Why compulsive food-hoarding on planes is not a bad thing

LA

NY

I stopped by Tacos Por Favor in LA to meet Cy for lunch before I left. I gave him some things to mail home (my broken camera, Amara’s dress, etc) and bought three burritos. I ate one there, took one to Lindsay in NYC and planned to eat the last for dinner on the plane.

My flight was more or less on time, 3pm, and I decided to eat ‘dinner’ at 6 so that I wasn’t too hungry when I landed. I was taking Super Shuttle from the airport to Lindsy’s house and it is always extremely slow. I also checked bags and so I was guessing the earliest I would be able to get more food would likely be after midnight.

Around 5 I started thinking about that delicious bean and cheese burrito stuffed into the depths of my backpack. By 515 I had done enough figuring to let myself go for it, mostly based on the fact that I had lunch before noon and so it was suitable to have a correspondingly early dinner.

I also watched 17 Again (great movie, many plane-inappropriate LOL moments), read the rest of ‘Power Travel’ (great book, lots of insider information about how the airline industry works which would become very useful later in the trip…) and took a little nap. I arrived, got my baggage and successfully wrangled the Super Shuttle all within forty minutes or so, not bad for JFK. I got in the van and tried to avoid talking to the overly-social concierge turned PR for the SF zoo lady. I eventually made it to Lindsay’s about 3 hours after landing, thanks to about 10 laps through JFK picking up stragglers…I was surprisingly ok with it. Probably because I was channeling the dance party Lindsay, Stephanie, Kristen and Sebastien were having while waiting for me.

Yes, we had the whole crew. Lindsay got me really excited with a ‘surprise’ waiting for me in NYC. I had a feeling it was Kristen, and I knew Steph was already there for a part-time gig at her old employer on Wall Street.

We spent Friday wandering around the city in search of vegetarian food, happy hours and dance parties; we were very, very successful. There was Steph’s favorite vegan buffet by her work, a random fresh juice bar in Alphabet City, a birthday party in what turned out to be ‘a primarily Asian affair’ (quote by the bouncer when we showed up) and an after-party at an Irish bar in late-night-food no-man’s-land. Steph and I had to hunt around for twenty minutes to find some hummus. Overall an incredibly successful day, although it’s hard not to be successful with the four of us around. We are unquestionably devoted to the good life. Ahhhh.

The next day was, well, pretty much a repeat with all new locations and a few new players. We had the vegan crepe cart in Washington Square park, Euro-cocktails in the Lower East Side, The Hummus place (per my absolute insistence – I DREAM of this place – you must go – it’s just amazing), rooftop German party and a few random not hot bars followed by one of the most epic pizza binges ever.

It was both quintessential NY (walking, massive variety, all day-all night) and the same thing the four of us has done in California for years (laughing, various food and drink binges, a beautiful lack of planning yet always doing the exact right thing). A great final send-off from my lovely little country. Or so I thought.

I ate the last slice of pizza in the morning and the ladies saw me off. I decided to curb my food on a plane obsession. I got a nice meal in the airport, but didn’t buy twenty dollars worth of crap to bring on board like I usually do. This was an international flight, so they provided food. Yay. Ticketing, bag checking, boarding, all normal. For a moment I though I might have the window seat next to me (I was in an isle) to myself. When my neighbor, who I would later find out is a German fellow named Mark, arrived we thought maybe we would be able to spread out to the empty row behind us. The occupants showed up last minute and we resigned ourselves to the small, bare and terribly terrible seats we had. I found a new McCullough book at the airport bookstore, 1776, so I got started passing the time. The pilot warned us that JFK has bad runway traffic, to expect at least a half hour delay. I’ve sat there for hours so I wasn’t surprised. I tried not to think about the thunder I heard as I stepped from the jetway onto the plane and I settled in. I passed out within about ten minutes of push-off from the gate. I woke up a bit later to a stiff neck and the pilot announcing something in German. Another twenty minutes at least, he finally said in English, long enough after a unanimous groan circulated through the cabin for me to know something was wrong.

He also announced it was a six hour and forty minute flight, much better than I was expecting, so I was still pretty even. Then he announced the twenty minute thing again. And again. And again. After about three hours, he announced we didn’t have enough fuel to make it all the way to Dusseldorf, so we went back to the gate. The weather combined with JFK Sunday night traffic was too much for our lil Airbus 330 gas tank (139,100 liters, FYI). After another hour or so he announced he was waiting for info from flight control for his next action because after waiting so long the crew may be over the legal amount of on-duty time once we flew. After nearly five hours we unboarded and picked up our luggage. It was just like flying, but without actually going anywhere….yeah you can imagine.

That sounds unpleasent, but let me remind you of my new, non-hoarding plane meal strategy. At this point it was definitely dinner time. Did they serve us those meals? No, they only had hot food and could not serve it unless they were off the ground. No big deal, I can just get dinner once we get back to the hotel they sent all 400 or so of us to. NO. It takes hours to move that many people. I think my delivery channa masala showed up around 215am, 12 hours after my last meal. After I waited in line to: get my baggage, put my baggage on a bus, get my baggage off a bus, get a hotel room, get in the elevator, get into bed (might as well have). And not just any baggage: Two. Hundred. Pounds. Of. Baggage. Luckily I had a friend, my neighbor Mark, to keep me from getting too bitter and help with a bag or two when it appeared as if I might not make it.

Yeah, so it wasn’t really that bad. I didn’t have any plans, I wasn’t missing anything. But you know what have made it way, way better? Food. Why do you get a deep fear of starving when you get on a plane? Why do you uncontrollably buy gross, overpriced airport food? Because you might just be stuck on there for a while. Don’t fight it. Stock up, my friends. And travel light. Shit, man. Travel light.

I finally got my airplane food.