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Airlines and airline food
18 February 2006
[indent]It's not entirely fair to compare airline food to prison food. Nor to hospital food. Really. It's not that bad (frankly if they served hospital food to prisoners it would be a significant deterrent to criminal activity). Airline food has certainly come a long way over the years. It is now possible to even identify some of the material served. Or at least determine if it was of animal or vegetable origin.
True, it's not something you'd willingly pay for at a restaurant. Nor is it something you would whip up for yourself in the kitchen at home (unless you are British and have a real hankering for overcooked vegetables).
I can imagine how the conversation would go. "Honey, what say I fix us up something soggy for dinner tonight?" "Wonderful, love! Can I help you boil the steaks?" "No, but you could soak the french fries. I like mine extra droppy." "Just like you are, my love, after a bottle of tequila..."
I have to give (some) airlines a gold star for trying to accomodate the often bewildering array of diets they face from growing international traffic. Air Canada, for example, makes a workmanlike effort to supply their passengers with something akin to food to suit their cultural, religious or dietary requirements.
Muslim meals, Kosher meals, Indian meals, a wide range of vegetarian, allergy-constrained diets, a selection of meats, low fat, low-salt, peanut-free... it would be a trying challenge for any restaurant. I am impressed that they have managed to take this often difficult and complex problem and produced meals that, regardless of the content, culture or reason, regardless of whether they have meat, fish, poultry or vegetables, all taste basically alike.
This proliferation of dietary demands may be one reason why many airlines now offer no food at all, but require passengers to bring their own (or sometimes have minimal offerings such as sandwiches or unappetizing but unhealthy junk food available at a price).
Airline food has one basic taste: Bland. To enliven your food, airlines will provide a minuscule package of salt and pepper, with precisely enough of each to season a single overcooked broccoli spear to a degree that approaches, but does not impinge on, flavour.
Every time I open the foil top of an airline meal, I engage in a nostalgic memory of my own home, with its cupboard filled with aromatic herbs and exhilarating spices, and my selection of exotic peppercorns from a dozen tropical nations, each with its own unique taste. And then there's my cabinet with more than 200 hot sauces and piquant condiments. Each time, I mentally chastise myself for not remembering to bring one or more bottles with me for this precise moment.
But taste is not what airline food is all about. Nor is nutrition.
While at home you may worry about an extra few seconds of cooking that might rob your meal of its optimum nutritional value, airlines have no such qualms. Why worry about nutrition when you can reduce everything to the dietary equivalent of soggy cardboard? It's very egalitarian: we all get the same taste, so no one can complain that the person next to them was somehow treated with bias or favouritism.
Airline food has four essential textures:
As someone who doesn't eat meat, and a self-confessed purveyor of wholesome, nutritional food, I am conscientious about my dietary needs. I always check the ingredients to avoid neurotoxins like MSG, or overly aggressive use of salt, or any meat or meat byproducts (what exactly is a meat "byproduct" you ask... "animal fat, bones, and meat scraps" according to the US definition. Also "Any part capable of use as human food, other than meat.". Cow lips. Sheep's eyeballs. Chicken feet. Yumm. Your typical fast food burger or hot dog, I believe. But I digress...).
Airline food never provides a list of ingredients, so as not to lessen your enjoyment in trying to guess what it contains. Old shoe leather? Coloured string? Boiled squid? Roasted maggots? Pine bark? The list is endless and the guessing is unlimited in its entertainment value. It helps keep the passengers preoccupied during turbulence.
There's nothing quite like an airline side dish, either. Salad is my favourite. I am always astounded that anyone can take basic, wholesome and beneficial vegetables and, with almost no effort, turn them into flaccid shreds of red and green material, with the flavour and consistency of wet string. I have yet to master those skills in my own kitchen, where despite my best efforts, uncooked vegetables remain crisp, juicy and (at least in summer), retain a modicum of flavour.
