Breakfast Dance

Heading out camping with school, he enjoys a last home-cooked meal: eggs and turkey bacon with vegan cheese on a bagel. He’s dancing with contentment.

Preflight breakfast

I arrive at LAX for my flight to Shanghai fresh from the campout with the troop. I am drained and starving, and I am not on my normal flight, so my rhythm is off even before I step out into the airport.

The big downside of United 32 versus ANA 5 is that the former takes off several hours earlier, meaning that breakfast is in the lounge, or nowhere. Despite the very nice spread United lays out in their new LAX lounge, there was nothing there that matched my nutrition program and my Kosher-style sensibilities apart from some lovely ice water. So I tossed in a Quest bar and called it a meal.

I spent the first half of my adult life becoming more open minded about food. Alas, my physical and spiritual health have made me rather more high-maintenance that I would prefer. I find myself making an alarming number of special requests in restaurants and apologizing to friends, colleagues, travel agents, and servers.

It’s all andropausal OCD.

But I’ll own it.