From Sweden, we have to travel almost halfway around the world to Australia and the
writer of the next article. The topic, coincidentally enough, is about
travel, wherein we learn about such things as Bonsai Pineapple, How to Tell When
You're Sitting Next to a Texan, and The Difference Between Australians and
Canoes.
 Airline food has a pretty bad
reputation. These days, however, airlines are doing their best to live down the
bad press their offerings have had over the years, and are coming up with a more
appetising variety of edibles.Sure, it's not like Mother used to
make. In my case, however, that's an advantage. I wouldn't say my mother is a
bad cook, just unadventurous. She was brought up in the English method of
food preparation; if you can't fry it, boil it until it goes transparent. Then
serve it on a cold plate with no spices more exotic than salt. Yum. My reluctance
to eat up my greens comes from an ingrained childhood belief that all vegetables
taste exactly alike. My love of spicy Asian and Mexican dishes is a direct
reaction to this.Airline food, however, has more of
an air of mystery about it. You never know what you'll get. Sometimes it can be
quite unusual.The first thing you notice is the
size. Everything is served on a dinky little tray with teeny compartments. You're
eating within a very enclosed space, anyway, elbows tucked in, head bumping on the
seat in front of you, little knives and forks going at it like a kiddie's tea party.
The portions themselves are not exactly hearty. The rolls are minute. Little pats
of butter and tiny cheese slices. Small main course, small dessert. Even the
ingredients are titchy. One time, out of Honolulu, I was served a dish with a
garnish of pineapple slices (this is compulsory in Hawaii, along with the
traditional garish shirts). I kid you not, that pineapple slice was no bigger than
an inch and a half across. Bonsai pineapple. Now I'd be willing to bet that you
could search every grocery store from here to Waikiki and you'd never find a
pineapple that tiny. It could never occur in nature. It must have been some top
secret, bioengineered mutant pineapple bred exclusively for the airline.With such small portions, though,
they do manage to squeeze in quite a variety of courses. I once flew from Tokyo to
Melbourne, and, naturally, the caterers had to provide something to suit both
Western and Oriental palates. In one compartment was three small, exquisitely
presented pieces of sushi, lightly chilled and delicious. In the compartment next
to it was a piping hot serving of lasagna.Sometimes a special request gets
confused. Between L.A. and Vancouver, after weird foods and hours of sitting in a
cramped seat from Australia, I asked for an Alka Seltzer. The steward returned
fifteen minutes later with a chocolate coated cherry. I said, no, I'd really
prefer an Alka Seltzer. He returned with a glass of water with fizzy tablet
therein. And ice cubes. I had to wait for the ice to melt before I could drink
the medicine. North Americans have ice with everything, apparently. I concluded
that they have mastered the art of freezing, but not the art of
refrigeration.
Sometimes strange surprises lurk upon
those trays. Allow me to set the scene. It's 1977, and I'm on an Austrian Airlines
flight from Vienna to London. I'm travelling alone and I'm in the very last row.
Next to me is a tallish middle aged man. Wrinkled face tanned by prairie sun and
wind. Big, chunky rings on each finger; gold, onyx, turquoise. Cream suit with
intricate piping about the lapels. Enormous stetson. Hand-tooled boots. Plaid
shirt with bolo tie. Massive, patriotic belt buckle. Texan drawl.And I think to myself, "He's
American."Yeah, I know, a totally unfounded
conclusion to jump to. I mean, I know Americans don't dress like that. I've
met them. They tend more towards sportshirts and slacks rather than trying to look
like they're on their way to a square dance.But, hey, some people go crazy when
they're overseas. Australians in Crocodile Dundee hats. Canadians with huge
red-and-white maple leaf insignia all over their clothing. New Zealanders with
kiwis everywhere. (Mind you, I've never seen a Japanese tourist dressed as a
samurai.)So anyway, I'm sitting next to this
extra from a Gene Autry serial and he's complaining about everything: European
airports are too small. You have to walk across the tarmac to the plane. He's in
the back row. All the American newspapers were grabbed by the other passengers.
