Food on the tracks

There is something about public transport that induces unhealthy eating habits in often the most upstanding, prim and proper people. As on most evenings, yesterday I caught a north-bound train from Euston station, and found myself surrounded by affluent and well-dressed individuals eating, of all things, Burger King.

Euston is awash with eating options, ranging from cakes through 'Cornish' pasties (I saw this with inverted commas as my younger sister, a Cornwall resident, tells me they are hardly authentic) and some interesting food options. Between platforms 15 and 16 for example, one could indulge in patisserie fair, which seems to only loosely have a connection to French pastry produce. Six months ago, the same outlet was a store selling Indian curries and snacks to take away, which was probably about as authentic as those purportedly authentic 'Cornish' pasties. Elsewhere, one could savour the comparatively healthy delights of Ixxy's Bagels, treat yourself to M&S sushi or French baguettes. Oh, and Subway has just opened on the perimeter, just a stone's throw away from Krispy Kreme. The sheer number of possible food outlets is dizzying, as if somewhere in the past they relaxed the Monopoly rules and allowed the owner of the four stations to develop the sites with a series of food kiosks instead of apartments or hotels.

Despite the array of delights available, by far the most popular of Euston's culinary choices is Burger King, where one is assured of an impressive queue at breakfast, lunch and dinner (and, for the late night reveller, post-pub too). Here you will see fatigued City types in tailored suits standing alongside pimply ASBO-baiting chavs and pensioners in a joyous eutopian display of classlessness, all preparing to take their sweaty products on board their trains.

There is something comically endearing in observing smart, evidently well-paid commuters neatly unfolding a BK napkin and daintily picking up fries between thumb and forefinger as if they were canapes served at a legal firm soiree. 'Congratulations team! Thanks to your hard work and tenacity we won the case. Please now join us in celebrating with a 1 litre full-fat coke, double flame-grilled Whopper and fries!' It doesn't sound right, and does it look right to see such folk enjoying such food after a day's work. These people should be going home to their fancy kitchens to pour a glass of chianti and serve delicious but light cuisine on pristine white plates, not heading straight for their wetrooms to wash the oil from their hands.

Aside from debating whether it is inherently wrong to see moneyed City workers eating such cheap almost-food, the more pressing question must surely be whether it is in fact socially acceptable to eat smelly, greasy food onboard a train - particularly since we are at the time of year where windows are closed and heaters are up, thus providing the passengers who do not want their lungs polluted by second-hand fat vapours with no choice but to endure the sickly sweet smell. Then there is the 'pig at a trough' smacking of jaws as even the most upstanding of individuals realises that there is no dignified way of consuming such food without resorting to medieval banqueting habits. Finally, there is the issue of what to do with the carton and obligatory brown bag (the perfect colour to show up grease stains) - put it in the litter bin so close to you? Or simply place it on the table you share with three other passengers where the smell can linger, like radiation, over an exponentially-decreasing sequence of half lives? My hastily-compiled survey data would seem to suggest the latter.

I'm not a fast-food hating, aggressively healthy foodie puritan, by any manner of means - I have on many an occasion enjoyed a guilty late night McDonalds - and I'm certainly not an anarcho Morgan Spurlock-esque anti-establishment hippy either. It's just that, irony aside, I get very frustrated at the lack of consideration that commuters frequently show one another - whether that be assuming that you are in fact not just entitled to one seat, but one and a half, or piling your bags on a 'spare' chair during rush hour. On top of the difficulty of just getting a seat at rush hour, to find yourself pressed up against the latest Burger King scientifically-engineered and chemically-altered creation is just the final straw (paper-wrapped and BK-branded, of course).