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THE REASON IT'S
CALLED COMFORT FOOD
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My grandfather, who died about a million years ago, lived alone
for the last few years of his life. I went to visit him shortly before he
croaked at the ripe old age of 92.
I remember it like it was yesterday, because it taught me a
valuable lesson about food.
He was clearly on his last legs. His skin was withered, his
teeth were gone, and he was confined to a wheelchair. He never left his
dark, dreary apartment, and he had outlived my grandmother and all his
friends.
I was in my 20's at the time, and I wondered why he continued
to hold on. As I sat looking at him, struggling to make conversation, I
silently questioned why he bothered to keep living.
That's when his caretaker, who was in the kitchen, called out,
"Mr. Gravett, your porridge is ready."
His eyes opened wide as she walked the bowl into the room and
placed it on his lap, handing him a spoon. With his hand
shaking, and me watching, he took a scoop of porridge and eagerly slurped it
into his mouth.
After swallowing, he licked his lips with a tired tongue and
smacked them a couple of times. Then a slight smile and a satisfying "Ahhhhh."
The look on his face was priceless. He was genuinely happy, and I suddenly
understood. Life was indeed still worth living, thanks to food.
I tell this story because the older I get, the more I think
about food. My grandfather couldn't do much of anything, but he could still
enjoy food. It was the only pleasure still standing, and it was enough to
keep him going.
In a roundabout way, perhaps this explains why I like airline
food.
It's not easy to find someone who likes airline food. Mention
the subject, and 95% will love to say almost all food served on an airline
is disgusting and inedible. Only 5% will admit they like it. I am part of
that 5%.
I've often wondered why this is so. It's not that I have no
taste buds. While I'm not a foodie, I appreciate great restaurants and
gourmet cuisine, and can certainly be very critical of a bad meal. I've just
never had one on an airline.
The reason is simple, as far as I can tell. Like my
grandfather, when I'm hurtling through the air on a jetliner at 35,000 feet,
I'm pretty sure I'm about to die. So doing something normal like eating food
is a pleasure that I do not take for granted.
As a nervous flyer, airline cuisine is the ultimate comfort
food. It's a return to normalcy for 20 minutes or so, a chance to forget how
a 70 ton heap of metal with 300 people on board can stay in the air.
Everything tastes good. Chicken ravioli topped with some
bizarre sauce, vegetables that melt in your mouth, a wilted salad with a
packaged ranch dressing, and best of all, a white bread roll with butter.
Then there's dessert, which is usually something that is difficult to
describe but tastes exquisite.
I love it all, especially when accompanied by one of those
little bottles of wine. I'll finish every crumb and wish for more. Since it
very well could be my last meal, I savor every drop. Just like my
grandfather.
There are other theories as to why the 5% of us like airline
food. Some say it's because our brains build a connection between airline
food and vacations and happiness. Maybe the other 95% take too many business
trips.
There is also scientific evidence that our sense of taste on an
airline is blocked by as much as 30% due to altitude and pressure, as well
as a lack of humidity, leaving 95% of us with diminished taste buds. It is
more difficult for them to taste sweetness or saltiness on a plane. Not so
for the gifted 5%, who apparently have no trouble sensing the sweets and
salt, or at the very least don't care.
All good theories, but I'm going with fear of dying. That's the
one that works for me. When the flight attendant hands me that tray with the
beef chunks and rice, or, on shorter flights, the hummus sampler or grilled
chicken wrap, I'm eternally grateful. Life is back to normal, and I'm
determined to enjoy every minute of it, at least until the turbulence hits.
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