“Culinary masochism” is something you’d expect from an Instagram model with rock hard abs, a peach-like #booty and a torso more coveted than a ~verified~ blue tick.
It turns out it’s something we’re all guilty of. Above all, at 40,000ft. How do we know this? Well, without assuming too much, we extrapolated WA food critic Max Brearley’s cutting self-observations to ourselves and then to the rest of humankind…
Are we wrong? Read and tell.
Here’s what Max recently admitted in a piece published in ESCAPE: “At the core of my guilty pleasures is pressing pause and letting go… My pleasure is in not making the call.”
“Letting go of choice has its rewards.”
What does he mean? Basically, he reckons, one of life’s juiciest pleasures is munching something you have absolutely no expectations of, while not having to make a single decision.
Like a Tinder hookup but better.
Passive consumer, fat arse layabout, call it what you will. When you’re in a dark Economy middle seat this sensation of illicit bliss is one we can all relate too.
High carb beer and salty nut calories be damned.
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Here at DMARGE we reckon we can all learn from Max’s brutal honesty: “Until recently I kept my love of airline food to myself. I’m not talking about the fare of business and first, developed with some of the world’s renowned chefs, but the ubiquitous foil-wrapped tray, cardboard box or even the humble bag of nuts.”
“Only at cruising altitude could I revel so much in a chicken sausage.”
“This isn’t some niche form of culinary masochism,” he added. “I’ll study the menu card on a long-haul flight, planning my choice; a palpable disappointment should I miss out on my first choice or, God forbid, sleep through the service.”
Even more damning, he admitted, “On a recent Emirates flight from Dubai to Sao Paulo I deliberated over where best to place their ‘wake me up for a meal’ sticker, backing this up with a few questions to the flight attendant, just to drive the point home.”
So: people. Admit your guilty sin – then embrace it.