French Meadow

This morning I got to the Minneapolis airport in time for breakfast. Oh, joy, I thought, another bland, fatty, disposable airport breakfast. I was feeling finicky; what I really wanted was some ice-cold plain yogurt with blueberries, a poached egg with tons of pepper, and some hot buttered rye toast. Here’s what I ended up with:
-blueberry smoothie, not too sweet
-ice-cold plain yogurt, just the right combination of creamy and sour
-two poached eggs, perfectly cooked
-an endless supply of pepper
-hot, buttered, bakery-fresh rye toast

So I wiped that look off my face and dove in to an incredible airport breakfast. The toast was so good that people were buying loaves to take home with them, and the smoothie had added fiber (always a good idea, but absolutely key when travelling.) The name of the restaurant was French Meadow, which is misleading in that you will be breakfasting at a vinyl booth in an airport rather than, say, in a meadow in France, but I am happy to forgive them the stretch because the feeling of contentment the restaurant produced was as good as a nap after a picnic in said French meadow.

On the flight to Minneapolis, I reached into the seat pocket in front of me, pulled out the airline magazine, flipped to the crossword, and was mildly annoyed that someone had already started it. I hate having to review other people’s answers to ferret out their mistakes before getting started with my own. When I looked a little closer, though, I realized that the handwriting in the magazine was mine! I’d filled it out earlier in the month on a flight to Denver or Austin or Chicago. Small world, there, in seat 2D. My seatmate and I had a little laugh about the coincidence, I pondered my upcoming reduced-travel lifestyle change, and then I went back to fixing the mistakes in the crossword puzzle.

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