Eating anything at 40,000ft is a marvel, but when it's laid out on a dinky tray it's almost impossible to beat
Heating up a pre-cooked beef bourguignon, for one, at home, is a microwave meal. (Microwave-ready meals were once described to me as ‘ping dinners’, which I can neither forget nor forgive.) Why, when a tray of sesame chicken and noodles is passed to you at 40,000ft, does it become the most succulent meal ever tasted? Something to do with the effect of altitude. It’s why Marley & Me will kick you in the heart.
The bliss of air travel is having zero responsibilities, making no choices outside of Marley & Me, chicken or fish, and when you wish to make toilet. Aeroplane food is similarly infantilising. Those little compartments, individual butter pats, peelable film. Here’s your bit of salt and pepper, your choc pot. What is all this but an update on the waxy muffins and silicone eggs we were served as children, from plastic ovens? The cabin crew are mothers, playing along. Would Sir like a little wine before his duck à l’orange, served in the traditional style with plastic cutlery, and an episode of Smallville? He would.
The fact none of it tastes any better than OK is beside the point. You’re sitting on a flying chair and someone hands you free pinot and 4g of coleslaw? The magic is this is happening at all. No one is pretending it’s good food. It’s a step above dog food. But if it’s fine enough for Marley, it’s fine enough for me. Unless Marley was actually Owen Wilson, I don’t remember. I’ve had three Bloody Marys and spilt balsamic vinaigrette on my lap. Someone help, please!
Photograph by Shaw + Shaw
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