I'm sorry. This isn't food. Isn't eggs and bread and cheese. Never mind taste -- rubber, plastic, and salt encased in hardened petroleum ( nonrecyclable PS #6).Excuse my creeping tone of sarcasm -- I'm an American, after all. I've had my share of fast food. But I'm taken aback by this precooked offering that has "literally" been thrown together in a commercial microwave.
My airport is the entry and exit point of access to loved ones and destinations, opportunities and cultures, discoveries and environments that our agrarian ancestors could only dream about as they gathered eggs, kneaded dough, and tended the cheese -- all with sky and clouds perpetually above their heads. And I'm grateful for that access and innovation.
But my airport is also an epicenter of petroleum culture, petroleum use, petroleum products, petroleum advertising, petroleum furniture ... petroleum breakfasts. And I envision those eggs and bread and cheese of long ago.
My ancestors dreamed of flight -- of soaring through cloud and sky. My dream, at the point of departure, is real food on a plate.
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