I check out of my hotel and get a cab directly to the airport. No time to do anything else. My flight is at 13:50.
As always, I’ve a plan. Noticed a food court airside when I flew to San Diego. Seems a good place to fill up on carbs before the flight.
Before I go through security, I remember something. That food court was in the domestic departure lounge, not the international one. When I see something similar landside I decide to eat there. No knowing what awaits airside.
I choose a trayful of dim sum. That should keep me going until Amsterdam.
There’s a humungous queue for security. That’s a bit of a bummer. The wait is seriously eating into my bourbon-drinking time. By the time I’m through, there’s less than 30 minutes to boarding time. And I haven’t found a bar yet.
According to the map, there are some possible bourbon-fuelling locations close to my gate. The first couple prove unsuitable, not having full bars. My last chance, right at the end of the pier is a pizza place. . . . with a proper bar. I sit at it. Giving my gut one last chance to be chummy with the furniture.
“A double Maker’s Mark, straight up. And an IPA.”
My IPA lasts four doubles. It’s ticked around to boarding time and I really need to get going. Though I can afford to be one of the later boarders. I’ve very little hand baggage and an extra legroom seat. So not quite cattle truck class.
A couple of wines later I wander off to slumber town. For a few hours.
A taxi home and I’ve time to change clothes before heading off to work. It’s going to be a fun day.
Terminal 3 Boarding Area F
Of Blutwurst and Brewmaster - My Generations I wrote over two years ago of the 1944 beer tasting at the Waldorf-Astoria of the Wine and Food Society of New York. In fact, I recreated t...
15 hours ago