Hey, the other way around isn’t so great either. I got stuck in Deer Lake once, en route to Newark (with some transfers along the way).
Couldn’t even get a cookie.
When you get on the Freedom plane leaving Vietnam and as soon as you get in the air, the stewardess comes around and hands you a pair of cold 1/2 pint cartons of whole milk.
I know this really doesn’t answer the OP, but I just can’t take it anymore. Every time I see this the only thing that comes to mind is:
“To crush your enemies, to see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of the women.”
That of course if the answer to “What is best in life?” (at least according to Conan the Barbarian) which has nothing to do with taste, unless you’re a cannibal so there you go.
To answer the question: Freshly baked bread right out of the oven. Yum yum.
Second answer: A glass of cold water after a workout.
You don’t even get a crumb when your wallet has been stolen in Madrid, so you have to spend the night in the airport, with 14 cents to your name and no credit cards, waiting for your flight to Casablanca, where you’ll also spend the night, before flying to Caracas, and then to JFK, where you’ll take the bus to LaGuardia, only to be told your flight home has been canceled.
I’ve read that nothing tastes as good as thin feels, but obviously the people saying that haven’t had the fresh, free cookies. I’d also say that the (free) oatmeal at the breakfast buffet at the Hampton Inn in Bloomsburg, OH was even better than the cookies they had at night. It was made with oats and sorcery, I think.
Ahem, check post #4.
Great minds think alike I guess.
(Also I should have maybe read the thread)
What tastes best? Blood. Hot, fresh blood. Right from the veins of those fools who dare to stand against you, while their families look on in terror.
The seats in coach were really roomy too. 
When someone gives you fresh baked cookies, and they look crunchy, so you brace yourself for the unpleasant crunchiness when you bite in, but are instead greeted with the warm, chewy goodness that was hidden beneath the deceiving appearance of the cookie. Moral of the story is… Don’t judge a cookie by it’s cover?
(Bonus points for if you get to the center of the cookie and it’s so gooey it’s almost unbaked at all… That’s the absolute best. [del]If you enjoy crunchy cookies, it’s safe to assume your soul is tainted or even just plain gone.[/del])
I’ve never had good free hotel cookies. Only the Bucket O’ Dough kind that can be heated in a toaster oven.
I want a good free hotel cookie. 
Gas station bacon and egg on a bun sandwiches plus a big gas station
coffee after driving through North Dakota corn fields with no sign of
life for about an hour.
I like the make-your-own waffles at hotel breakfasts. There’s something fun about flipping over that big waffle iron.
late August, 1974, halfway through basic training in the Army, at Ft. Jackson, South Carolina.
Our tough as nails drill sergeant has us on a long, and I mean long, march. But about two thirds of the way through, when we are so hot and sweating like pigs, she has arranged for a break. There’s sweet tea with lemon, ice cold.
Nothing ever tasted or felt as good as that. I know it sounds silly, but that tea helped me get through the rest of basic. I registered for Facebook a couple years ago, with the sole purpose of finding my drill sergeant and telling her I still remember that tea. Found her and boy was she surprised!
Though the OP is banned, who doesn’t like cookies, am I right? So, I moving this to Cafe Society, from MPSIMS.
The oatmeal at the old Delta Chelsea in downtown Toronto. I even e-mailed the chef to tell him how much I enjoyed it.
I KNOW EH. I get so excited about those waffles.
I don’t really like beer, but one very hot summer day my dog and I went for a long walk and ended up at a friend’s house. We sat in chairs on his front lawn and he gave me an ice cold Molson Canadian. I have never enjoyed a beer more than that one.
The tears of my enemies’ women.
I was working on a volunteer construction project in a small Texas panhandle town back in the 80s. It was Winter, so the only thing between us and the North Pole was a barbed wire fence, and it done blew down a week ago. 
We were starting work about 6:00am to get the project done asap. Darkness, punctuated by harsh splashes of sodium vapor lights. A cold wind, cold like the stinking drought of a slaughterhouse, bit into our skin. Even though we were covered by layers of clothing, our bones ached from the arid frigidity. As if the cold wasn’t enough, the wind was picking up the desert sands and dust. A veritable dust blizzard.
Seeing the temporary worker’s staging tent had a warm glow emanating from within, I furtively made my way to it, entering through the lightly secured rain flap.
Imagine my surprise as I saw about four people attending to a portable doughnut maker and two giant urns of coffee. They had volunteered, too, both their time and their resources. The doughnuts were plain cake and the coffee was commercial grade preground, but it tasted like ambrosia. Yes, it was indeed the Food of the Gods. Or maybe, just maybe, it was food sent from God.
I have never since tasted coffee or donuts with such an impact. Sure, it was circumstances more than anything else that made it so wonderful, but the effect on appetite from that experience has yet to be duplicated.
.
Huuh??? This past Saturday I took BA from Heathrow to Dulles. A full on English breakfast would’ve been awesome but they served curried chicken instead.