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A history of in-flight food

A Continental Airlines carrier

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TESS VIGELAND: It's almost Memorial Day, the official start of the summer travel season. And it may be the last summer to enjoy a free meal in coach class on domestic airline flights. Only one U.S. carrier still offers that freebie, Continental. But the airline recently announced it'll soon join the no-food-for-you club on most domestic flights this fall.

With that in mind, we asked Marketplace's Rico Gagliano for a brief history on the rise -- and fall -- of in-flight food.


Rico Gagliano: In the early days of commercial air travel, passengers were less concerned with food than they were with reaching their destinations alive, so says Bob van der Linden. He's a chairman at the Smithsonian's National Air and Space Museum.

Bob van der Linden: The airline industry really took off, no pun intended, in the early 1930s. And airplanes were small, they were uncomfortable, and you got bounced around the sky. So, airsickness was a problem and people really weren't all that eager to eat.

Instead, van der Linden says, passengers would eat when the plane landed to refuel -- assuming their trembling hands could still hold a fork. But eventually the first in-flight meal services began.

van der Linden: And usually they were box lunches, lotta fried chicken. I understand that was very popular. Easily done, it could last a while.

Gagliano: And healthy.

van der Linden: Yeah. They also handed out free cigarettes, so...

Gagliano: So you're getting thrown around, you're sick a lot, and you're eating fried chicken and smoking.

van der Linden: Right -- that's air travel!

But only until the late 30s. Faster and better planes could fly higher and more smoothly. Airlines installed on-board kitchens. And in the years after World War II, the world entered the Golden Age of airplane food.

Pan Am promotional film: This is the atmosphere on a Jet Clipper flight. Delicious food adds to the enjoyment. It's prepared in four simultaneously operating galleys, where dishes can be cooked in five-minute ovens.

You kind of have to see this promotional film from Pan Am to believe it.

It was shot in 1958. Attendants carry around platters laden with hors d'oeuvres. From carts, they serve heaps of brisket and carve off hunks of roast. Even economy-class passengers get big trays of piping hot grub.

Pat Friend: People treated it as a real experience. It was something really, really special.

Patricia Friend is president of the flight attendants' union AFA-CWA. She was also a United Airlines attendant starting in 1966.

Friend: It was the very wealthy, really, who flew. And the airlines actually competed based on their in-flight service and how luxurious they could actually make it.

In fact, that's the only way airlines could compete. Until 1978, the federal government strictly regulated air fares -- every airline had to charge the same amount for a given route. Unable to offer lower prices, they had to offer better service.

But when Congress deregulated the industry? Friend says everything changed. Airlines rushed to cut fares. And to make up for the lost revenue, they slowly cut back on the luxury.

Friend: And I think if there was a sign, if you will, of times to come, it was at American Airlines, where they made this much ballyhooed decision to remove all of the olives on each small salad served in the economy cabin. And I don't recall the exact number of millions of dollars they estimated that saved, but that was the beginning.

Alaska Air ad: These days a lot of airlines are cutting corners on their meals.

For the next 20 years, some airlines still tried to lure customers with the promise of bigger, or better, coach-class food.

Alaska Air ad: At Alaska Airlines, we spend a little more on our meals, and you can taste the difference.

But one event doomed the free airline meal pretty much for good.

Guillaume de Syon: 9/11, sadly.

That's Guillaume de Syon. He's an aviation historian and professor at Albright College.

de Syon: As airlines had to cut back their capacity considerably in the wake of 9/11, the tragedy became also a means to actually re-evaluate all the amenities that they were serving to all passengers -- primarily, of course, economy.

Toss in rising fuel prices, and soon airlines didn't just shrink coach-class meals -- they chucked them. And introduced BOB, aka "Buy on board" food. By that point, most passengers were fed up with the quality of free economy meals anyway.

de Syon: But there's a paradox the airlines ignore. Is that when we get on board, we come to expect those silly peanuts or pretzels and that tomato juice. It's a way to pass the time, quite literally. And so the fact of not having access to this at all, that actually is a trying thing for any passenger.

Of course, the trade-off is cheap airfares. Today, a round-trip ticket from D.C. to San Francisco costs about 300 bucks. Back in 1938, the same ticket also cost about 300 bucks. You got a free meal, but for that money you could've also bought a car.

In Los Angeles, I'm Rico Gagliano for Marketplace.

