Food on the Fly: The Airlines Should Skip Dinner

Why do the airlines even bother?

On a flight to New York, I was sitting in coach eyeing the contents of the tray the stewardess had just plopped in front of me: a skinless chicken leg in a murky sauce brightened with strips of red pepper, mashed potatoes that had set like concrete, a swatch of green salad with grated carrots, a slab of chocolate something.

I was hungry. I’d gotten up before 5 to be at the airport the full two hours before the flight.

And, though I know better, I hadn’t planned ahead and brought my own lunch.

Besides, with the new carry-on regulations, at least on this trip, I didn’t have an inch to spare in my newly limited carry-on baggage.

What is this? I thought. It’s 10:30 a.m. L.A. time and they’re giving us a bald chicken leg? The sight of it was enough to lead me to consider becoming a vegetarian, at least for the duration of the flight. Ah, a roll, and a dab of butter: real food. Not. The roll is stale and chilly, tough as particleboard.

Well, at least there’s salad. I rummage around and find the packet of dressing. Very haute. Balsamic vinaigrette has finally made it to coach. Not that I think it’s anything to cheer about. The only thing that could be worse is white truffle oil.

I fiddle with the sauce around the chicken. Well, at least the bird doesn’t have feather stubble like the one I was presented with on the flight back from the Ivory Coast. I can’t eat it. I gingerly stick my fork into the chocolate something. It tastes like it was concocted in a chemistry lab.

The worst is that I have to sit with this unappetizing tray in front of me for what seems like an hour, until the stewards have a chance to come around and collect the uneaten food.

I’d be happy with a fresh roll, a piece of cheese and a juicy apple. Or a decent sandwich instead of the revolting melted American cheese gizmo I was served on another flight.

I’m convinced that airlines have to give up the idea of serving hot meals with all the fixings.

At the price point they’re employing, all they can offer is a pathetic simulacrum of food.

I’d rather go back to the days of Freddy Laker’s cut-rate transatlantic flights on which the stewards offered sandwiches, muffins and fruit for purchase.

As it is now, the security search by a team of guards in navy fatigues, jaunty Special Forces-style berets and powder-blue plastic gloves was less humiliating than the food on this flight.

How’s this for an idea? Eliminate everything except the beverages and let us buy our own food--some healthful fruit, fresh salads, good sandwiches or even just some La Brea Bakery bread and cheese--from kiosks at the gate, as passengers do on European trains.