NaBloPoMo Day 2: Last Meal

I've put quite a bit of thought over the years into what my final meal would be, should I ever find myself on death row.

Not that there is any reason on this earth why I WOULD find myself of death row, mind you.

I've always wondered what I would ask for.  My food preferences vary wildly from day to day, so such an important meal?

Would I want a smorgasbord of my restaurant favorites?
Would I want something comforting and reassuring?  A remembrance of happier times?
Would I want to go out with a bang- load up on all the exotic delicacies I don't normally get to enjoy?

If it were the first, I can tell you what my smorgasbord would be.  French fries from the Oakland Original O, in Pittsburgh  PA, the Chopped Veggie Salad from the Cheesecake Factory, a South Carolina Maki roll from the House of Sushi and Noodles in Chicago (make that two rolls), a mudjadara sandwich from Ali Baba's in Ann Arbor, MI, and a gigantic ice cream cone of Mackinaw Island Fudge for dessert.

If I wanted something comforting and reassuring, I would want fake fried chicken (made from Loma Linda's fri-chik), lumpy mashed potatoes- skin on and loaded with butter and horseradish- with mushroom gravy, a mountain of peas, and a salad filled with ripe yellow peppers and avocados.  And my own recipe of corn bread- hot and fluffy and right out of the oven, smothered in butter and honey.

But if I were to go all out... to make my last meal absolutely the best meal of my life...

I would want Rick Bayless to make me a twelve course tasting menu.  And I would trust him to make it right.  "Rick," I would say, "this is my last meal. Make it amazing.  Put in some morels and blue potatoes and all the cilantro you can get."

And he's just the sort of guy who would do that, I think.

But honestly, the most important thing I would ask for is the company.  Because no meal is worth eating alone.  I would want my friends, but most importantly my family to be at the table with me.  To pass the dishes around, to talk, to laugh, and enjoy for one last time.

I would let my children mash their potatoes into their hair, or eat all the pickled ginger, or just eat rice.  I would smile, because they are so happy- they are always so happy in my mind.  And I would cry, because it would be our last meal.

If I ever find out that I'm truly dying- that I have only weeks to live- you can bet that dinners at my house will become a to-do.  Every meal treated like it might be my last.  Every meal a festival of life, a celebration of friends and company and the successes of living to eat another meal.

Every meal I would bend over backwards, make it the best meal of my life.  I would break the bank.  I would let out all the stops.

I almost look forward to dying just for that.  Just to make every dinner the most wonderful last meal I could imagine.  It's how I would want to be remembered.  Foisting second and third helpings on everyone, forgetting to share recipes, welcoming all my loved ones to the table.

I think that in that regard, we could all stand to die a little every day.  If only to remember what is really important to us when it comes to living.