New Yorker, New Yorker

Inflight dining, tray tables up! 

Creative Director - Claudia Sorace 

For air travel within Australia, I usually choose to fly either Virgin Australia or Qantas. For me, they have been sitting on par with each other since Virgin romantically rebranded and Qantas culled their prehistoric check-in staff with the easy to use, electronic kiosk. 

However, on my recent trip to the Southern Highlands, I flew Virgin into Sydney. My complaint, you may see as petty, even absurd. Secretly though, I have been flying Virgin Australia moreso, for their Luke Mangan ‘New Yorker’ sandwich. Perfectly accompanied by a Mr and Mrs. T Virgin Margarita tomato juice. The New Yorker (or as it should be named ‘the nastiest god damn sandwich you’ll eat in Australia) was literally what kept me flying Virgin.

Are you considering that I have limited dining experience? Incorrect. I am Alex Beazley’s ‘Blonde’ that is referred in all of his food critic posts. In fact, the narcissist in me would go as far to say; you would struggle to find a woman my age that has had the privilege of accompanying him, extensively to some of the best restaurants in Australia. Simply put, I know my food.

Back to my sandwich; a perfect delicate combination of pastrami, coleslaw, Swiss cheese, pickle, the thickest spread of butter you can imagine. My mouth simply waters at its modest flawlessness. I sat exhausted on my departure flight waiting eagerly for the food trolley to come around. Averting sleep, I was not going to miss out on getting my hands on my beloved New Yorker. Disappointedly, the flight hostess informs me that as it is a late flight, they are all out of New Yorkers. 

There is hope yet, in three days after battling floods and horrendous cyclones, one cancelled flight and a rescheduled flight, and I would be flying again. This time, an earlier flight, so I would have my sandwich. Alas, I am seriously (like seriously) fighting my in flight narcolepsy to hold out for the food service. “One New Yorker please, and a Mr. and Mrs. T tomato juice” I ask the hostess excitedly. “My Pleasure, one moment ma’am” The hostess exclaims and toddles off.

As she walks back, I sense the ominous sadness that will envelope me when she speaks the words I am praying she won’t utter, I can sense she’s going to say they have been sold out. It is something you must understand, if you want the worlds best sandwich you have to comprehend that everyone else will too “I apologize ma’am, it appears our menu has changed, the New Yorker has been replaced with a chicken sandwich”. By this stage, I’m trying to stay composed, as she relays “It isn’t so different than the New Yorker, I suggest you try it”. So I did. It is entirely different to the New Yorker. If the New Yorker was the Queen of England the new replacement ‘Chicken Sandwich’ is a bum on the sidewalk.

Virgin Australia, what were you thinking? This is the greatest inflight dining tragedy of all time. 

R.I.P New Yorker.

My in flight dining will never be the same.