I truly love airplane food--back when it was free and part of the flight. I miss it. I miss those dwarfed portions of manicotti and the 1/16 cup servings of salad. I miss the doughy white dinner roll served with just enough butter to leave half the roll dry. I miss the prewrapped napkin/utensil/salt & pepper combo and the tiny chocolate cake that was mysteriously moist in such an arid environment. I miss the mini orange juice covered in foil just like the ones they gave us in elementary school. The perfectly proportioned tray and its contents carried with it as much excitement as a Happy Meal for adults (though I've never actually had a Happy Meal...I don't eat cows). I miss the aromas and anticipation of the mystery food as the stewardess--yes, I said stewardess--would rattle her way down the aisle as I craned my neck to hear the evening's choices: cheese ravioli or beef stroganoff? I miss stacking my tray and its diminutive dishes with those of my fellow passengers as my legs would go numb from trying to cross them under a bulging tray table that stayed that way for an hour or more. I miss the experience of in-flight dining. A hot meal on a long journey, is that so much to ask? In utter defiance, you won't find me indulging in those $10.00 little "snack packs" that REALLY satisfy a traveler's cravings for hydrogenated oils. Mmm. Cheese Nips and Oreos. Just what the doctor ordered for my five hour flight to Maui at dinnertime. I suppose I could dine on the smashed and soggy sandwich from my pre-dawn scramble in the kitchen, or the contraband apple I smuggled through the agriculture security checkpoint, or maybe the $5.00 bag of Skittles from the airport minimart. But it's just not the same. Instead, feeling very melancholy, I stare out the window with my lonely ginger-ale popping away in my empty hands, longing for days gone by.
Brazil...
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