JAMES LILEKS ON AMTRAK’S BUSINESS CLASS LUNCH:

That’s a plastic container of cheese spread and another of hummus, which you can apportion between your four flavorless crackers. There is a meat stick, a Slim Jim reject that reforms into an unmasticatable cud after you’ve bitten off a piece. It could be meat; it could be an extremely pliable pencil. A packet of almonds; a packet of dried apple shavings. A packet of something chocolate. It hit the spot, if you’re starving, and I was.

Business class, though.

I can still taste the horrid microwaved cheeseburger served on Amtrak’s “Amcafe” cars from when I used to commute from Trenton to Manhattan in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s.