After a long few hours of tossing and turning in a cramped airplane seat I awoke to breakfast. A long rectangular box sat on my tray table and in front of it a rather off-putting cloudy, yellow liquid filled a plastic cup. When I smelled the cup I couldn’t really tell if it was juice or stale urine. Being adventurous I took a sip and realized that it was canned pineapple juice. I gulped down half of it and was left with a cloyingly sweet flavor in my moisture-deprived mouth.
Desperately needing something to wash the taste from my mouth I turned to the mysterious box. As I opened it my heart sunk. First item I saw? Dole fruit cup. Great, more sweet and more at-some-point-this-might-have-been-a-real-fruit. Hoping to find my saving grace in the box I saw a croissant. Hooray! A real breakfast item! Something I can eat without turning into a sugar cube. I turned the label so I could read it and read: chicken and cheese breakfast croissant. No. Having passed on the fruit cup and now passing on this “breakfast chicken and cheese croissant” my fate was left in the hands of a bran muffin. Innocuous enough, but like eating a dense rolled up piece of soggy cardboard, I said no thanks.
Luckily the day before I had packed a good ole New York City bagel from the best bagel place I know (Absolute Bagel on 108th and Broadway), so as my stomach was grumbling I whipped out the bagel, shmeared some fresh cream cheese on it and took a delicious bite.
Final Grade: B, a nice slice of home after a long trip.