Airports are one of the most aggressively anti-paleo food environments on the planet. Everything is either fried in seed oils, wrapped in a tortilla, covered in sauce thickened with cornstarch, or stuffed inside a pastry case lit up like a slot machine. And they time it perfectly. You are tired, you are hungry, your gate got moved to the farthest terminal, and suddenly a Cinnabon smells like the most reasonable idea you have ever had. I get it. But you can do better than that, and it is not as hard as the airport wants you to think.