SIX miles above the frozen Great Plains, at about 1 p.m. on Sunday, I began to admire the Braided Pretzels as I fetched them hungrily one at a time from their half-ounce foil packet.
I mean really admire them in their buttery, crunchy, salty magnificence. This was on a Northwest Airlines flight, on the second leg of a trip to Phoenix with connections in Detroit and Minneapolis. Since I got up at 6 a.m. to rush to the airport, I hadn't had anything to eat but the wonderful half-ounce bag of pretzels. Obviously, delirium was setting in.