Inflight Food Trolley, EasyJet
Inflight Food Trolley
EasyJet
From Barcelona to London Gatwick
www.easyjet.co.uk
by Mabel Syrup
I know what you’re thinking: who orders food of any kind on a low-budget airline? Please, allow me to explain. Having woken early and crept out of our apartment to let my sleeping friend lie I congratulated myself every step of the way as I found the metro unaided by map or man, struggled with the ticket barriers that would not let me through despite a freshly bought ticket, a situation masterfully overcome with a great deal of sign language (apparently I bought the wrong ticket, whatever). I proudly noted that I had arrived at Placa de Sants in good time, and was smiling serenely as I boarded the airport train from Platform 5. A very comfortable ride to end what had been a very thought provoking week in Barcelona. And what a beautiful view, I don’t remember the journey from the airport being so close to the coast.
No, hang on, it WASN’T. Don’t panic Mabel, you must just have been looking the wrong way. Snippets of overheard Catalonian conversation snuck around my brain for the next five minutes. Finally I got up the courage to question a friendly looking mother ‘Aeroport?’. The worried response I got back quickly confirmed my suspicions. ‘No, Valencia’. Oh God.
Four hours and some very expensive calls later I found myself in the airport with a new ticket, six hours to wait and a growling stomach. Breakfast appeared not to be an option and the pate and toast which usurped the last few cents I had was not sufficient to quell my misery. So there I was, suspended between the home of breakfasts and the home of paella, being offered a ‘Breakfast Panini’ for the best part of a five pound note. I know it was a mistake now and I knew it was a mistake then. But I did it. And I regret every tasteless soggy nondescript mouthful.
EasyJet
From Barcelona to London Gatwick
www.easyjet.co.uk
by Mabel Syrup
I know what you’re thinking: who orders food of any kind on a low-budget airline? Please, allow me to explain. Having woken early and crept out of our apartment to let my sleeping friend lie I congratulated myself every step of the way as I found the metro unaided by map or man, struggled with the ticket barriers that would not let me through despite a freshly bought ticket, a situation masterfully overcome with a great deal of sign language (apparently I bought the wrong ticket, whatever). I proudly noted that I had arrived at Placa de Sants in good time, and was smiling serenely as I boarded the airport train from Platform 5. A very comfortable ride to end what had been a very thought provoking week in Barcelona. And what a beautiful view, I don’t remember the journey from the airport being so close to the coast.
No, hang on, it WASN’T. Don’t panic Mabel, you must just have been looking the wrong way. Snippets of overheard Catalonian conversation snuck around my brain for the next five minutes. Finally I got up the courage to question a friendly looking mother ‘Aeroport?’. The worried response I got back quickly confirmed my suspicions. ‘No, Valencia’. Oh God.
Four hours and some very expensive calls later I found myself in the airport with a new ticket, six hours to wait and a growling stomach. Breakfast appeared not to be an option and the pate and toast which usurped the last few cents I had was not sufficient to quell my misery. So there I was, suspended between the home of breakfasts and the home of paella, being offered a ‘Breakfast Panini’ for the best part of a five pound note. I know it was a mistake now and I knew it was a mistake then. But I did it. And I regret every tasteless soggy nondescript mouthful.
posted by London Review of Breakfasts |
3:42 PM |
2 Comments:
I feel your pain, Mabel. I too have been forced into having an Easyjet breakfast. On a flight from Cyprus to London my blood-sugar levels had been in steady decline for about 4 hours and desperation had kicked in. The "kindly" offer of a bacon roll from the steward finally made me crack. Oh the horror. The roll was both soggy and tough at the same time and as for the bacon... it looked like tinned tuna that had been left out to dry. It still makes me shudder. I would have been better off eating the fiver it cost me. Never, ever again.
I was once desperate enough to order the chilli con carne for lunch on a Ryanair flight. I sat anxiously with a knowing feeling that it would all end in disappointment; the minutes ticked past. When it finally arrived it was small, but perfectly tasty and not oily. I will even venture to say it tasted home-made! There was no rice, which naturally fits in the Ryanair philosophy of dispensing with the basics, but nonetheless it was nice.
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