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the mile high club
are you a member?
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july 6th 2005
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Greetings!
have you missed me?
I am halfway through a ruthless tour of the US; two
scorching weeks in Vegas, a sweltering week in
Florida and now I am ensconced in New England. I
end the tour with a stopover in Normal, Illinois next
week and then I can get back home and, more
importantly, back into my kitchen
in the meantime, I have been clocking up a lot of
frequent flyer miles and have been subjected to the
most offensive assortment of 'in-flight snacks'
imaginable
the low point was having to purchase a box on a
flight from LA to Chicago and opening it up to find
some vacuum sealed salami and a tub of apple sauce
salami and apple sauce
I'll say it again, salami and apple sauce?!
who makes these decisions?
enough is enough; boycott the box, pass on the
pretzels...join the mile high supper club
follow these tips for some effortlessly sexy, simple
meals that you can pack for yourself...you'll be the
envy of all your fellow passengers (you might even
meet someone to share your snacks with!)
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snack survival kit
these tiny buddies can doctor up the most ordinary plane fare
am I the only person out there who travels with his
own stash of truffle oil?
(probably)
seriously...truffle oil comes in such tiny bottles, and
you can pocket a few of those little jars of honey
from the hotel breakfast table...swipe some
marmalade whilst you're at it
a lot of airports have food concessions now where
you can pick up cheese, crackers and an apple or
two. now matter how ordinary the cheese might be,
mix a little honey and truffle oil, slice up an apple,
and buy yourself a courvoisier on the plane. I
guarantee you will be transported to a higher plane
than the 747 you are strapped into
these tiny goodies take up no space at all and the
only looks they will elicit from the securtiy officers
will be ones of envy and/or confusion!
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lox on the run
picture this:
the alarm starts screaming at 5am, you jump out of
bed, shower, look wistfully at the coffee maker, grab
your suitcase and hit the freeway. park at the
long term garage, take the shuttle to the airport. get
in line for your boarding pass, navigate your way
through the security screening (de-caffeinated, no
less!), join a longer queue outside the Starbucks
stand, contemplate a MacDonalds breakfast, think
the better of it ('they'll serve something on the plane,
surely!?'), board the plane, buckle in and sit on the
tarmac for an hour waiting for the air traffic controller
to give the pilot permission to take off
the 'something' that they serve you on the plane
turns out to be a foil packet of pretzels
well, at least you have your coffee...you'll grab a
meal during your connection in Chicago
but you never make up the hour delay in leaving LA,
so you arrive in O'Hare with 10 minutes to get from
terminal C to terminal B where your next plane is
gearing up to go
and so, with nothing but coffee and about 6 mini
pretzels in your stomach, you settle into your second
flight and get offered another immensely rewarding
pack of pretzels
9 hours after you hit the alarm clock, you
arrive at your hotel, turn your watch three hours
forward and declare that it's time for dinner. now.
you dial room service, order a steak (at this point
you'd eat cardboard if they gave you a knife and
fork), you scarf it down with a cocktail or two and
that's your day
this is my life
so, I planned ahead this time...the night before I flew
out I stopped at Trader Joe's and picked up some
mini bagels, some smoked salmon and some capers.
at the airport, I sweet talked some cream cheese and
a
plastic knife from the Starbucks barrista and I
settled into my
breakfast as my
red eyed fellow passengers choked silently on their
pretzels
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champagne wishes and caviar dreams
Robin Leach should be so lucky
yup...I did it. I took a jar of caviar on board my flight
from Miami to DC. I picked up a packet of potato
chips at the airport...and I got some sour cream from
the Taco Bell stand...had a baby bottle of Moet in my
satchel. settled the caviar into a cup of ice supplied
by my surly stewardess
(am I the only person who listens to them march
down the aisles, looking us up and down and
snarling, 'trash' as if it is an accusation rather than a
question?)
anyway, back to the caviar
did I feel ostentatious? did I feel obnoxious? did I feel
gauche? I felt like Ivana Trump posing for 'Hello'
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the grubby martini
stirred, not shaken
I like the idea of a dirty martini
but, as the saying goes, there is so little room in the
glass, it seems a shame to waste it on olives. and
downright reckless to fill it with olive juice
so try a grubby martini; just enough olive juice to
flavour the vodka, not murder it...olives on the side
how do you pull this off a mile above the ground?
simple; pack a tiny jar of olives with your truffle oil
and honey. heck, you might even try a drop or two of
truffle oil in your martini
get a couple of bottles of vodka from the
stewardess (or raid the mini bar before you leave the
hotel; the selection is usually better), mix it up
better still: rummage around in some old bookstores
for second hand James Bond novels (you know; the
chintzy 70's covers with the girls in bikinis straddling
enormous pistols)
heck, wear a cravate and pretend you're David
Niven...what can they do; confiscate your pretzels?
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you're nearest exit may be behind you
you know how it feels half way through a business
trip...especially one where you have multiple cities to
visit...you can never remember your room number
(because it's your third in a week), you exit the
elevator and stare blankly at the framed picture in
front of you;
'I've never seen this picture before'
then you realise that you got off on the wrong floor;
you were on the 10th floor in the Four Seasons in
Florida, now you are on the 12th floor of the Hyatt in
Washington DC
You take stock, get back in the elevator, get off on
the correct floor, but turn left instead of right. you
put your key in the door bearing the room number
that you were in three weeks ago...
...you juggle a dozen combinations of numbers trying
to remember which door has your toothbrush on the
other side of it
...finally, you know that you've got it right (after a
humiliating discussion with the front desk clerk), only
to realise that your key was in your pocket with your
cell phone and is now usless
you trek back down to the lobby. the clerk is wearing
a mask of
pity as he patronisingly explains the 'Great Mysteries
of De-magnetising Hotel Keys' in a fashion that makes
you want to ask him other great unknowns of the
universe
'how do fax machines work?'
'how do fridges really keep things cold?'
being in the middle of a long business trip is like
sitting in the middle of a crowded plane. it's
sometimes hard to figure out where you are and how
far you are from getting out in the case of an
emergency...
and can a seat bottom cushion really function as a
floating device?
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the survival guide
these are the things I don't leave home without
*my ipod (and speakers): my entire music collection
travels with me and, no matter where I am, Emmylou
Harris can lullaby me
*disposable eye drops: the brutal air conditioning in
hotels and planes will leave you bloodshot for days.
pack a handful of these disposable vials of artificial
tears (they can also be handy when trying to elicit a
sympathy upgrade from a hotel clerk or check in
attendant)
*a (wireless) laptop: keep in touch, from your bed
*gayot.com: find a decent place to eat, anywhere,
anytime
*bionic serum: the best skin care product. period.
*ear plugs: you never know who's sleeping in the
next
room or how thin the walls are
and remember: there are only two groups of people
that it ALWAYS pays to flirt with: flight attendants
and the person checking you into your hotel. don't
you deserve first class champagne and a room with a
view?
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