One And Done, December 15th

For the past few years I have taken a ton of business trips. And because the nature of these trips has been mostly networking conferences, they are located at must-visit cities at pretty swanky hotels and resorts. And being a travel lover, this has been a fab perk of the job. So when you fly frequently on the same airline as you know, you start to earn status, and status gives you both miles and free upgrades.

But in the million or less lifetime miles that I’ve flown, I’ve never once coughed up the change to pay full price for a First Class seat to fly internationally. I’m almost used to the seriously uncomfortable, less than adequately padded seat that numbs your butt after more than three hours, the mystery meat menu on long haul trips, limited snacks on short flights, and the bony armrests– even my arms can’t catch a catnap on those flimsy, metal sticks. But I’m someone who would rather spend her dollars once the trip kicks in, as opposed to blowing my hard earned euros just to get to the actual destination.

In truth, I’ve always been envious of those well to do Flatbedders who casually line up in group one with their Louis Vuitton rollaboards, fancy handheld unpackably posh straw boaters, and nonchalant attitude. What’s it like in those pods, girlfriend? Is the food insane? Is the blanket really down, sir? Did you all stop at the lounge for a few hours before boarding? What are the security protocols for the well heeled? I thought I would never know.

I once used miles to book an overseas trip for myself and a loved one to celebrate a happy occasion. He slept happily and comfortably the entire flight while I pushed around my overcooked truffle pasta and watched every episode of The Sopranos. Ugh. But I don’t regret it because the trip was for him. Since then, airlines have changed their policies and thresholds for using miles to upgrade or book. And this predates the Delta One exclusive Lounge at JFK. So this cushy luxury has been out of reach for me. Until now…

I’m screamingly excited to tell you that we flew Delta One on the way to Paris this fall. Michael received an offer way back in June to upgrade our seats and the terms were spectacular– dare I even say affordable? So much so that we thought it was a mistake! So we called the airline immediately to confirm. Sure enough we each had enough miles to pull the trigger for the outbound flight upgrade without breaking the mileage bank. So we took the zero dollar plunge and went for it.

I had walked by the Delta One Lounge a few times while at JFK on my way to Vegas and Seattle and Scottsdale, daring to dream about the spa services, curious about the Danny Meyer run restaurant housed inside, interested in the snack offerings, world class service desk, nap pods, and the obvious luxury of avoiding the crowded chaos that swarms security. But never had I ever entered the hushed hallows until our Paris trip. I’d never even peeked inside the heavily guarded enclave. So I’m here to describe in detail what it means to be a Flatbedder with all the receipts to back it up. Let’s get into it.

First of all the experience starts way before your day of travel. Delta emails you to inquire as to the dining experience you’d like to have once on board. Since our flight was scheduled for 11:30pm on a weeknight and we planned a lavish meal at the lounge prior to boarding, I was expecting to opt out of the dinner service and hopefully be asleep by the time they started with the white tablecloths… But I definitely wanted to see what I was voluntarily missing.

Ok, so the meals actually sounded edible and I recognized the ingredients. A first for me on an airplane! But I still passed on that perk due to the the late hour of travel. They also promised privacy, amenities, and indulgence. We couldn’t wait to go!

On the day of our trip, we got to JFK insanely early to maximize our Delta One experience. Unlike the overcrowded Sky Club, Delta One is never packed and they don’t have a three hour max for your stay. It felt luxurious already…

There was no line at security, we had a personalized bag check and then we meandered to the upstairs entrance on the exclusive 4th floor.

So I gotta tell you, the inside is posh! There are so many dining spaces, lounge sections, rooms, and even a quiet area that the overall space felt sprawling, serene, and very much like a sanctuary of ease. You could totally forget that you were at an airport altogether.

We picked the formal restaurant for our pre-travel meal and were seated immediately at the lux interior space. We feasted on Shrimp en Papillote with celery root, granny smith apple, and tarragon aioli. Yum! For my main course I had the Black Angus Petit Prime Steak with pommes purée and a red wine brown butter jus. The portion was small but delicious and I was so relaxed and comfy that I totally forgot to snap a pic. Sorry! Dessert was a dark chocolate soufflé with a pourable topper of anglaise sauce that was chef’s kiss. If this restaurant took reservations, honey I’d be a regular.

We browsed the impressive layout after dinner and found cases of prepared sandwiches and desserts adjacent to another seating area for travelers opting out of the whole dinner is served scenario. All the goodies looked great.

After a chill beverage in the quiet room, testing the seating in several sections, and a visit to the gigantic private lavatories where we didn’t have to struggle to haul our carryons through the unforgiving swinging door, we headed to our on time departure ready to recline and enjoy the flight. No longer considered “Gate Lice” who trolled the boarding line for early access, we entered first. Greeted by fluffy Missoni bedding, a full sized pillow, and even a mattress pad, I made up my cabin to be cozy and quiet. We also received a curated amenity kit with a sleep mask, and toothbrush. The lie-flat seat was narrow but infinitely better than trying to relax while seated upright. Ahhhh.

The great part about flying to Paris is the actual airtime is just over six hours. Which is sometimes faster than the long haul to California. But the downside is that it’s only six hours so it’s hard to decompress, unwind and fall asleep. And I’m always too excited to close my eyes anyway! So although I didn’t sleep on this flight, I was fully horizontal and rested comfortably every hour or so until I flipped over to test a new fetal position. Finally soft lights illuminated the cabin and the lavish breakfast service commenced. A hot and well seasoned omelette accompanied by spinach, baby potatoes, a warm croissant, and yogurt with a fruity topping was a lovely way to start my first official “day” in France.

Fast forward through our deeply satisfying trip in the best possible ways and we found ourselves homebound. The month went by in a flash! For the return, we got a complementary bump from Coach to Comfort Plus which we did appreciate but the Delta One experience was definitely on our minds.

Thankfully due to our medallion status, we were granted passage to the schmancy Air France Lounge– which is nothing to sneeze at. The snacks are elite, the cool self-serve fridges pack mini cans of carbonated bevies and the buffet is well serviced and refreshed often. But neither the fluffiest of chocolate mousse nor the highly impressive Comté and French Brie cheese boards held a candle to the five star experience of the Delta One Lounge in New York. And the cramped, everyman seating toward the back of plane had nothing on the dreamy, lux, comfy flatbed pods we had in front on the way over. Deep sigh.

So when boarding began in Paris, we queued for measly Sky Priority Zone Two (the shame!) and watched in envy as the I Wear Sunglasses Inside type Zone One passengers proudly strutted through their final security check, hefty designer duty free shopping bags in tow. They of course veered left at the skybridge boarding fork that put them directly at the Delta One divide, while avoiding all contact with us commoners. They safely found ample space in the exclusive overheads for their three or four ribbon embellished takehomes to sit side by side with their monogrammed Rimowa rollaboards.

And I hate to be a whiney snob about anything because it’s so gauche and revolting. (Who even uses the word gauche? That’s revolting. Ugh.) BUT I’m making an exception here. In this case I’mma let this emotional photo you can almost hear explain how I feel about never being able to afford this exquisitely delightful upgrade again…