This plane's too small. We're running late... I settled down for an enjoyable
flight.The cowpoke's moaning became so
regular that eventually, the Austrian stewardess exchanged cabins with her
American-born colleague. Being the same nationality, she could get away with
smilingly asking him, "If you hate travelling so much, why on Earth don't you stay
home?" We exchanged a wink.The Texan muttered quietly under his
breath, but mostly kept quiet for the rest of the trip......Until the meal arrived. It was a
varied selection of morsels. One item looked like chocolate cake wrapped in
cellophane. I saved it for dessert, and was surprised to discover that it was
actually black bread, quite dry and heavy, and I'd run out of butter.Oh, well. You can't win them all. I
washed it down with coffee and chalked it up as another cultural experience.I glanced over at the Texan. He had
made the same mistake. A feeling of sadistic glee came over me as he carefully
unwrapped his 'chocolate cake' and popped it in his mouth."Bleah!" he exploded, "Dry bread!"I smiled knowingly. "Nice, isn't
it?" I grinned.That's what I like about air travel. Not
only is the food an adventure, but the other passengers can be quite entertaining,
too.Trains, however, really do
serve atrocious food. Usually something prepackaged like potato chips, or vaguely
meat like and microwaveable. Rumour has it that British Rail buffet car crews
throw a party every time one of their pork pies has a birthday. The prices are
overcharged, but where else are you going to go? The service is lousy, too; you
have to get it yourself. A good chance to stretch the legs, but walking the length
of a bouncy train while carrying two steaming cups of coffee back to your seat is
no mean feat.One exception is the New Zealand
Railways service between Dunedin and Christchurch where they come round with
Devonshire Teas. You get to munch scrumptious scones with fresh cream and
strawberry jam as the scenery goes by.In 1986, I spent a very boring
birthday travelling between New York and Toronto by train. Knowing it was to be my
last day in the U.S.of A., I'd been scrimping with the last of my American currency,
rather than cash a traveller's cheque and end up with an excess of unusable funds.
I was down to loose change when hunger got the better of me and I headed for the
snack bar.Working out that I could just afford
a coffee and a slice of cake, I handed over my precious pieces of metal. Among
them were about fifteen one cent coins. "Hey!" said the guy behind the bar, "I'm
not taking that!""I'm sorry," I said, "It's all the
money I've got.""I aint taking pennies."I pointed out that this was perfectly
legal tender. Made by his government. Coin of the realm. I had the right price;
surely denomination didn't make a difference. I could pay in Canadian money if he
preferred. No? We debated the subject for some time.Eventually he snarled, "Gimme the
rest. I'll take the difference outta my tips!"
Revelation! So that was it! He was
hinting that the reason he was angry was because I, dumb tourist, had insulted him
by not being able to tip. Now, I never could get the hang of tipping. It's not an
Australian custom. They say the difference between Australians and canoes is that
canoes tip. It's not that we're mean, it's just that our waiters get a fairly good
wage. Sure, you can leave them a gratuity if they've earned it, or let the taxi
driver keep the change. But they don't expect it. I tried my best in
America, working out percentages and adding a bit on top. Such a confusing system.
But this guy was just selling stuff from behind a counter. Do you tip shopkeepers?
Do you tip fast food staff?"You get tips?"He indicated a bowl on the
counter."Well," I said, picking up my food,
"I've enjoyed my stay in America. I've seen some wonderful sights, visited some
amazing places and met some lovely people. But you've just shown me that there's a
major gulf between your culture and mine.""Yeah?" he sneered, "And what's
that?""Where I come from, a person who's
as rude to his customers as you are would never get tips."His eyes bulged and he started to
shake.Entertainment is where you find it.
It's a rare sight to see an angry New Yorker who is lost for words. If I had had
any money on me, the facial contortions alone would have been worth more than the
price of the food. If only my camera had been within reach -- his face went through
some of the most beautiful and spectacular colour changes that I have ever seen.I do love to travel. It's the people
you meet... All illustrations by Diana Harlan Stein |
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