The Last Supper

It is a little known fact that I am one of the most trivial people in America. My trivia team racks up the wins. I know the names of all 9 supreme court justices, how far the earth is to the sun, and who holds the current stolen base record and who he beat to get it. Well last night one of my teammates asked me if I knew what I wanted for my last meal. I was kind of stumped.

At first I went with the obvious, excess. Bring it on! Gold dusted truffles, platypus skewers, a salad of endangered rainforest ferns, a giant chocolate cake shaped like Madonna's mole. You know, live out a food porn dream that would make the food network and the travel channel bow their heads in shame. I thought about it though and it occurred to me that if it was my last meal wouldn't I want all my tried and true favorites?

So how about a slice of Regina's Pizza, a cannoli from Modern, which isn't the same as a fry cake from Lyndell's, or a donut at Kanes, add some stuffed peppers from Borrellis, and a hot dog at Lawton's, now we're styling. The question is if I do all that will I have room for an italian sub from Bob's, clams from Woodman's, or a pulled pork sandwich from Redbones? Hell, I'm still just eating take out that's with-in 30 miles of my house. It's my last meal, if I can have anything I want how about somebody brings me a clam pie from Frank Pepes in New Haven? Mmm! clam pizza.

That's what I'm talking about, in fact why stop in New Haven? If it's my last meal on this green earth I might as well make it a traveling show.  We'll put a keg in the hatch back and just keep going. We'll stop at Lombardi's in NYC then blast down the Jersey pike to... to... wait a minute. It's my last meal, why am I hung up on pizza, and excess, and rushing about? Why be such a modern American?

After all isn't the best thing you ever ate the best because of where you where and what you were doing? A hot dog at Fenway Park on a clear June night with the Sox up by 2 and Pap coming on to close. How about the pancakes you made in a big cast iron skillet that time you were camping over labor day.  The whole gang was there and it turned so cold and Shelly shared the sleeping bag with you and it was great even though there wasn't enough room to do anything. Remember those hamburgers you were grilling after the kids ball game. The whole neighborhood showed up and Frank and Ralphie took your truck and came back with a trash can full of ice and beer? That stuff was so cold it hurt your arm by the time you reached the bottom of the barrel. All the kids had sparklers but the real show was the fireflys. How good were those burgers? Even the ones you dropped on the coals. No one noticed anyway.

It seems that I have my answer about my last meal. You can do excess, you can indulge your personal favorites, or you can just be happy. I choose my Mom's Thanksgiving dinner, the night before was always with friends, the morning was at the football game, everybody is running around, Dad's eating olives by the TV, the house smells great, there's a fire going... Yeah, it's definitely my choice.