I can't touch your food

Last week I did something I've wanted to do for a long time, combined a desired long train trip (I wanted the experience) with a hog roast in New York state (I've always said I'd travel for pork...). My paternal grandfather was a stationmaster back in the heyday of rail travel and I thought the trip a fitting homage to a man who died long before I was born. The pork was purely a selfish endeavor.

The trip involved overnight travel so inevitably there was food involved. There was a cafe car (snacks rather than meals with somewhat extended hours) and a dining car (meals from a menu, wine etc. with limited hours). How lovely it seemed. Oh, but not so fast.

In the 40+ hours I was on the train to and from my destination, along with catching a horrid cold, I was introduced to today's version of train dining. Perhaps better than in-flight meals, but not much. Everything that needed heat was microwaved. Ok, to be expected I guess. But I learned that they microwaved everything in its wrapper. On styrofoam plates. Ug. And I found that the veggie burger that I thought was so lovingly prepared for me in the dining car, was just another microwave offering in the cafe car. I felt duped.

But I had to eat and the veggie burger seemed to be the least worst choice. So when the person behind the counter offered to warm the meal without the wrapper. I thought that was better than in it. But then she said "I can't touch your food." She literally could not take the wrapper off my food and warm it. That was up to me. If she'd had her way, I would have warmed it on that styrofoam plate rather than on a nice, plain, unbleached cardboard box. But I prevailed, so enjoyed eating my bread-toughened scorching hot, nuked veggie burger with no toppings, for sustenance. A picture wouldn't do it justice...