Poisoned: 344 Meals and a Miracle

A luxury flight packed with Coca-Cola executives turns into a mid-air disaster when nearly 200 people fall violently ill — and it wasn’t a virus, or turbulence. It was breakfast. This week, we uncover the true story of the worst food poisoning outbreak in airline history, and how one kitchen mistake nearly caused an aviation catastrophe. It’s a chilling look at safety, responsibility, and the science of food… 35,000 feet in the air. Then we play the quiz game with Comedian Jonathan Burns!

To tell this story, we have to talk about something very small, very light, and often ignored unless you’re about to need it desperately. The barf bag.

If you’ve flown in an airplane, you probably know about the waxy white envelope in the seat-back pocket. Most planes still have them, some don’t. But there was a time — particularly from the 1960s through the ‘90s — when every seat on every commercial airline first started carrying motion sickness bags. It was like an air travel rite of passage to see them and for many, to use them.

The modern barf bag was patented in the 1940s by a guy named Gilmore “Tex” Tilton. Before that, sick passengers were handed cardboard containers or, bizarrely, small canvas bags that had to be cleaned and reused. Not great. The paper version was cheap, disposable, and surprisingly collectible. Some airlines printed jokes or slogans on theirs. Delta once printed the question “Feel Better?” on theirs. There’s even an online museum dedicated to barf bag design.

But even in the worst turbulence, they were rarely used en masse. Air sickness is usually isolated — one person here, another a few rows back. The story we’re telling today isn’t about motion sickness. It’s about what happens when 344 people eat the same thing, and it turns out that thing should never have been on the plane in the first place.

Let’s set the scene. It’s February 3, 1975. Japan Airlines Flight 404 is preparing to depart from Anchorage, Alaska, bound for Copenhagen. It’s a Boeing 747-246B, and this leg is part of a longer journey that originated in Tokyo and was headed for Paris. On board were 344 passengers and 20 crew. Almost all of those passengers were part of a corporate group: Coca-Cola Japan had arranged an international trip for hundreds of their executives, salespeople, and family members. It was a working vacation — a reward for high-performing employees.

So this was not your average passenger list. These were business travelers. Company people. And Japan Airlines wanted to make a good impression. In the ‘70s, JAL was known for its elite service, immaculate uniforms, and meals that were better than average for the time. And with this being a high-profile group, they rolled out the best they had to offer.

Shortly after takeoff, the flight attendants began serving a hot breakfast. The main dish was a ham and cheese omelet, served with rolls, butter, and dessert. The trays were clean. The food looked great. The passengers ate and settled in for the long transatlantic flight.

Then it started.

First, one or two people asked for motion sickness bags. Then five. Then ten. Then rows of people. One witness later said it was like watching dominoes fall — one after another, passengers began vomiting, shaking, clutching their stomachs.

The plane was halfway to Europe when the scale of the outbreak became clear. Flight attendants were overwhelmed. Lavatories were full. Some passengers had collapsed in the aisles. Others were passed out in their seats. Diarrhea, vomiting, nausea — all at once. There was no panic, just a kind of stunned horror.

Out of 344 passengers, 197 became violently ill.

And this wasn’t regular food poisoning — not the kind where you feel queasy and get over it after a few hours. This was the kind where your body goes into full evacuation mode. Dozens of people were dehydrated before landing. Some were drifting in and out of consciousness.

The only reason this didn’t become an air disaster is because the flight crew ate different meals. Airline policy often has pilots eat different dishes from passengers, as a safety precaution. And that policy likely saved every soul on board. Had the pilots been incapacitated by the same illness, it’s possible the aircraft wouldn’t have made it to Denmark. That’s the miracle.

When the plane landed in Copenhagen, it was met by emergency crews, ambulances, and medical personnel. But the airport wasn’t prepared for this many sick people at once. The language barrier only made it worse. Most of the passengers spoke Japanese. The medical staff spoke Danish. So officials did something creative: they called in Japanese-speaking restaurant staff from local sushi and noodle shops to serve as emergency translators.

One by one, passengers were triaged. 144 were hospitalized, and 30 were considered in critical condition. Some had to be carried off the aircraft. Others were taken straight to emergency rooms with fluids being administered on the tarmac.

And still, nobody knew exactly what had caused it.

When almost 200 people got violently ill on board the Japan Airlines flight, the airline immediately began an investigation. So did the U.S. Centers for Disease Control. Japan Airlines grounded certain routes. And in Alaska, health inspectors turned their attention to a company called International Inflight Catering — a subsidiary of Japan Airlines that was responsible for preparing the food at Anchorage International Airport.

This was the kitchen that had made the breakfast omelets. And when investigators looked into their practices, they were horrified. There were no proper health screenings for staff, no required glove use, and no protocols for reporting illness. Food was not stored according to modern cold-chain standards. And then they discovered the source.

One of the kitchen workers, a man who had been tasked with slicing the ham used in the omelets, had shown up to work with infected open sores on his fingers.

He had bandaged them. But he hadn’t told his supervisor. And no one asked.

That alone might’ve been enough to cause contamination. But it was what happened next that made it deadly.

After slicing the ham, it was left out for hours at a temperature where bacteria thrive. Specifically, Staphylococcus aureus, a common bacteria found on human skin and in wounds. Once introduced to the ham, it began to multiply rapidly.

Now, here’s the science part: staph bacteria produce enterotoxins, and those toxins are heat-stable — meaning they’re not destroyed by cooking or reheating. So even though the omelets were heated again in the galley ovens on the plane, the toxins remained fully active.

It wasn’t bacteria making people sick. It was the poison the bacteria had already released.

The CDC confirmed this in their final report. It was one of the clearest documented cases of mass foodborne illness linked to a specific bacterial toxin. The mistake wasn’t just one person’s failure — it was a systemic breakdown. A worker came in sick. The kitchen let him prep food. That food wasn’t cooled properly. And then it was loaded onto a plane where nobody could escape it.

But the story doesn’t end there.

Shortly after the investigation began, Kenji Kuwabara, the head of International Inflight Catering in Anchorage, took his own life.

He left a note accepting full responsibility for what had happened.

It’s not clear whether he was pressured, or whether the guilt was simply too much. But in Japanese corporate culture — particularly in the 1970s — honor and shame were serious business. To be publicly associated with a massive failure was a cultural weight few could bear. His death shook the airline world.

In response, Japan Airlines completely overhauled its food safety protocols. Medical checks became mandatory for kitchen workers. Glove use was enforced. Cold storage requirements were raised. The entire in-flight catering industry took notice. Airlines around the world updated their standards.

And despite the staggering number of sick passengers, no one died. That may be the biggest miracle of all. Nearly 200 people consumed a toxic meal, 144 of them ended up in the hospital — and everyone lived. Barely.

It remains the worst food poisoning incident in commercial aviation history. And today, when you lift the foil lid off a steaming airplane meal, you’re seeing the legacy of what happened on Flight 404. There are temperature logs. Health screenings. Entire safety checklists. All because, one day in 1975, someone didn’t report a few bandaged fingers — and the consequences flew across an ocean.The Internet Says It’s True.

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