If there’s one person in all of San Diego who has found a way to capitalize on our city’s clamorous and unwavering flight path into Lindbergh Field, it’s Mauricio Couturier, a graphic artist and novice architect who titles himself “flight captain” by virtue of his Airport Lounge.

The establishment gives nightlifers a red-eye food-and-drink experience starting after 8:00 p.m., in a Jetsons-meets-Clockwork Orange kind of haunt that incoming airplanes practically graze before touching down on the runway a few blocks beyond.

Patrons “board” through a gangway-type foyer into an airy, stark space that seemed the vision for a futuristic airport lounge during the ’70s. Nearly 500 feet of neon lighting is recessed within the room’s clean lines and smooth curves. The lights vacillate between burning orange, icy blue and glowing fuchsia, giving the impression that you’ve been sucked into a mood ring rather than the circa-1937 structure that you’re in. Artsy video loops are projected on the walls, even in the restrooms. And a series of circular, low-back banquettes upholstered in corporate gray fabric mimic the seating you’d find in an Admiral’s Club for first-class passengers, with each pod able to accommodate about 10 people.

Beyond the brightly lit bar and an interior back wall stamped with airplane-style windows is a large open-roof patio boasting a mature dragon tree in the middle. At regular intervals, the bellies of roaring jets pass directly overhead. Their ferocious rumble practically shatters the ice in your tall and kicky Highjack cocktail.

Yet the ultimate eccentricity supporting this airliner fantasy is the staff wardrobe: pilot outfits for the bartenders, flight attendant uniforms for the waitresses and jumpsuits for the barbacks. With the clever, kitchy theme in place, meal service is presented in a style when airline food used to be good and plentiful – long before the 20-something set who mostly hang here were old enough to enjoy it.

Since this feels foremost like a sexy place to come for indulging in libations, the edibles serve as a sobering backup to the list of strong fruity cocktails made with top-shelf liquors that would pacify your nerves through the worst of turbulence. The Highjack, for instance, mixes Maker’s Mark bourbon and Absolut Mandarin vodka with splashes of cranberry and lime juices. The Afterburner gives you a hefty dose of Bombay Sapphire gin with Amaretto and orange juice. Or the Rocket Fuel keeps you firmly planted in your seat with Skyy 90 vodka, Red Bull and pineapple juice. Judging from the wobble in our gait after only a half-hour into our “flight,” the bar pours, we concluded, were unquestionably generous.

About 15 items comprise the food menu, most of them arranged attractively on flat, square plates to give the faint sense you’re flying in first or business class. But Couturier admits he avoided leaning 100 percent toward commercial airline presentations “because people don’t like airline food these days.”

Yet if eating above the clouds matched remotely to what we sampled here, flying would be a lot more pleasant. Among our favorites was Veracruz Handmade Quesadillas using fresh, lightly salted masa stuffed with a mellow queso fresco. A trio of ceramic ramekins fitted neatly onto the plate offered frothy white crema, chunky guacamole and well-flavored crude salsa for dipping.

Incredibly filling and delicious were the deep-fried Croquetas de Cuba, which encompass pulled chicken breast and boiled potatoes that are fork-mashed in olive oil. The rich texture from the spuds had us convinced at first that these fat fingers (coated evenly in breadcrumbs) contained heavy cream. Equally exotic and pleasing were the Indochine Beef Skewers marinated in lemongrass and barbecue sauce that tasted sweet like candy, as did the Shrimp Skewers, if only for their spicy banana dipping sauce that paired well with the shrimp’s garlic-butter sheen.

More common to fancy airline meals of yesteryear is the Brie Layover, a warm, honey-infused round topped with caramelized pecans and served with sliced baguette and some of the biggest, juiciest red grapes I’ve had all year. Of the more casual fare – which I would term “coach class” – such as Mac & Cheese, Mini Sliders and Airport on a Stick (two kosher corn dogs served with ranch dressing), we vouched for Beer Battered Asparagus served with lemon-zest aioli. The spears were bunched upright in a cute paper-lined cone and were quite enjoyable until I hit upon a few that were as tough as wood.

But that was the only air pocket we encountered on this surreal journey into the future, which skips the peanuts and pretzels and rack-brand liquors in lieu of quality comforts – meaning, of course, that you pay extra for them. Cocktails start at $10 apiece, and sitting in the circular banquettes after 10:00 p.m. or so requires a two-bottle minimum. (Bottles of liquor start at $250 and run as high as $500.)

By the time we disembarked onto the patio to witness the late-night influx of new passengers coming on board, our stomachs were sated and the cocktails we had drank down like Kool-Aid were working wonders for deafening the sound of the airplanes roaring overhead. Amid the proliferation of trendy lounges popping up, this one grabs the honor for uniqueness.