About the author

Rico Gagliano co-hosts and co-produces Marketplace’s “Small Talk” segment.
s.j. phred's picture
s.j. phred - May 30, 2010

Where else, do we Americans expect a free meal from a company who's purpose is to not feed us?

Do we pay high prices for baseball tickets, and expect to be fed for free while we are there?

T J's picture
T J - May 20, 2010

Continental was not the only/last domestic carrier to still serve food in coach. Hawaiian Airlines continues to offer free meals onboard all their flights across the Pacific.

henry rosebuds's picture
henry rosebuds - May 20, 2010

COMEDY WRITER IRVING BRECHER ("Irv the Nerve" as Harpo Marx called him; he wrote two movies for Marx Bros) RECALLED HIS VERY FIRST AIRPLANE FLIGHT...WITH MILTON BERLE IN 1936:

I got a career break when Milton Berle contacted me in 1936. A trial in New York centered on one of the top gag writers for radio at the time, David Freedman. Freedman wrote all of Eddie Cantor’s shows and was now suing Cantor for some substantial amount. I’ve forgotten all of the details, what the charges were, but one day Milton Berle phoned me, indicating the desire to get together and start fresh.
I asked him what was the real, immediate purpose of the call.
“Freedman just died,” said Berle. “Right in the middle of the trial. He was supposed to write a pilot for me.”
Berle had a chance to do thirteen weeks on the Yankee Network based out of Boston. And if the show were well received, he’d get a contract to go national on CBS. Berle mentioned a figure that was substantial in terms of pay, which I accepted.
Then he added: “We’re flying to Boston in two days so start writing for God’s sake.”
His producer, Bennett Larsen, contacted me. I said I wasn’t too worried about the script. What bothered me was the flying. I’d never flown.

“I don’t even like taking an elevator, “ I told him.
“There’s nothing to it, you’ll love it.”
“I’d prefer to wait until they’ve repealed the law of gravity.”

I got more and more nervous.
The planes at Idyllwild Airport in 1936 didn’t look like the planes now. This one was very small and had twin propellers. The Wright Brothers had lent it to us for the trip.

Berle tried to soothe me, sensing my fear – the tip-off being I was as pale as a ghost and almost catatonic as we climbed aboard. Did I mention it was raining? Comedians can be very solicitous when they need material. I was now an important character in his play. I sat opposite him on the plane. In those days the seats weren’t all facing front. This was for sociability. The easing of tension. That’s right.

Berle buckled up and said: “Don’t worry Irv, you’ll love flying. Nothing to it.”

There I am in my raincoat quivering, and finally the engine starts, they close the doors, and the plane starts shaking.

Berle leaned over and patted my knee to assure me.
“Take it easy,” he said. “Just take deep breaths. I’m telling you, I fly all the time. It’s a breeze.”
Finally the plane began taxiing.

And as we shot up into the sky, Berle threw up on me.

Luckily, I was wearing the raincoat.

Now I found myself consoling the star the whole way. Somehow I sweated out the rest of the trip to Boston. They didn’t serve drinks on planes then either; they gave you chewing gum because your ears popped. When it came time to land, the stewardess gave me a piece and didn’t even charge anything for it, which I thought was sporting of American Airlines.

(FROM "THE WICKED WIT OF THE WEST" BY IRVING BRECHER")

Mark Toomey's picture
Mark Toomey - May 19, 2010

Moline, Illinois
May 19 '10
Folks,
Thank you for me and others what it was like to fly. I had almost forgotten; I've been 39 for twenty years now, and it hurts to realize what we've lost. And the airports were so much better, too. You could bring on a bottle of water or container of yogurt (so who knew what yogurt was in those days). I recall waiting for my father at La Guardia: they had an outdoor observation deck, and if I could persuade my mother to part with a nickle, I could listen to the tower radio talking with the planes.
But this (except for the observation deck) is stil available in this country: take the train. Once or twice a year, we take a scenic drive through rural Wisconsin, to Columbus, and ride the Empire Builder to Seattle. We park not more than 100 feet from the station, and get on when the train arrives. No searches, no hassles, just calm comfort. Shortly after we sit down, the steward takes our dinner reservation. Everybody on the train seems to see it as something special.
It might be worthwhile some time to compare what our country spends on air travel (not the tickets, but federal expenditures to keep it inspected and running) and what we(the federal government) spend on rail travel(with private traffic control and paying, not spending, taxes on each mile of track).
Thanks for the memory.

Best regards,
Mark Toomey