Your last meal?

What would you want your last meal to be? Pecan-encrusted pork chops? A little too frou-frou, uh? How about something that shouts egalitarianism from the rooftops, say a burger and fries? From McDonalds, of course. And add a shake, too.

Scratch that: let’s load on the sweets. Since it’s November, we’ll include all the pies (pumpkin, pecan, and apple to start), and maybe a decadent chocolate cake. Homemade buttercream icing – definitely.

In an era of nothing being too taboo and everyone being wholly irreverent (which I relish, if you haven’t realized), an article on Slate made me drop my soup spoon during my lunch break. It talked about death row prisoners’ last meals: can they really order anything? What do they choose to eat? Nothing was remarkably surprising about it: many chose filet mignon or, indeed, a burger and fries. The filet mignon often resulted in a hamburger steak, and the guy who requested 24 tacos was given four. Basically, if the kitchen could make it, it would, and improvise when necessary.

I am vehemently against the death penalty (for matters practical and those not so tangible), but whatever your politics, the article – and the links in the piece*—were startlingly sad for a Wednesday afternoon. What if you were the cook preparing the last meal – who were often prisoners themselves: would you add extra butter and substitute the skim milk for whole (and what does it matter now)? Add a garnish to the plate? Say a prayer as the plate was covered and brought to its final patron?

This wasn’t supposed to be a treatise on last rights, the judicial system, or any of that: I want to talk about food. For someone saddled with Crohn’s, I adore food. Right now I’m dreaming of roasted vegetables (pass the rutabaga, baby) and think there are few things more delicious than a Cortland apple or a chewy brownie with cold milk.

My last meal wouldn’t be anything fancy, but quietly forbidden in its own simple way. I would have a mound of spaghetti with fatty meatballs and the richest, most tomato-y marinara know to man, with buttery garlic bread. For dessert, I would have a sample: tiramisu, crème brulee, and chocolate truffles. If eaten today, this meal would leave me bedridden. Anything fatty is a deal-breaker and makes me run for the hills (correction, I would only stiffly walk to the hills, and only if a bathroom was located there), so the ground beef is a no-no. I think the garlic bread slathered with butter speaks for itself. Acidic tomatoes are a nightmare, and the desserts? White sugar and fatty cream (oh, luscious luscious cream) are toxic. (And boy oh boy, I love and eat all of these things a little more than occasionally.)

Crohn’s be damned, what would your last meal be? Please leave a comment for a hungry girl!

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*The article has links to the state of Texas’ correctional website, which records the final statements of inmates, which were strikingly sobering. Some inmates reiterate their innocence. Almost all denounce what they did and allude to God. The most unsettling statements say, “Warden, I’m done now” or “Warden, I’m ready”. I don’t know why I read so many – it’s the worst form of voyeurism I guess – but definitely thought-provoking.