When you board an airplane and walk past the first-class passengers settling into their double-wide seats, it’s difficult to avoid feeling like a second-class citizen. The issue isn’t only personal space. As the curtain closes behind the lucky few, you know the crew is preparing a nonstop feast for those with plenty of disposable income.
You can almost see the French cheeses and crackers on a tray with glasses of bubbly Champagne, an opulent first course meant to stimulate the appetite before a gourmet entree — chateaubriand, perhaps, or line-caught salmon with roasted asparagus. If you listen closely, you can hear the flight attendant whispering to leave room for the hot fudge sundae with fresh whipped cream and toasted almonds.
In coach, nothing is free. Sure, for now the sodas, water, and coffee are still complimentary, but if you’re hungry, have your credit card ready. Alaska Airline’s cheeseburger with chips is a relative bargain at $6, but Delta charges $9.49 for their hamburger and $10.99 for one of their wraps, and a vending-machine-type sandwich or salad is $9.99 on American Airlines.
You’ll do a lot better if you brown bag it and pretend you’re on a picnic.
What does traditional Southern cooking, and traditional Jewish cooking have in common. One word. BEIGE!
Google Maps will tell you that "we could not understand" the location of Las Aradas, Honduras. Weather.com advises to check your spelling. My trip coordinator suggested looking up the "nearest town over" which was a two and half hour drive away. Packing for a trip like this was a bit of a moving target. Las Aradas is a mountain village, six hours out of San Pedro Sula. For those of you who haven't been browsing the State Department's travel warnings lately--Honduras is not a stable country. The PeaceCorps pulled their volunteers out last year.
One of the finest lessons I ever learned in my life was from my
grandmother, "Mamie." We were having dinner at Harry's Bar in Venice
many years ago on a warm summer night in July. My parents had given me,
as a graduation gift from high school, a month in Europe. I had gone
through numerous brochures and found the perfect trip, 10 countries in
28 days. I was exhausted on day 22 but Mamie was quick to remind me, as
I was slouched in my chair, my head nodding dangerously towards what is
probably the most expensive spaghetti in the world, that most people
would break their left arm to have the opportunity to have dinner on a
Saturday night at Harry's Bar in Venice. I sat up straight in my chair
and have always remembered her poignant words.
We were going to take a cab to Damascus for dinner, but we couldn’t get
our visas, so we headed south. I was in Jordan, the Middle Eastern
Sundance Lab had ended. The aspiring filmmakers and their mentors were
dispersing back home to Cairo, Beruit, Ramallah and Casablanca.