Choosing your airport according to the food concessions

Airplane food used to give me something to complain about. The cold sandwiches were awful, the hot food trays were worse. The salads tasted like they’d been frozen and the rolls doubled as bouncing balls — but I have to admit, I miss that stuff. It was convenient and often entertaining.
Now that airplane food has disappeared in coach class on almost every domestic flight, and security mandates arriving hours ahead of scheduled flights, I have plenty of time to explore the airport’s food concessions for junk food and greasy goodies I don’t ordinarily eat.
There’s something about traveling that makes junk food more satisfying and appealing than ever. And there’s something about having big layovers, and time to explore food courts, that makes junk food more accessible than ever. Add to that combination traveling alone, and I turn into “obsessive feed me mode.”
Last Tuesday I made the trip from Connecticut to LaGuardia to board a 4:00 p.m. flight to Florida. The traffic was light and I had two hours to use before my flight. I’d only eaten one slice of toast at 10:00, so I headed for the lower level food court. Lack of food on flights has definitely increased the lines and selections.
I really wanted a salami sandwich at the New York Deli, but the waitress wasn’t sure if it was kosher or Italian salami. She refused to ask her manager if it was kosher, probably because she was embarrassed that she didn’t know everything she should about her job. On top of that, she refused to heat the sandwich for me.
Frustrated, and sandwich-less, I walked around until I found Famous Famiglia Pizzeria. Waiting in the cases before me were my two favorite pizzas: Thin-crusted spinach and mushrooms and regular crust with fresh mozzarella, sliced tomatoes and fresh basil. I would have been even happier with whole-wheat crusts. I bought one slice of each. My choices were so totally satisfying I smiled my way right through security. Nothing bothered me. My tummy was full.
My 4:00 flight left right on time. We arrived in Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport two hours later at 5:00 central time zone. Believe it or not, I was on my way to West Palm Beach, Florida. Doesn’t everyone fly from New York to Chicago to Florida? Frequent flyer miles saved me money and gave me the twenty minutes I needed to make a few phone calls and a two-hour window for a taste of Chicago. I didn’t have time to leave the airport but I had plenty of time to eat.
I’d heard that Wolfgang Puck opened a restaurant on Concourse C with a wood-burning oven and leisurely dining, along with “Pack It to Fly” options. I didn’t want more pizza. I’d been sitting already for hours and had more of the same ahead of me.
I bumped right into a display of Puck’s packed salads. The greens looked delectable. The salad dressings looked delightful. The fresh tomatoes, sprouts and cucumbers were just what I would have been eating if I were traveling with my mother.
I needed something classically Chicago, like the Goose Island Brewery, Gold Coast Dogs, Edy’s chocolate malted, Eli’s classic cheesecake, Greek gyros or Chicago-style pizza. Suddenly the world came into focus.
I stood before the legendary Billy Goat and heard Sam Sianis’ memorable mantra from Saturday Night Live: “Cheeseboorger, Cheeseboorger, Cheesboorger! No fries N’cheeps. No Pepsi N’Coke.” Double, double cheeseburger, the ultimate in great and greasy.
My waiting time between flights was used effectively and completely. I didn’t need to eat the complimentary pretzels on board. My orange stayed in my bag.
Airline food has never been better, on the ground, with loads of choices. When the airlines fed me my problem was terrible food. Now that I’m feeding myself in the airport, on my way to or from the airline, my problem is too too much awesome bad food.