I was about an hour into my flight when I first noticed the unmistakable scent of French fries and beef patties wafting through the cool, stale air. It was rich and thick and swallowed me up whole. Waves of oil and grease seemed to wash over me, filling every pore and making what would be an otherwise enjoyable flight spent ogling Jude Law’s jawbone in The Holiday one of disgruntled misery.
My nostrils flaring and my brow furrowed, I craned my neck up and around to see if I could locate the culprit and telepathically shame them into saving their ‘fourth meal’ for later. But there was no fast food-eating fiend to be found. I slunk back down into my seat, crossed my arms tightly across my chest and grimaced.
Photo by Parisa Soraya
There are certainly no written rules as to what should or shouldn’t be eaten within the confines of a 747, but at some point we have to draw a line. For the short hours that we all must coexist in a flying vessel of metal and plastic, let us all pledge here and now to avoid anything that has come into fruition in a deep fryer. Let us vow to say adios to the nachos and the taquitos, to save the cheesy tortilla soup and clam chowder for another time, another place. Let us promise to keep the four-course meals to a minimum while within breathing room of another stranger.
I realize that airplane peanuts don’t leave much to be desired, but let’s not forget the power of a good old-fashioned turkey sandwich or maybe even a nice fruit and cheese platter if you’re feeling up to the challenge. Think brown bag lunch.
And for those of you who carry yourself through an airport terminal with the resolution to pick the veggie wrap over the meatball sub, no matter how inviting the amalgamation of sweet marinara and melted cheese may be, I salute you and your contribution to our shared flight.