I was particularly delighted when recently served thin slices of sundried tomatoes, lovingly scattered over a bed of wilted, brown-edged lettuce. As one who appreciates the tang and sharpness of a sundried tomato, as well as its natural, chewy consistency, I was surprised to discover that they could, under the hands of a competent chef de garde manger, be given the colour, flavour and consistency of an earthworm.
And let's not forget the obligatory airline bun. Lovingly baked from carefully selected, vintage sawdusts, it is then let ripen in a damp closet for several days to reach the preferred level of crunchability so popular among airline passengers. On breakfast flights it is often served with a coloured glue similar in appearance to jam or marmalade, in exactly the right quantity to spread a thin layer on no more than one-half a bun.
And the coup de grace is always the airline dessert. This is perhaps the only time the airline catering companies exert themselves beyond the rigorous demands of blandness, to reach for that goal of adding a sugary experience to the taste repertoire. This time I was treated to a tiny portion of something cake-like. Atop a base of white spongelike material (possibly a section of a soft foam mattress), was a layer of sweetened white chalk. Since many people do not eat meat for dietary reasons, I have to assume the there wasn't enough processed white sugar or white flour incorporated in this morsel to represent a challenge to my health or diet. I also suspect that the chalk was included to ensure I got enough calcium in my diet.
Obviously this effort on my behalf exhausted the creative efforts of the chefs who plan these meals, because Susan and other passengers enjoying their meat simulacra were delivered a high-sugar commercially-produced chocolate bar for their dessert. Now that's a good, healthy thing to offer people trapped in a tiny chair for five hours: sugar! Make them hyper, anxious and twitchy, and while we're at it, let's attack their teeth because they probably won't want to brush them in the cramped confines of busy airplane washrooms (kept in constant use by passengers drinking copious amounts of coffee, tea, beer and soda pop during the flight).
And speaking of calcium, have you ever tried to get a drink of milk with your meal? Most airlines can supply various alcoholic beverages, a few juices, tea (or something with that name), coffee - and a truly generous selection of overly-sweet, proto-diabetic soda pops. We can force soft drinks out of the schools, but we can't make airlines give them up. After all, who should be denied a saccharine, tooth-decaying pop with their meal? But milk - nutritious, delicious, and healthy - is sometimes at a premium, reserved for use in coffee or tea.
I've had ovo-lacto-vegetarian meals that include a rubbery yellow substance that bears a faint resemblance to eggs, at least in terms of their colour. Usually this substance is rolled into some sort of omelette, and stuffed with a sticky sauce that bears an uncanny resemblance to watery ketchup, replete with verdigris-coloured chunks that might be vegetable matter, if vegetables grow in the icy depths of Europa's sun-deprived oceans.
In the past, I've been delighted to receive such nutritious items as a bag of chips with my meal. Nothing like a bag of excessively-salted, trans-fat-enriched potato chips to enhance a dinner. And then you're left with a little piece of indestructible plastic trash to leave as a testimony to your meal in someone's landfill site (along with your disposable earphones, which Air Canada prefers to use instead of something recyclable and environmentally safe). I suppose offering something even vaguely healthier, like a granola bar, a fruit chew or simply some real fruit, would have veered too far from the principle of ensuring quality food and Pluto are at equal distance from the passenger's meal.
I realize it's a big step, mentally, for airline caterers to make, but many people have diets or dietary restrictions for reasons of health. That would suggest that, for example, someone on a vegetarian diet may be concerned about their health and want to eat reasonably well. So it would seem entirely inappropriate to offer a sugary cake-like item rich in processed sugars and carbohydrates, instead of, say, fruit. And perhaps having an element of protein in the meal - not merely overcooked, limp vegetables - might satisfy some daily requirement for survival. However, perhaps unbeknownst to me, the limp bits of vegetable receive tofu injections to boost their protein value, before they are subjected to the tender administration of overheating.
I'm sure the caterers take all of this into consideration when they compose our airline meals, making sure that each one is provided with adequate levels of vitamins, minerals, proteins, carbohydrates, and taking into account such concerns as cholesterol, fats, additives, and sugar levels to ensure passengers receive only the most nutritious and healthy meals. I suppose the tasteless quality and curious-yet-unappealing textures are a small price to pay for such attention to the food value they provide.
