“Gorroba in the heights”. “Abominable breakfast”. “Almost inedible”.
Making fun of the low level of cuisine served aloft is a universal joke – one that evokes that stand-up comedy beginning question: “What’s the problem with plane food?”
Theories about his inferiority abound. Meals are prepared in industrial kitchens near airports. They are partially immersed in liquid (giving them a vague idea of maintenance) and partially frozen, before being fired into imperfection 10,000 meters high.
Spices and sauces are used sparingly to appeal to easily offended palates. Cabin pressure decreases the sense of smell, and along with the noise of the plane’s engines, it decreases pleasure.
All these theories are valid. But with almost two years of pandemic Covid-19, when air travel became a rare commodity, were we starting to appreciate what we had?
Were we starting to miss the most evil goo in the skies?
From cold fried chicken to beluga caviar
Dining on high wasn’t complicated in the past. Richard Foss, culinary historian and author of “Food in the Air and Space – The Surprising History of Food and Drink in the Skies.” ), says that when a commercial flight began in 1920, passengers would settle for sandwiches, salads, or perhaps a piece of chilled fried chicken.
“The aircraft didn’t have kitchens,” says Foss, “so the only thing that could be served was a picnic lunch at room temperature, with drinks from thermos bottles.”
The first gastronomic flight arrived on aircraft such as the LZ 127 Graf Zeppelin airship. A May 30, 1930 lunch menu casually featured beluga caviar on toast, followed by braised beef with fresh vegetables and creamed potatoes, presented on the finest array of dishes, of course.
It was also the job of a single man to limit the ascending and descending of the airship’s bow, to prevent wine bottles from tipping over the tables in the hall.
Such immeasurable extravagances soon gave way to other forms of floating transport: Pan Am’s “Clipper” seaplanes roasted entire pieces of meat in the air, before serving passengers in a private dining room.
So when did it all go wrong?
Joke Target
“If you saw the ads… seven chefs slicing up a steak Wellington. Then when you board a plane they give you a dead piece of chicken… With the blackheads still in the pores!”
Here’s a bit of Alan King comedy. In the 1950s, he became one of the first to observe the pitfalls of the aerial kitchen (King made so many jokes about airlines that it was common to get sued by them – something he then added to his next act).
The irony is that when King started these jokes, plane food was still on a major upward trajectory.
Same time when Northwest Orient Airlines created a pseudo-cocktail lounge on its “Stratocruiser” aircraft, dotted with bonsai trees and, and then passed prawns on sticks skewered on fresh pineapples.
Even aboard the famous 1930s Hindemburg zeppelin — whose extravagant menu included Indian swallow’s nest soup, followed by filet mignon with goose liver pate — many Americans apparently complained that the cuisine was too creamy and rich.
Airplane food has always had its detractors, and it always will. That’s not to say it’s always a stomach-churning porridge.
People who love airplane food
For many, the cuisine of the heights is something to be savored. Frequent flyer Nik Loukas is the creator of Inflight Feed, where he posts, tweets and Instagrams comments and photos of his airline meals – he’s visited over 150 airlines so far.
His comments aren’t always enthusiastic — Loukas recalls with some disdain a certain Ukrainian airline’s “chicken burger swimming in sauce” — but they are generally very positive.
The huge airline supply took a hit in the mid-1970s, when deregulation freed airlines to compete on price, affecting taste while maintaining a certain quality. And you don’t have to be in business class to find something worth eating.
Loukas himself evaluates economy-class fare from Delta (which renewed its economy service shortly before Covid arrived), Turkish Airlines (“inspiring drinks and desserts”) and Emirates (“tasty portions that abound and include fresh salads and desserts” ).
And he doesn’t just evaluate the dishes themselves.
According to Loukas, “In economy class it’s always interesting to see what the airlines offer… Minor details, such as hot towels, printed menus, bottled water make a difference to the experience.”
He is not alone in his appreciation. Just as there are testimonies about the dangers of airplane food, there are also many others pointing out which ones are better – from eggplants stuffed with ground beef, from Turkish Airlines, to tangerine cheesecake, from Qatar Airways.
Perhaps that’s why last year, as flights were stalled around the world, some people continued to consume food on planes.
Airplane food served on dry land
When the pandemic spread and it became clear that most of us weren’t going to boom anytime soon, airlines and their suppliers were overwhelmed with surplus supplies.
Some organized themselves, selling excess spinach and pastrami quiches, Dutch wafels and cheese snack trays to customers ashore.
Garuda Indonesia even sent the plastic tray and cutlery – not exactly eco-friendly – but definitely to create an authentic experience.
The “Wall Street Journal” classified those who accepted the offer as “crazy”. “Nostalgic” might have been more appropriate. Perhaps it was a similar nostalgia that led to an online rush to buy crockery, cutlery – and even hot towels – when British Airways announced it was selling some of its inventory.
While Garuda Indonesia’s efforts have generated negative reactions, the concept of plane food served on land is more profitable than one might think.
AirAsia’s Santan food brand is reportedly looking to expand from 15 stores in Malaysia to 100 franchises worldwide. The plan is to sell essentially the same recipes currently served on high – includingrendang, nasi goreng and nasi lemak curries.
Santan’s cooking is of a certain caliber, of course – and it goes against the fundamental rule of “overspicing” the sauce. But if that works, what’s to stop other airline suppliers from building up their inventory by branching out and following in Santan’s footsteps?
Ordering at Lufthansa
What does airline food do for us? It’s a distraction from the tedium of a long flight; anyone who has decided that they hate it can at least copy author David Barry and use it as “a form of inflight entertainment, where the goal is to guess what it is.”
In fact, it’s often not so bad — as long as we don’t expect a jet version of the Ritz (even menus crafted by Michelin-star chefs like Gordon Ramsay and Daniel Boulud have their limitations once they’re in the clouds).
More than anything, airplane food is the first taste of a new adventure. Whether you’re in a Lindbergh nibbling on sandwiches on your way to Paris; a Cathay Pacific passenger devouring a flame-baked Alaskan cake; or an unhappy soul watching your hamburger wilt in its own fat – this is the gastronomic gateway to better, more fascinating meals that await you once you land.
As Covid-19 and climate change threaten a kind of travel that has become second nature, some of us are now secretly (or not so secretly) craving the exact same thing we turned up our noses at in “yesterdays” .
Depending on how things turn out, in 10 years, we could all be on our last vacation at home, taking the family out for a sumptuous meal at Emirates, or sipping ice cream and ordering at a Lufthansa.
*Will Noble is editor of From London, a website about London.
*This text is translated. Check the original in English here.
Reference: CNN Brasil
