To wait out the long hours until our flight, having arrived at the airport very early in order to escape an oncoming blizzard where we were, my husband and I opted for a leisurely lunch at a restaurant called Wolfgang Puck's Kitchen, or something like that. The famous chef had lent his name and culinary expertise to the establishment, so we assumed the food would be reasonably tasty and at the same time not send us to the ER, which is about all I was hoping for, what with toxic romaine lettuce blanketing the country.
Besides the ridiculously high prices aimed at a captive audience of travelers already through the security line so nobody's leaving no matter how bad things are, the next insult was the arrival of the wrong entree. I had ordered the Asian Chicken Salad, specifically because it was made with non-poisonous lettuce, my favorite kind. Instead I was presented with a Caesar Salad, easily recognized as a bowl of romaine with croutons, Parmesan and E. Coli sprinkled on top. I ask you: do those two salads sound alike? Go ahead--say them out loud: ASIAN CHICKEN SALAD. CAESAR SALAD. No they do not, but they must have to our waitress. (I should have known something was amiss when she served our food and left immediately without saying "Enjoy!")
While some may say romaine has gotten the all-clear, as recently as yesterday the CDC warned the public "to remain cautious about eating romaine lettuce," which in my book means don't go near the stuff. Thus I rejected the platter of poison. After some time, while my considerate husband picked at his own lunch so as not to finish his before I even started mine, the desired salad that would not kill me arrived.
I know this is all petty stuff and "first-world problems" and an example of White Privilege and blah, blah, blah, but since I consider any meal I eat before boarding a flight to possibly be my last meal, I'd like it to at least be something I want. Is that too much to ask?
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