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As a habitual orderer of the kosher option on airplanes, I’ve grown accustomed to watching in envy as my fellow passengers devour a nice hot meal while I’m stuck with some dry, overcooked, soulless option prepared in a factory in Queens. So I was more than a little shocked when, after distributing shrink-wrapped mystery meat sandwiches to everyone else on the hourlong flight from Budapest to Warsaw, I was presented with an elegant black and red box, inside of which was a multi-course meal of meat and fish and fruit and crackers and even a little halva bar for desert. 

There’s much talk of Polish philo-Semitism these days, but really, that’s just too much.