I took a long haul flight recently and as I was making my way down the aisle, I overheard a woman say this:
‘…yes I just can’t wait to see what we’ll get, plane food is the best.’
I considered this for a moment. Not ‘edible’, not ‘better than train food’, not ‘sometimes ok’. No, the woman in seat 20B thought plane food was: The Best. Which made me wonder what she likes to eat normally.
I looked at her like she was weird; she laughed and said ‘You think I’m weird, huh’, to which I laughed back ‘Yes, I think you’re weird.’
And I do think she is weird. Weird and perhaps an ex-con.
For you’d have to be someone who’s done time to find this, in any way, palatable:
I didn’t know. Conveniently, the air steward didn’t know either. ‘Meat with sauce’ he said.
‘Just meat with sauce,’ he chuckled.
Since I didn’t know, and the air steward didn’t know, I came sharply to the conclusion that God only knows what it was. I did know one thing though. I was expected to eat it.
Here’s a better picture:
‘Wet Sick’ on the left, ‘Dried Sick’ on the right?
It worried me. Kept me awake the whole flight long. It could have been anything, anything. Anything with four legs could be considered ‘meat’ and anything that’s wet could be considered ‘sauce’. I thought about all the things that it could be and then panicked that I was stuck in a vessel somewhere in the sky and couldn’t escape. Not even pigeons fly that high that I could eat.
I began to have gluttonous thoughts about my headset. The fuzzy bit might get stuck but then, then I could push it down with the flexible wires that look sort of like spaghetti.
It was a consideration I can tell you.
There must be a side dish.
What worried me though, was whose diarrhoea was it? I decided it must be an ex-con’s. One done for breaking, entering and engorging an entire factory of Baked Beans.
I looked back at my headset. Still looking good.
I let my stomach grumble on in the hope the final food offering would prove the airline’s foodie salvation.
Just before we landed, I was handed this:
Yes, exactly: Phlegm-en-bread
I think it’s French.
They had clearly used my leftover salad from the dish before. It looked rather familiar (scroll up and compare) but the giveaway was that this too tasted of crap. Only it wasn’t crap it was phlegm, so, a little confusing if I may say.
I wish I hadn’t had a seat further up the aisle. For I would very much like to know what the woman in seat 20B made of this culinary stink bomb.
If you end up reading this 20B, please let me know. ImAnExConWeirdo@aeroplane.com is the address you should write to.