***Airplane food be damned***

Sam's mother is really wanting us to fly out to Dallas in the next couple of months. I'm antsy to get out there as well. Sam misses his nephew and I have yet to meet the little guy. The flight to Dallas stinks, though. There is usually a layover some place such as Denver or Houston and while those are fine airports, I guess, their food selections leave much to be desired. And at the risk of sounding like a bad 90s comedian, what is the deal with airline food?

The only pleasant, high-altitude dining experience I've ever had was on a Belgian airline. The server was a strapping, multilingual Adonis who kept me in perfectly steamed halibut and single serving bottles of wine the whole way to Nairobi. How that man managed to respectfully refer to me as Mademoiselle while I guffawed my way through Nacho Libre like an American buffoon will forever be a mystery to me.

All other airline meals have been a total bust, if I'm "lucky" enough to even get one. I may have a solution to this dilemma, however. This past week our class has been exploring bento box lunches. While the discussions of how a small, seemingly trivial thing such as a child's lunch in Japan is closely tied to larger issues such as motherhood, gender activities, socializing, and politics are incredibly complex and fascinating, I found myself focusing on my gut reaction to these meals.

I get the bento box. Everything about it is appealing. The appropriately sized portions, the variety, the attention to color, texture, and nutritional value, and the effort put into them seem right and good to me. I love the idea that you can put together a comforting and satisfying bit of home to sustain you through long, dreary, and at least in my experience on campus, lonely stretches at work or school. The thought of someone, ahem Sam, doing this for me and individualizing my meal with a memento or style unique to him and home damn near makes my toes curl with delight. I think everything could go wrong in the world on a given day; I would open my bento box to find a goofy vegetable likeness of him and find something to smile about.

My attempt at a bento lunch box.
Smoked salmon onigiri, edamame, little fish tube things, pickled radishes and beefsteak plant, nori, some sort of yellow onigiri seasoning, broccoli, pepper thing, soy sauce.
Photo taken by Ann Anagnost.

Flying sucks. I hate the feeling of being herded about and suspected of potential criminal acts and being fed a cold, stale meal of pretzels and lousy juice. The next time Sam and I fly to Dallas, I will put my new bento-making skills to good use and pack hearty, healthy, homemade meals for us. Airlines can go ahead and make the whole experience as unpleasant as possible but I will take a little bit of home and comfort to the skies with me.