The Airplane Meal

You're cruising at 30,000 feet, high above the Atlantic.  You're sitting next to your one true love but otherwise you're alone with your thoughts.  When a smily lady offers you an airplane meal.  Only one choice necessary: chicken or vegetarian.  After a moments introspection, you go with the vegetarian pasta, simply because yourself is in the mood for pasta rather than chicken.  (You relish the clear feeling of being aware of your inner life and wonder if some carbohydrate deficiency is supervened upon by your current mood).  NOW.  There's nowhere to be, nothing to do (you emptied your tank just before they started serving dinner.  Nice.), all you have is time and fresh taste buds.  Your attention lingers on every detail of the food.  The slight rubberiness of the microwaved pasta; the emergent flavor of its tomato-based sauce.  Where were those tomatoes raised?  The butteriness of the crackers and the smoothness of the cheese you spread on them.  The saltiness of the butter on your sweetish dinner roll, and the pleasure the butter brings.  If you were a fly would the butter be delicious in the same way?  You wonder if the wooded spork they've supplied is any better for the environment than a plastic one would have been.  It's certainly a more interesting texture.  Between bites, a deliberate sip from your complimentary glass of wine.  It's flavor and body elucidated with each lingering swallow.  The flight attendant is surprised when she comes to collect your rubbish but finds you are still working on your meal as if it were your last.  Maybe she doesn't understand the joy of paying attention.