Call me old fashioned, but when I buy a plane ticket from Lufthansa, I expect to fly on Lufthansa. Here I am in Koln, boarding a puddle-jumper plane on the first leg of a flight back to San Francisco. In my book, this is not a whole lot different from ordering le poulet at a fine French restaurant and receiving a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. They are both poulet, but the restaurant has tarnished its brand and let down a customer.
On an up-note, the seafood at the Koln airport was fantastic.
Eilif ate the fish soup.
I had a plate of crawdad tails, washed down with an icy riesling.
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