Airport food

Last Friday morning, I woke at 5:30AM to call a Lyft to the second-worst of New York City’s three major airports: JFK.

I’d only be at my destination (a Panama City Beach satellite community) for about 48 hours — with 48 hours between deplaning and replaning it would be little more than an overlong layover. JFK to ATL to ECP; ECP to ATL to JFK.

Last year, in Berlin, I purchased a Freitag Dragnet messenger bag. This trip, for the second time, I managed to pack everything I needed neatly inside. One “personal item,” in TSA parlance.

In ATL I stopped by a Peet’s Coffee for a medium cold brew and an everything bagel (cream cheese, of course, came on the side: a single-serving package of Philadelphia). Fine. Purpose-serving. I would not eat again until some six hours later, in the beach house with my friends, dripping Gulf water and shedding sand on the kitchen island, carving out a pint of pimento cheese with Wheat Thins.

On the return leg, with a two-hour layover, I once again ate in ATL. All I’d eaten that day was “brunch:” a sixth of a key lime pie washed down with a third-liter of coconut water and a blonde ale. Leftovers from the weekend. Bachelor party fare. But a yet more indulgent meal awaited.

It’s hard to imagine, if not a heavier, a less light airport meal than Popeyes. I queued up with my fellow chicken freaks and placed an order for a two-piece, side of coleslaw, water. At the register, I added two sauces: Blackened Ranch and Bayou Buffalo.

Popeyes had no seating, but the nearest gate was empty and included a row of seats against a wall, separated from the main corridor by an array of janitor closets or bathrooms or somesuch, a shame curtain from my fellow travelers. Seated, I set my Popeyes box in my lap and opened it.

Reader, this two-piece was immense, each piece larger than any entire pre-GMO chicken.

Immediately, already waist-deep in chicken, I realized I’d forgotten to grab a fork for my coleslaw. After processing the beastly portion as cleanly as possible, I just used my complimentary biscuit as a spoon, ate enough, gathered it back into the bag, and was soon on my way.

Later, on the plane, full, I declined a snack (taking only water) when the cart came around. But it was not to be. My seatmate in the exit row — young guy — did ask for a snack.

“Which one would you like?”

“Uhh, I…whichever.”

“Sure.”

She gave him all four snack options and he laid them on the tray table. It was 10:30PM. He clearly didn’t know what to do.

“Do you want one?”

“Sure, I can take whichever one you don’t want.”

“Whichever.”

So, I took the Nuts.com almonds. And I ate. And I returned to JFK heavier in both gut and luggage (if only by a few errant grains of sand) than when I’d called that Friday-morning Lyft.