So, i’m reading this great book, My Last Supper: 50 Great Chefs and Their Final Meals… its a great little coffee table book for food lovers and the generally morbid. 50 chefs are asked the what, where, who and how of their imagined last supper on this earth. answers range from straight forward down to earth comfort food (which i admire) to in depth descriptions of very specific ingredients obtained from very specific sources (which truth to be told bores me a little). great photography as well, all in all a pleasant book.
ah but here is the rub, i started thinking… ok, this would be a proper mile marker for what would constitute a proper meal. all i have to do is play the last meal game, honestly figure out for myself what the absolute pinnacle of dining perfection would be, the one meal i would choose to have before i slip off this mortal coil. and then of course, make it and have a great time eating it.
but somewhere in that thought process, i got caught in a little conundrum… i’m not the kinda guy that knocks on wood or tosses salt over the shoulder or really does anything to fend off evil spirits of any kind. i’m not superstitious. but at the same time, i have a healthy respect for fate and the many forms of irony delivered in its name.
i’m not superstitious but think of it this way… i sit down and i have myself a nice long think about the one meal i would have before dying. i then cook this meal and eat it. is that not just tossing it out there, hey, i’ve had my last supper, i’m done, do what you will with me.
so, first off, if i ever figured out the perfect meal, it would be the one meal that i could never comfortably eat (internal strange loop in this statement). i think its best not to play the game and just to cook really good meals that i can enjoy while alive.
but really, i’m not superstitious. really.