The next leg, aboard, um, a certain European airline based in Paris, was another story. The cabin appointments were spotless and the crew attentive and helpful. There were footrests, fully adjustable headrests, and extra pitch (that's airline talk for legroom). Every passenger received a small packet containing a blindfold, a take-home set of headphones, and earplugs. This is in coach, mind you.

The dinner portions were ample and tasty, and extra bread was handed out twice during the meal service. The wine was free and the crew came around with water at least three times. Each seat was outfitted with a video screen (no harassing handset, thank you), with a choice of four languages. One of the channels even presented the feed from a camera mounted in the nose of the airplane, giving a rarely seen (well, for passengers) view of takeoff. And any of the 10 available films could be started on request with the touch of a button, a small frill that is hugely effective when it comes to killing time en route.

And that's the point, right? Killing time? One hopes the airlines are beginning to understand that passengers no longer expect, or want, luxury in the old-fashioned sense -- be it fancy entrées you can't pronounce or a choice of wines from five continents. Such things might be fun extravagances if you've dropped eight grand for a first-class sleeper seat, but they tend to come at the expense of more sensible, straightforward amenities. What people want is some basic comfort and efficiency.

You've heard me wax about the salad days of flying, but don't get me wrong: I neither believe, nor have I maintained, that pretensions of glamour have or deserve a place in modern-day commercial aviation. Note that none of my experiences on Air France, whether a second baguette or my chance to watch a movie at my leisure, were particularly lavish. People sitting in coach aren't covetous of a 20-page wine list or a serving of grilled salmon with braised fennel and leek. What they want is a halfway comfortable seat, some food (at least on a long flight), something to do, and, for God's sake, an occasional 30-cent bottle of water.

The faux glamour trappings are at best pretentious, and at worst embarrassing. What is a college kid in row 52, on his way to Europe with a backpack, supposed to think when handed a menu promising "authentic Italian minestrone with garlic and herb croutons?" Sounds impressive, but in the end he will not get a fancy meal. He will get a simple meal pretending to be a fancy one (served on a needlessly crowded tray overflowing with plastic wrap and silly little cups). And all he wants is maybe some pasta, or even a sandwich.

With all this in mind, it's worth taking a look at one of the upstart airlines making the big fellows nervous -- the JFK-based JetBlue. The jury's still out on whether JetBlue's model is the stuff of future success, but for now they're getting things right.

A ride on JetBlue is cool, clean and hassle free, and the price is right. But the important part is this: while not luxurious, neither is the experience without some flair. People often lump JetBlue with the likes of Southwest, but in many ways it is the anti-Southwest. Both offer low fares, sure, but JetBlue's strategy is something more upscale than a get-what-you-pay-for cattle car. To help save the industry from an all-out Southwest-style descent, it would behoove the majors to emulate JetBlue's careful balance of style and price.

Glamour is an anachronism we need put out to pasture. Quality, and a bit of polish, are not. And those are lacking.

(Next week  shoulder-fired missiles and more Q&A from reader submissions, so keep those questions coming.)

Do you have questions for Salon's aviation expert? Send them to AskThePilot and look for answers in a future column.

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