Head of state flight catering, government and diplomatic legs, written by crew who have served those cabins. Protocol on the plate, seat numbers on the boxes, and nothing said afterwards.
Precedence on the plate as well as in the seating: the principal's tray first, the delegation after, the crew's boxes last. We follow the protocol office's notes on courses, timing and what must never appear on the table, and confirm each one back in writing.
Two ministers who eat differently, advisers who will skip lunch and want it later: each tray is labelled by seat rather than by name, with the diet card travelling inside. Diplomatic flight catering changes late — tell us, and we cook again.
Officials up front and a crew who flew in that morning. Hot where the galley allows it, cold and sealed where it does not, and enough in the boxes to carry a long wait on the ground without anyone noticing.
Boxes carry a seat number and a diet code, never a name. One of us handles the order from the first message to the handover, and nothing about who flew, or with whom, is written anywhere but on your order.
VIP jet catering keeps the same galley rules as every flight — sauces apart, reheat on the lid — with one more: nothing on the outside of a box says who it is for.
Light and quiet, for the night flight.
A sheet with every order, per guest. No cross-contact means no cross-contact — separate boards, separate boxes.
Sourced on request and delivered sealed, with the certificate travelling in the same box.
HACCP kitchens, temperature logged from the pass to the aircraft steps, records on file for your trip report.
Their own menu, portioned small, nothing that needs cutting at altitude, and a second helping packed by default.
Oven times, sauces apart and diet notes on the dishes. Browse it on the site or keep the menu book in the galley drawer.
Tail, route, pax, diets, wheels-up. That is the whole brief — the galley plan is ours.
