By Ramjee Chandran
We seem to divide our time between Air Looney Tunes and Hotel California.
And in both places, there’s the food. Well, almost any food. I have the digestive dexterity of a wimp; one extra shake of pepper is too much spice.
On a recent flight, I laboured foolishly that sitting in 2A (on ‘gourmet-in-the-sky’ airlines) would entitle me to a better meal. The menu had variations of masala glop; three dishes, same gravy, slightly different vegetable or meat.
I ordered black coffee (I feared the milk) and watched as my hundred-something fellow passengers – who had cleverly avoided paying at the airport restaurants – ate greedily and hungrily off the trays.
The last hour of the flight was Hell. (Demo version.)
Passengers hopped from foot to foot in quest of the toilet; they screamed for more water for the masala on their moron tongues.
And then finally, whew, the hotel. I dreamed about my steak. Medium rare, buttered broccoli…civilization.
The receptionist at Hotel California welcomed me warmly, “…and sir, the coffee shop is still open.
We have the Indian buffet tonight,” he added, brightly.
Ah well, there’s sandwiches from room service.
Ramjee Chandran is CEO and Editor-in-chief, Explocity