The Reluctant Traveller: Day 1: The Sweetest Taboo

Terminal 7 at JFK and I've got an hour to kill. I decide to eat, so I browse the $8 cashew boxes and suffocating, Saran-wrapped Granny Smith's in the Balducci's take-away market. Then I spot a new place nearby: Todd English's Bonfire. It looks empty and cozy--two qualities that are typically underrated in airport restaurants.

I take a seat at the bar and ask to see a menu. I order a skirt steak and a seltzer, then begin to wonder who Todd English is.

The bartender disappears (to presumably place my order) and suddenly I realize that I'm alone here, in this bar/restaurant. I notice the slight coat of dust on the bottles of liquor behind the bar. A muted soccer match is on the plasma TVs suspended in the corners. And, of course, Sade is playing through obviously cheap-o speakers on the restaurant's sound system.

I can't tell you how many times I've heard Sade in airport bars/restaurants. What is the deal with Sade? Why is it the soundtrack of choice for people scarfing down a meal before boarding their flight? I boggle my mind by trying to contemplate all the thousands of airport bars/restaurants that are, at this very moment, playing Sade.

My skirt steak arrives. I asked for medium rare. But what I get is a piece of meat that's so raw that the pool of blood it's sitting in merits a lifeguard. I tell the bartender. He takes the skirt steak away. A few minutes later, he returns. This time, it's so overcooked, I can taste the chef's anger. "NOT COOKED PROPERLY? NOW I'LL COOK IT PROPERLY FOR HIM."

I've worked in kitchens. They're very angry places.

I pay my bill, then head to the gate, serenaded by "Smooth Operator." (Smooooooth operatorrrrrrrr.) 

I wish I'd opted for that Saran-wrapped Granny Smith.