My Last Meal

By Iron Chef Leftovers

Mr Bourdain, is that a beef knuckle in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? An actual picture from “My Last Supper”.

Well, it looks like the Mayan’s were wrong* and we survived the end of the world. It got me thinking again, what would be my last meal if I could actually pick it. A few years ago, a book titled (appropriately) “My Last Supper” by Melanie Dunea asked the same question. There were very little qualifications – the meal could be anything and cooked by anyone, dead or alive. The meals ranged from the simple – Anthony Bourdain wanted roasted bone marrow with a parsley salad to the extravagant – Gary Danko wanted this insane meal that would have made a Roman orgy look like a Golden Corral buffet. Chef’s play this game late at night sitting around drinking and it is an interesting question. You should check out the book, in addition to some great stories, there are some really wonderful photographs.

I digress. I think about the last meal and I am pretty sure I know what I would want it to be, so here it is:

Tortellini with Cream Sauce made by my dad. I have so many fond memories of this, I have spent years trying to recreate the flavors exactly and I have never quite been able to do it.

Perogies made by my grandmother (mom’s mom). Another insanely simple thing that I have never been able to get quite right. Just fried up in some butter please!

French Onion Soup made by my mom. She didn’t make it very often, but I still compare every other one that I have ever had to it.

Tripe Soup made by my dad. Say what you want about tripe, it is delicious and when I try someone else’s that is remotely close to my dad’s it pretty much brings me to tears.

Rabbit Stew made by my grandmother (dad’s mom). I had it once, when I was very young and I don’t remember much about it, but my dad’s parents lived on a farm, cooked over an open fire and made hearty meals. I will take the ultimate comfort food any day.

Bread baked by my grandfather (mom’s dad). My grandfather was a baker by trade and I never once remember him actually making bread (he was retired by the time I was born). I want that opportunity to try it.

Wine made by my grandfather (dad’s dad). Hey, you need to wash the meal down with something, don’t you?

I have had many amazing food experiences in my life, some that I can remember every little detail about, but when it comes down to it, the food that I grew up eating made by the people who made it for me is how I would want my last meal to go.

* I am writing this about a week before the Mayan prediction for the end of the world. If you are reading this either the world did not end or it did but the internet survived. If the Mayans were right, my apologies to them for doubting them.

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