The prospect of food always makes the trip worthwhile. Although while at the Syracuse airport I might have a
crappy sandwich and a candy bar, followed by an undercooked over-sauced Chicago dog during my O’Hare layover, I always keep in mind that home cooked food is only a few hours away. And as my excitement lingers, my stomach growls.
After landing, I pick up the phone and give my old man a call. “Waiting near baggage claim,” he always says before I can even say hi. I rush out of the plane, winter jacket in hand (a necessary burden for my return trip), give him a hug, pick up my baggage, and begin discussing politics. The substance is never very important for five or six minutes into talking the conversation shift abruptly. An “are you hungry?” begins a new paradigm of chitchat. I normally deny the question at first, “No” Ill say, “I had something to eat at the airport.” But when I finally move past politeness, the next questions continue the dialogue “something at home?” “Or Mexican?” Now, it probably doesn’t take a genius to understand that where I live in central New York is not a bastion of fine Latin American cuisine. Rather the opposite in fact. No matter the outcome—either Marys on Michelson in Costa Mesa or a plate of Italian food at home—the journey, although expected, routine, and somewhat mundane, has been worth it. Good company and good food. Certainly, these are some of the better things in life.
Joey Petracca and COO and co-founder @ Recipe Into Reality
