In Praise Of Bad Airport Food
by STAN SINBERG
Let's hear it for mediocre airport restaurants. No. Really.
At my airport there's an average sized snack stand, roughly the same size as the neighboring magazine shop, which goes by the incredibly imaginative and
scrupulously market-tested name "Snacks." While to the untrained eye it appears to be just another place to fill up before a flight, here, in this one
little corner, is a veritable cornucopia of one-worldism: Can you count the nationalities represented? Among the menu items are sushi (Japanese), hamburgers and
hot dogs (American), crab cakes (Cajun), bagels (Jewish), chili (Mexican), fish and chips (British), barbecue pork fried rice (Chinese), croissants (French),
nachos and cheese (Tex-Mex), pizza (Italian), spinach pie (Greek), and chicken nuggets (McDonaldsland). This doesn't even take into account the breakfast items!
Wherever you've come from, walk into "Snacks" and you're home!
Can you imagine any of this food being really good? Neither can I. One of the most valuable lessons my mother ever taught me was never ordering pizza from a
place that serves french fries, on the grounds that most places have enough trouble doing one cuisine properly. Here's a shop that's a veritable United Nations of
food! A one-stop International Food Court!
I'm sure it's all bland as can be - and that's exactly how you want it. Do you know what would happen if the pizza was positively mouthwatering, the crab cakes
delectable, the sushi to die for? The consequences that would ensue if the place was rated five stars in Zagat's? Why, you'd want to go back! Perhaps eat there on
a regular basis! Make a reservation and have your friends fly in from out of town. ("Hey Bob, fly-by into SFO, and meet me at 'Snacks.' ")
At the very minimum, this would be incredibly inconvenient. For one thing, there's the location. Wa-yyy out of town. Not the kind of place where you dine and
then duck into a movie. Dining at "Snacks" would be the centerpiece and sum of the evening.
Then there's the parking situation. The short-term parking rates at the airport dwarf that of most upscale restaurant's valet.
But that's small potatoes (that reminds me: "Snacks" also served french fries) compared to the cover charge. "Snacks" is located on the
other side of the metal detector, meaning you have to pass through security to get to it, meaning you have to have a valid airline ticket for a flight that same
day. If the food was fantastic, memorable, or even worth remembering, you'd be tempted, maybe even driven, to come back, which would require buying an airline
ticket before you could even order.
Even if you could get one of those refundable tickets, you'd have to go through all the hassle of finding a flight, ordering and picking up the ticket, laying
out the money, and putting in for a refund. Do this a couple of times a month, and it would wreak havok with your credit card charges.
Then you'd have to go through airport security. Get searched. Maybe take off your shoes.
And since everybody carries something onto an airplane, to avoid arousing suspicion, you'd have to lug a carry-on. ("Mr.Sinberg, why are you carrying a
bagful of wiffle balls?"). Even so, after several visits of showing up for a couple of hours and leaving without taking a flight, you'd likely arouse
concerns of being a terrorist. ("You're sticking to your story of coming to the airport for the FOOD?")
Clearly, this is more trouble than it's worth, and we're fortunate that airport food is such forgettable fodder that it's never worth it. Do me a favor, all
you flavorless airport restaurants: don't ever change.
If you want to see how it all turns out, e-mail Stan. |