[/indent]
True, it's not something you'd willingly pay for at a restaurant. Nor is it something you would whip up for yourself in the kitchen at home (unless you are British and have a real hankering for overcooked vegetables).
I can imagine how the conversation would go. "Honey, what say I fix us up something soggy for dinner tonight?" "Wonderful, love! Can I help you boil the steaks?" "No, but you could soak the french fries. I like mine extra droppy." "Just like you are, my love, after a bottle of tequila..."
I have to give (some) airlines a gold star for trying to accomodate the often bewildering array of diets they face from growing international traffic. Air Canada, for example, makes a workmanlike effort to supply their passengers with something akin to food to suit their cultural, religious or dietary requirements.
Muslim meals, Kosher meals, Indian meals, a wide range of vegetarian, allergy-constrained diets, a selection of meats, low fat, low-salt, peanut-free... it would be a trying challenge for any restaurant. I am impressed that they have managed to take this often difficult and complex problem and produced meals that, regardless of the content, culture or reason, regardless of whether they have meat, fish, poultry or vegetables, all taste basically alike.
This proliferation of dietary demands may be one reason why many airlines now offer no food at all, but require passengers to bring their own (or sometimes have minimal offerings such as sandwiches or unappetizing but unhealthy junk food available at a price).
Airline food has one basic taste: Bland. To enliven your food, airlines will provide a minuscule package of salt and pepper, with precisely enough of each to season a single overcooked broccoli spear to a degree that approaches, but does not impinge on, flavour.
Every time I open the foil top of an airline meal, I engage in a nostalgic memory of my own home, with its cupboard filled with aromatic herbs and exhilarating spices, and my selection of exotic peppercorns from a dozen tropical nations, each with its own unique taste. And then there's my cabinet with more than 200 hot sauces and piquant condiments. Each time, I mentally chastise myself for not remembering to bring one or more bottles with me for this precise moment.
But taste is not what airline food is all about. Nor is nutrition.
While at home you may worry about an extra few seconds of cooking that might rob your meal of its optimum nutritional value, airlines have no such qualms. Why worry about nutrition when you can reduce everything to the dietary equivalent of soggy cardboard? It's very egalitarian: we all get the same taste, so no one can complain that the person next to them was somehow treated with bias or favouritism.
Airline food has four essential textures:
- *Gooey
*Stale
*Flaccid
*Leathery
As someone who doesn't eat meat, and a self-confessed purveyor of wholesome, nutritional food, I am conscientious about my dietary needs. I always check the ingredients to avoid neurotoxins like MSG, or overly aggressive use of salt, or any meat or meat byproducts (what exactly is a meat "byproduct" you ask... "animal fat, bones, and meat scraps" according to the US definition. Also "Any part capable of use as human food, other than meat.". Cow lips. Sheep's eyeballs. Chicken feet. Yumm. Your typical fast food burger or hot dog, I believe. But I digress...).
Airline food never provides a list of ingredients, so as not to lessen your enjoyment in trying to guess what it contains. Old shoe leather? Coloured string? Boiled squid? Roasted maggots? Pine bark? The list is endless and the guessing is unlimited in its entertainment value. It helps keep the passengers preoccupied during turbulence.
There's nothing quite like an airline side dish, either. Salad is my favourite. I am always astounded that anyone can take basic, wholesome and beneficial vegetables and, with almost no effort, turn them into flaccid shreds of red and green material, with the flavour and consistency of wet string. I have yet to master those skills in my own kitchen, where despite my best efforts, uncooked vegetables remain crisp, juicy and (at least in summer), retain a modicum of flavour.
I was particularly delighted when recently served thin slices of sundried tomatoes, lovingly scattered over a bed of wilted, brown-edged lettuce. As one who appreciates the tang and sharpness of a sundried tomato, as well as its natural, chewy consistency, I was surprised to discover that they could, under the hands of a competent chef de garde manger, be given the colour, flavour and consistency of an earthworm.
