As I tried to avoid the tractor-beam pull of the latest Lindsay Lohan movie and keep my nose in the book I'd never started reading on my trip, I heard the flight attendants coming up the aisle with meal service.
"Beef-chicken-vegetarian? Beef-chicken-vegetarian? Beef-chicken-vegetarian?"
Vegetarian?
I thought that one was reserved for people who call ahead. I was intrigued. My row -- all to myself, I might add (Margy still had a few days of work left in Paris) -- was in the back, so I knew one of those choices would be eliminated by popular demand by the time it was my turn. But which one would it be?
"Chicken-or-vegetarian?"
The beef ran out! Without even asking what the hell it was, I threw caution to the wind and asked for veg. Anything to avoid the funky chicken.
And wouldn't you know that on my afternoon flight out of Paris on Continental Airlines my lunch was... black-eyed peas masala.
It wasn't good -- I won't go that far -- but you know, it was the best meal I've had on a plane in a long time, maybe ever.
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