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John Schacht
Music Editor
Ambience is the First Course of any good meal, especially Your Last. So I'd bypass the smorgasbord approach and head south of the border, where there's a small fishing village in Baja California called Puerto Nuevo -- you can get a steaming lobster tail the size of your forearm delivered fresh out of the Pacific to your table in 10 minutes. For the price of a stateside salad, you get the crustacean and all the rice, refries, fresh cooked tortillas and fixin's you can eat without any of the stuffiness you normally associate with lobster eating (except at Red Lobster, of course). Maybe a dozen Kumamoto oysters on the half-shell for an appetizer, a barrel full of cold cervezas, good company and a Pacific sunset. I'm ready now, warden.
Timothy C. Davis
Staff Writer
If you're going to eat a "last supper," it follows that your life is probably drawing to a close rather soon. (With the possible exception of some odd new diet that eschews evening consumption, mind you. Damn dieters ruin it for everybody.) My first thought would be to order a bottle or three of Glenfiddich or some other high-falutin' Scotch, and guzzle like Popeye: "till I can't drinsk no mo." That way, when death's knell rings, I'll be too hammered to care. If a liquid supper isn't to be, I wouldn't necessarily go for filet mignon or some cream-soaked haute cuisine. No, I'd opt for simple and fresh: raw, cold-water oysters with a little drawn butter and lemon juice as an appetizer, along with a nice mug of ice-cold beer. Come to think of it, my whole meal would probably be seafood. I'll soon be swimming with the fishes anyway, right? Bring on some rare giant sea scallops, maybe some Maryland clam chowder, some simple fresh-caught catfish dredged in salt and pepper and flour and then fried. Throw in some french fries and cole slaw, plenty of napkins and two or three more (big, icy) beers, and I could die a happy man -- were it not for the whole before-my-time thing, of course.
Samir Shukla
Listings Editor
There's a saying in India's lore that loosely translates to something like this: a slow eater is a slow worker. I've spent my life upholding that adage -- the slow eater part, that is. I've watched friends suck down a meal in minutes while I prefer to taste every bite, chew every molecule and relish each nuance of spices. As a former meat eater, I would preach a veggie meal for the Last Supper if only to avoid contributing to another animal's premature end. So, bring on the appetizer plate filled with Samosas (spicy, potato-filled Indian pastries), Italian bread with olive tapenade, fried Southern squash and sauteed mushrooms with garlic. Forget soft drinks and booze, nothing presents the real taste of a dish as when it's accompanied by a glass of cool water, with the occasional exception of properly brewed iced tea. The main course would be a portion of my wife's eggplant Parmesan, a slice of pizza from Singa's Famous Pizza in NYC, a serving of mom's thepla (spicy, flat Indian bread), Chinese fried rice (veggie, of course) and a bowl of Crispix cereal. Finally, a cup of Chai prepared by yours truly. And I would take my bloody time drinking it, too.
Linda Vespa
Copy Editor
I'm a really picky eater. There are lots of foods I won't eat -- maybe I just don't like them, maybe I have ethical problems with them. Excluded from my culinary cravings are shellfish; eggs; guts (liver, kidneys, hearts, brains, tripe, etc.); veal; meat or poultry still on the bone; mayonnaise (looks like pus on a sandwich to me); and McDonald's hamburgers. The list could go on.
There are, however, some meals I will always remember. Sometimes the setting or the company made them so memorable, sometimes it was just the gustatory sensations of the food itself. If I had to pick my last meal from this stored-memory menu, it would include:
A sandwich of thinly sliced, salty prosciutto and fresh creamy mozzarella on a crusty Italian roll, lovingly made by my godmother.
My grandmother's German-style spinach with sauteed onions -- a recipe no one has been able to duplicate since her death.
A special-request vegetable plate from a decidedly non-vegetarian restaurant in Las Vegas: I got perfectly cooked carrots, asparagus, baby squash and other veggies surrounding puff-pastry filled with wild mushrooms in a burgundy wine sauce.
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