponsored by Road Runner

Lahore, THIS Is Why You Need To Grocery Shop Online!

I don’t know about you, but it took me decades to become a grocery shopping ninja. 

Through the pre-adulting wonder years, it was as easy as arriving at Al-Fatah, grabbing a Shezan mango and some Super Crisps, and watching Nano slice and dice her way through the entire ordeal like some supermarket sensei. 

The golden days of college entailed an obscene diet of dorm food, bean and cheese burritos and, once a week, cooking a massive, mostly desi meal to share with a horde of hungry friends, but pulling that off literally a no-brainer — hitch a ride to the nearest Indian store, pick up Shaan masalas, buy ingredients listed on the backs of those boxes. Boom. Done. 

And then I got married…*dun dun duuuuun*…and shit hitteth the fan. 

Basically, after moving in, like a good ghareloo bahu (and an A-grade idiot), I offered to take over the sauda-stocking scenario. I probably should’ve stopped to consider that a) I’d never gone grocery shopping on such a massive scale and b) I had no idea what these people shopped for, but, no, I was a fool in love. My mother-in-law resolved the latter dilemma by handing me a three-page (back and front) list scrawled in Urdu. Bullets of sweat broke out. I dialed in my besties for back-up and almost half the day later, we wrapped up an expedition that can only be described as waging war with over-zealous, jiu-jitsu trained aunties battling it out in a Game of Thrones: Ghee Edition. 

Between then and now, I’ve tried more than a couple of “systems” to make the entire process less painful — Excel sheets, streamlined lists, highlighting old receipts, memorizing the layout of my favorite grocery store, hefty tips — but about a year and a half ago I called it quits. Not because I’m a quitter, FFS, but because Allah Mian loves me and some genius launched 24/Seven.pk, Lahore’s first full-scale online grocery shopping app and website.

THIS is a goddamn revolution, folks!

Not only do they carry thousands of products from all of my go-to brands — from grocery items (including fruits and veggies), to toiletries, to cleaning supplies, to pet food, and pretty much everything in between — 24/Seven also has an awesome bakery section courtesy of Kitchen Cuisine and fresh, organic produce from Nadoz Greenz. Wikka, wikka, whaaaaa!

No lies, Lahore, this isn’t just a grocery shopping game-changer — it’s literally the answer to all my domestic house-wifey prayers and here’s why you need to hop on this gravy train, like, right now.

Convenience, Duh: You mean I can lounge in my ugliest nightie, sip chai with some light Justin Bieber playing in the background, shop at ungodly hours sans the kids, and buy a mountain of Doritos without being stared down by judgey, organic-only yoga moms? Why would anyone say no to that?

Zero Hassle: No traffic, no crowds, no lines, no tipping 10 cashiers because even though they didn’t do jack they said, “slalaikum, baji.”

Read more »