Saucyman, what would you have for your last meal?You’d think I would pick something I obsessively crave from time to time – red beans, pizza, carbonara, but it isn’t that simple. A fortifying meal - the resolute beefsteak and potato, set down in front of me just as I finish a bourbon-laced, ice-cold Manhattan has its appeal. As I head off into the great unknown, I might want to dine on something exotic, different, new – different cuisines always make me feel curious about the world and in this case possibly what is beyond.
Since my last earth bound meal would not be a question of sustenance a food that comforts me - Pumpkin pie, roast chicken & spatzle holds sway. Rather than emotional comfort, could a meal provide dignity? The ritual of a fancy, sit-down, 6 or 7 course dinner could provide the structure to remain strong and dignified in the face of the uncertain. There is nothing like the sight of 4 forks, 3 wineglasses, candlesticks and folded, pressed napkins that says sit up straight and do not indulge your mood.
Then there is the question of the accidental last meal; if I get any sort of say on how I get to go, please don’t let my last nourishment be airplane peanuts or an overpriced sandwich from an airport kiosk. Odds, accuracies and probability all come into play on this but the food - the deep-fried, the BBQ’d, the batter dipped, that goes hand in hand with excessive drinking and subsequent poor decision making seems likely to be the last thing I ever taste?
There are only a few circumstances where you would know your last meal is definitely going to be your last; none of them are really a blessing. One scenario involves being caught in a bad act or a worse set of circumstances in Louisiana or Texas. The blog Dead Man Eating was tracking death row meals – Gleaning the list of last meals seems to suggest the condemned are going for total calories as much as anything else.
Suicide would another occasion where you would know your last meal is your last. Yet, whatever personal strife/pain or depression a person is suffering from cannot lend itself to celebrating with a final meal. Illness is consuming – my own little bout of cancer taught me that disease, treatment and recuperation are not the cornerstones of hunger and desire for food.
François Mitterand is an exception to this: Terminally Ill, the French President pulled himself to the table for a final meal of oysters, foie gras and ortolan – a small yellow bird: Captured live in the forest, it is blinded, force-fed figs until it is 4 times its normal size and finally the bird is drowned in fine cognac, not euphemistically, it is killed via brandyboarding, then cooked whole. At the table, the diner places a napkin over his/her head to cover their shame and the bird is consumed bones and all. What was supposed to be a remembrance of Mitterrand’s childhood, strikes me more as a bitter old man’s desire to take as many songbirds as he can with him.
Julia Child was rumored to have written out her request for a last meal 40 years in advance – As nice it is to think about the leading lady of cuisine choosing appetizers, entrée and vintage wine - it seems unlikely a rich meal was served at the end of a protracted decline in health. And possibly that is the point, the last meal is not a final chance to sate corporeal desires; the ritual of the last meal is an exercise in having some control over what happens in uncertain hours. For me, a party on a sunny day, jambalaya, shrimp boil, ribs, hot sauce, cold beer, bread pudding and a chance to say good-bye and let everyone know it will hurt but it will get better, that is more than I could hope for. Since the ability to provide comfort to those who are staying on is impossible, no matter how strong the desire, I would choose the more manageable bread pudding and a cup of coffee (splash of brandy, please).








