The supersonic way of dining

The problem with private jets is that, while perfect for short hops around Europe, they are a bit slow when crossing continents and traversing time zones. For the past 26 years there has only been one method of distance- devouring transport: Concorde, or the Concorde, as I prefer to call it.

Moreover, on all but the largest of personal aircraft the catering arrangements take on the dimensions of an airborne picnic, with all the forced amusement that the trials of alfresco eating bring - 'What a laugh,' you shriek, when sandwiches and beakers of champagne go flying around the cabin as you hit yet another pocket of turbulence.

Strides forward in airline catering are usually to do with serving less food: help-yourself snack baskets on long-haul flights and BA's quite brilliant All Day Deli - basically a superior sandwich in a paper bag - are welcome alternatives to the heated-up platters of non-specific animal-based protein (Is it a fillet of fish? Is it a chunk of chicken?)

I was, of course, curious to see how the rich handle airline catering and my thirst for knowledge found me in the Concorde departure lounge on a Saturday morning in December on my way to Barbados. The Concorde lounge is a clever hybrid of Starbucks for very rich people and the business centre of a swanky, moderately contemporary hotel. It has been designed by Sir Terence Conran, and the best bit is the smoking room which really goes to town with decanters of whisky and cognac.

If one sound gladdens the heart and lifts the spirit more than the gentle pop of a cork being eased out of a bottle of champagne before nine in the morning, it is the sound of a cork being popped from a breakfast bottle of Dom Perignon.

I had been hoping for a glorious Harold Robbins novel of a departure lounge or at least an updated version of the classic Burton and Taylor movie, The VIPs, but I was disappointed. There were a couple of middle-aged men in crocodile slip-on shoes (one of them being me); a few families with children (anyone who has had to wrestle with infants on a long-haul flight will go to any lengths and, it seems, expense, to cut time in the air); and one elderly woman who spent her time on the phone complaining that she had a hundred domestic staff in various parts of the world and that keeping track of them was a full-time job.

Having been on the Concorde, I can confirm that it is the best way to travel long distances and I would happily shoulder the burden of having over a hundred domestic staff in various parts of the world if it meant that I had to use the Concorde to keep track of them. It is as much like a normal airliner as a Ferrari is like a people carrier. And like a Ferrari, it is small, noisy, drop-dead gorgeous and reassuringly flashy. The interior has been cleverly updated (Sir Terence again), so you would never think it went into service over a quarter of a century ago.

Staff excel - good service willingly given is one of the hardest things to find, and if I were my friend with the global staff problem, I would start by poaching the cabin crew on Concorde.

DP 1990 flowed like water from a broken main. The healthy alternative was the smoothie, which I was also quite happy to consume by the litre. However, the constraints on airborne dining are immense. The cold dishes surpassed my expectations: tasty little canap?s (a bit chilly perhaps), a plate of Loch Fyne salmon with large dollop of caviar in the middle, and a salad of grilled Mediterranean vegetables with truffled cheese were all the kinds of things that you would be perfectly happy to part with good money to eat on the ground in a fashionable West End restaurant, let alone at 59,000 feet, at twice the speed of sound. Breads were warm and sufficiently inventive, and included little brioche loaves.

As regards the hot dishes, the 'British' (as distinct from English) breakfast just about comes off, but in my opinion, dishes such as beef fillet wrapped in prosciutto with red wine and vegetables should only be attempted at ground level, if at all. Moreover, I was not expecting to see 'a selection of tea's' (sic) and I tend to spell Jasmin with a final e, but then I would not recommend the Jasmin tea mousse, no matter how many vowels were added.

Food is prepared by a company called To Do and Co, which apparently does a lot of golf tournaments, and I am afraid it shows in such touches as the 'roast potato fans' garnishing a dish of 'grilled fillet of beef' and 'fresh herb sauce' (the price of a Concorde ticket being around £7,000 return, one might hope the herbs were fresh).

If it were up to me, I would ditch most of the hot meals, make the 'British' breakfast an all-day affair and just dish out the best of ingredients simply prepared: a selection of salmons (including Balik as well as Loch Fyne); great smoked and cured meats; caviar served straight from the tub and so on.