The Flying None (Coast to Coast)

Snacks on a Plane

It’s kind of like the Magnificent Seven or the Fantastic Four, but not really. I’m the Flying None. Namely, because I give zero fucks and take no shit when it comes to transporting my favorite East Coast snacks across the country. 

What I mean is, I’m often stopped at airport security for the five pound log of pork roll in my purse. Or for my coat containing eight, back to back slices of Vic’s pizza, triple-wrapped in plastic - its neon, orange, grease often thought to be some type of radioactive liquid. My bags are scoured by security guards who look up with questioning stares when unearthing tubes of Hartmann’s liverwurst or getting caught in a poppy seed rainstorm after upending a satchel of hard rolls.  Homemade lamb barley soup balks in frozen form, and will be called a casserole if anyone asks – “no liquids”, no problem.

And it goes both ways. I humped a backpack of homemade tamales from Cali to Jersey last Christmas. I’ve smuggled salamis, stowed sandwiches, hidden hummus…there’s no boundaries when it comes to having a piece of home in your pocket (or in the overhead compartment, which doubles as an amazing mini-frig for the six hour flight!). It’s all about commitment to the cause.

Take the pork roll. Stuff your pockets with pizza. Leave your pride at home. You have none.

You are, The Flying None.