Picking a last meal is hard knowing that it’s your last chance to pick
a winner. For my last meal, I just pray for enough confidence in my
own ideas so I don’t rely on message boards like Chowhound.com for any
last minute suggestions. “Any suggestions for my last meal on earth,
but please, don’t say In and Out because I’ll just think about my
dreams that never materialized in LA and how this was the New York
Winter that finally killed me.”
For my very last meal, I’d resist the urge to get the white fish salad
bagel sandwich at Russ and Daughters that comes with Horseradish cream
cheese and wasabi infused roe. Nobody wants to burp up white fish and
have that smell be their last dying breath
.
Getting something sweet as a last meal like a Red Velvet Cupcake from
Magnolia Bakery at the original location in the West Village is
tempting. If I’m lucky, I can cause a traffic jam as I lie dead on the
street with cream cheese icing on my chin and cause the Sex and City
Bus Tour to fall behind schedule.
I’d have to consider a porterhouse for two at Peter Lugers to make up
for the time I went to Craft for my anniversary with my vegetarian
wife and had to settle for the Normandy duck instead.
I’d also have to give the Peking duck at Peking Duck in Chinatown
serious consideration, but only if the Chinese waiters agree to roll
up the entire duck in pancakes for me. If not, I’d get duck sauce all
over my hands which would make me a sticky corpse and I wouldn’t want
Andy
Dick to get any last minute ideas.
For my last Italian meal, I’d get the Veal Osso Bucco from Enzo’s.
It’s voluptuous and mature yet I’d think of veal scaloppini after my
first bite knowing that she’s the one baby that I never outgrew.
Getting Fried Chicken at Sidecar for a last meal would be a stupid
move. I’d turn cold before the chicken cooled.
A homemade meatball pizza from Lombardi’s on Spring Street on the
border of SOHO and Little Italy would be sweet. It would be like dying
between the intersection of Italian heaven and tourist hell.
I’d love to get a seafood risotto from Lupa for my last meal just to
show death that I’m not afraid of keeping him waiting. If my waiter
knew that risotto was my last meal, he’d push for a quicker order so I
didn’t die in his section which sucks up all his tips. The waiter
says: “Sir, the risotto takes forever. It’s like Keith Richards. By
the time it gets nice and cooked, the party is over.”
If I got ribs for my last meal, I’d get the salt and pepper ribs at
Blue Smoke. They don’t have any sauce so I wouldn’t have to clean up
with a tarp. Plus, Blue Smoke is a dressed up joint that leaves a
cleaner, more everlasting high.
How can I get a Lobster Roll at Mary’s Fish Camp and not feel shorted?
It’s a one song lap dance with a no touch policy.
I’d love to get the Pastrami on Rye at Katz for my last meal but that
sandwich always piles on the guilt. It’s the highest level of
gluttony, literally.
Weed brownies could be the best of both worlds. But weed brownies are
also major creepers. I won’t know when, I’ll be flying or dying.
But if I had to choose a last meal; I’d get a Founder’s Breakfast
Stout which is that Irish, pouragy Guinness meal experience that
everyone talks about except you don’t have fly to Ireland and pretend
that you like Collin Ferrell either. Founder’s Breakfast Stout is so
good, the idea of sharing it with loved ones hovering around your
death bed, will kill you.
Written By,
Josh Kornbluth
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