Steaks on a Plane

By Kimberly Lord Stewart
 
It was my first professional cooking experience, hanging 35,000 feet in the air on a Pan Am 747. In the 1980’s, the airline was beginning to falter and company executives were eager for us to regain the confidence of regular customers—starting with the big spenders. Armed with nothing more than a convection oven, a paring knife, one asbestos glove and the naiveté of a 19-year old,  I set out to win the hearts and future travel plans of two-dozen first class passengers, each having paid a few thousand dollars to reach their final destination while eating my version of airline food.

Even with the best ingredients and careful planning, any meal can take a bad turn. On this fateful day, the menu included beluga caviar, the obligatory chicken dish with sauce chasseur, six lobster tails in drawn butter and one châteaubriand with béarnaise sauce. I decorated the serving carts with origami-inspired folded napkins and orchids from the islands, my concentration interrupted only when called to make the German-language announcements. As I assigned a fork and spoon to each platter, in the back of my mind I could hear my training supervisor bark in her thick Austrian accent: "Tongs are forbidden." In addition to the essential scarf-tying class during flight-attendant training, we were taught to deftly place each canapé with a fork and spoon entwined in our manicured fingers, setting them on 24-karat gold-rimmed china with the same skill as the mechanics that repaired our Boeing 747s.

Once the aroma of the beef loin cut through the stale cabin air, I knew the main course was ready to be paraded through the aisles. The concept was that any food, even airline food, could be transformed into fine cuisine by serving it on elegant dishes, from linen-lined carts. As I pulled the roast from the oven, I was certain that I could trade in my Pan Am-issued turquoise tam for a starched-white chef's toque. But my moment was short-lived. When I pierced the beef with the serving fork, a burst of turbulence rocked the cabin. The roast rolled off the cart and landed on the well-shined shoes of the passenger in seat 4F. The color of my face must have matched the medium-rare hue of the meat as I snatched the starched napkin wrapped around the 24-karat gold béarnaise bowl, picked up the roast with linen-lined hands and, over the din of the engines, announced in German and English: "I'll go get the other one."

Of course, there was no other one. But a little dousing of red wine from a quick thinking fellow flight attendant killed any debris or threatening germs, and the meal was saved.

To this day, any crewmember will tell you that when you're trapped inside a fuselage like a Twinkie in cellophane, what can go wrong will, especially when you mix a dash of turbulence with a pinch of human nature. So, home cooks unite—let go of your fears. Revel, or at least laugh, at your faux pas. You’d be surprised how often chefs—on the ground and even in the air—are called upon to turn disaster into delight.

Kimberly Lord Stewart exchanged her Pan Am uniform and wings for a pen years ago. Stewart is the Editor-in-Chief of DiningOut magazine and can be reached at editorial@diningoutonline.com. The original version of this story was printed June 15, 2003, in the Denver Post.