airplane food

Many have written about, and most have survived. I mean airplane food. I travel fairly often, never as much as I would like. However, I am always bemused by airplane food.

In the 1950's, (late I might add) when my family and I traveled overseas, we always had full meals with real silverware. What I remember most however, is that the stewardresses would come down the aisle with trays of individually wrapped Chicklets gum, so we could alleviate air problems with our ears. No one passes gum anymore, or much else either.

Much much later, I am traveling with my husband from Vancouver to London. This will be known as the liqueur-all-over-me flight. Just before we landed, the stewardress, not carrying Chicklets this time but small glasses of liqueur on a tray, collided with me, spilling Glenlivit, sherry, Creme de menthe, Creme de cacao, and God knows what else all over my black slacks. Now, of course black is the travel color, it does not show dirt. But the aroma! As I lurched through customs in Gatwick, I was amazed I was not sent back to AA or into solitary.

I particularly like leaving FROM a country back to the United States. I can count on caterers who have prepared the food in that country. I love the new labels, and where food is packaged. I have hopes that it just might be more interesting, or at least indicative of where I just was.

When we were leaving Turkey on Turkish Air a few years ago I had dolmas, lovely pilaf, some grilled lamb, thick slabs of white cheese, Turkish coffee, raki, and a tiny bit of baklava. There was a hideous returning tour group seated around us. They were making fun of "real" toilets on the plane, "we are going back to civilization" and generally embarrassing us as true Ugly Americans. The woman across the aisle said, "I am having I don't know, I don't know, and I don't know. " A damn shame after three weeks in Turkey and she doesn't know what she was eating. Tried to tell her but realize I may have looked like one of those particularly irritating women who frequent British mystery cozys with advice given to total strangers and small dogs.

There was the Kosher Incident. Hearing that asking for vegetarian would be best, and freshest I tried it one time. A sad time. I was on Lufthansa traveling with my six year old daughter to Trier to see family. Time for lunch. Out came my daughter's personally ordered special kid's happy meal. happy kid.

Mine arrived. It was an all purpose, one size fits all dinner. It was rabbinical, Kosher, no salt, low fat, and damn near inedible. Canned oranges, canned prunes, some canned salmon and a little salad. I especially liked the packaging. Way before security replaced those metal knives and forks with plastic ones, mine were plastic. Several sets, just to keep things Kosher. Wrapped in plastic also was a prayer in Hebrew, and rabbinical certification. I am sure now that the meal would also be acceptable to Muslims in a spirit of all inclusivity. I dropped plastic wrap everywhere, had three forks, spoons and knives. I ordered red wine, to wash everything down.

Dinner five hours later...it was a long flight. More of the same. prayers, wrappers, forks and knives everywhere, only now it was also vegan! My heathen daughter continued happily with her kids meal. By the time breakfast came around I was desperate, grabbing the stewardress by the wrist, I pleaded with her for any other meal. There was one left, a sodden lasagne, and creepy orange jello. I fell upon it like a woman starved, and drank more red wine. Moral of the story, take your own, or just go with the herd; do not order special.

Lately though, those meals are a fond memory. One three hour flight, I actually, like Pavlov's little poodle, looked forward to my twelve, twelve count 'em, fish shaped crackers. I am ashamed to admit I actually licked my finger and ate the rest of the salt. I was really hungry, and on my way home with no cash left. (A common occurrence, thank God for Starbuck's cards in airports. ) Rummaging in my purse, I ate the rest of the Altoids.

And now, people carry on food. Wolfgang has a take-out in some airports, and I am sure that Emeril, Rachel, and my other friends in food will soon follow if they have not already. Order a huge Cony dog, load it up with sauerkraut and mustard, grab a latte and lumber onto the plane reeking of oil, vinegar, and caffeine. Ask the person next to you to please hold your food while you put away your luggage twelve seats away. The space overhead, a product of eminent domain which should be yours, but no, earlier lazy folks have taken your space! Return, seat, and then begin to break all taboos, eating in front of others, and don't share.

Where are those stewardresses with Chicklets? Where are my liqueurs? Where is elegance, fine dining, good food, clever little bento boxes and real silverware? Probably in first class, but then I would never know, at least not yet.

Still love the pretzels, order a plain bloody Mary mix, and no ice please.