And let's not forget the obligatory airline bun. Lovingly baked from carefully selected, vintage sawdusts, it is then let ripen in a damp closet for several days to reach the preferred level of crunchability so popular among airline passengers. On breakfast flights it is often served with a coloured glue similar in appearance to jam or marmalade, in exactly the right quantity to spread a thin layer on no more than one-half a bun.
And the coup de grace is always the airline dessert. This is perhaps the only time the airline catering companies exert themselves beyond the rigorous demands of blandness, to reach for that goal of adding a sugary experience to the taste repertoire. This time I was treated to a tiny portion of something cake-like. Atop a base of white spongelike material (possibly a section of a soft foam mattress), was a layer of sweetened white chalk. Since many people do not eat meat for dietary reasons, I have to assume the there wasn't enough processed white sugar or white flour incorporated in this morsel to represent a challenge to my health or diet. I also suspect that the chalk was included to ensure I got enough calcium in my diet.
Obviously this effort on my behalf exhausted the creative efforts of the chefs who plan these meals, because Susan and other passengers enjoying their meat simulacra were delivered a high-sugar commercially-produced chocolate bar for their dessert. Now that's a good, healthy thing to offer people trapped in a tiny chair for five hours: sugar! Make them hyper, anxious and twitchy, and while we're at it, let's attack their teeth because they probably won't want to brush them in the cramped confines of busy airplane washrooms (kept in constant use by passengers drinking copious amounts of coffee, tea, beer and soda pop during the flight).
And speaking of calcium, have you ever tried to get a drink of milk with your meal? Most airlines can supply various alcoholic beverages, a few juices, tea (or something with that name), coffee - and a truly generous selection of overly-sweet, proto-diabetic soda pops. We can force soft drinks out of the schools, but we can't make airlines give them up. After all, who should be denied a saccharine, tooth-decaying pop with their meal? But milk - nutritious, delicious, and healthy - is sometimes at a premium, reserved for use in coffee or tea.
I've had ovo-lacto-vegetarian meals that include a rubbery yellow substance that bears a faint resemblance to eggs, at least in terms of their colour. Usually this substance is rolled into some sort of omelette, and stuffed with a sticky sauce that bears an uncanny resemblance to watery ketchup, replete with verdigris-coloured chunks that might be vegetable matter, if vegetables grow in the icy depths of Europa's sun-deprived oceans.
In the past, I've been delighted to receive such nutritious items as a bag of chips with my meal. Nothing like a bag of excessively-salted, trans-fat-enriched potato chips to enhance a dinner. And then you're left with a little piece of indestructible plastic trash to leave as a testimony to your meal in someone's landfill site (along with your disposable earphones, which Air Canada prefers to use instead of something recyclable and environmentally safe). I suppose offering something even vaguely healthier, like a granola bar, a fruit chew or simply some real fruit, would have veered too far from the principle of ensuring quality food and Pluto are at equal distance from the passenger's meal.
I realize it's a big step, mentally, for airline caterers to make, but many people have diets or dietary restrictions for reasons of health. That would suggest that, for example, someone on a vegetarian diet may be concerned about their health and want to eat reasonably well. So it would seem entirely inappropriate to offer a sugary cake-like item rich in processed sugars and carbohydrates, instead of, say, fruit. And perhaps having an element of protein in the meal - not merely overcooked, limp vegetables - might satisfy some daily requirement for survival. However, perhaps unbeknownst to me, the limp bits of vegetable receive tofu injections to boost their protein value, before they are subjected to the tender administration of overheating.
I'm sure the caterers take all of this into consideration when they compose our airline meals, making sure that each one is provided with adequate levels of vitamins, minerals, proteins, carbohydrates, and taking into account such concerns as cholesterol, fats, additives, and sugar levels to ensure passengers receive only the most nutritious and healthy meals. I suppose the tasteless quality and curious-yet-unappealing textures are a small price to pay for such attention to the food value they provide.
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