The Last Supper

What would you want for your last meal? I recently read an article in Time Magazine where famous chefs answered that question. Apparently, the Last Supper game is pretty common among chefs when they’re sitting around shooting the breeze. The author seemed surprised that most of them wanted simple comfort foods that reminded them of their childhood or family life. That doesn’t surprise me at all. I mean, really, if you’re about to kick the bucket and won’t be eating again wouldn’t you rather have fried chicken and mashed taters instead of some foo foo foi gras, fish egg covered dish? By the way, I’d like to know who looked at goose liver and said, “I’ll bet if we slice this up and cook it, it’ll be real tasty.” Personally, I don’t like to eat anything that serves as a filter in an animal’s body. I may be from the South, but I’ll skip the livers and gizzards thank you. I digress. Let’s just say, I get the whole comfort food angle.

The last meal has crossed my mind more than once. Back when I was in journalism, it would come up whenever the state penitentiary got ready to electrocute someone. The media would always get details about the prisoner’s last meal. For some quirky reason, I found it interesting. I’ve also been on that website (can’t think of the name of it right now) that documents prisoners last meals. Fascinating reading. Don’t judge. You know you’re going to Google it when you finish reading this. I thought about the last meal thing this week when I was dying of typhoid in my bed at home. Probably because I had no appetite and wanted to eat something other than the mandarin oranges and ice water I choked down for four days. I had visions of all kinds of grand dishes, but when it came time to choose I finally settled on these.

Steamed crab legs with drawn butter-It’s one of the things that makes me believe there is a God. I could eat my weight in these things. In fact, I’ve tried. One time I ate so many I threw up. Now I try to stop when I’m full up to my esophagus. I love the crustacean.

Sliced tomatoes-They must be homegrown, and they must be liberally sprinkled with salt. Hey, who cares about blood pressure when you’re eating your last meal? No dressing, no others adornments, just several slices of the nectar of Heaven. Eaten with my fingers.

A big spoon full of cream cheese-Ah, one of my favorite food groups. A little maple sugar in it wouldn't hurt.

Buttered mashed potatoes-Potatoes, another one of my favorite food groups. The one thing Oprah and I have in common.

Fried potatoes-sliced thin and lathered in salt and pepper.

Popcorn-Popped on the stove in oil with plenty of salt. (Have you figured out I have a problem with salt?) None of that greasy microwave stuff. I want the old fashioned kernels that have to be shaken around in a pan. It reminds me of when I was a kid and mama used to pop a dishpan full of it for us kids.

Italian Cream Cake-A big old honkin’ slice with cream cheese frosting. Did I mention that I like cream cheese?

Sweet Tarts-Just a handful. And please make them all strawberry and grape. Leave out the lemon and lime. I can eat the orange if I have to.

Iced tea to wash it all down-lightly sweetened with crushed ice. No lemon. And for the love of Pete, NO INSTANT.

Even if I stay off death row I will one day have a last meal. I hope I’m really old when it comes, and I hope I still have enough teeth to eat the above. If not, I’m going to look mighty funny gumming that popcorn. And I'll need the chewy Sweet Tarts.