This past Thursday I had shoulder  surgery which knocks me out of the writing box for about 3 or 4 weeks.   Rather than close shop I’ve asked people to substitute for me.  First up is Sherri Mazzotta:

These days, food is big business.  There are “Food Phests” in every city.  The Food Network offers 24 hours of programs such as “Good Eats,” “Cupcake Wars,” and “Barefoot Contessa.” Book stores are filled with food magazines and food “memoirs.” Chefs are now celebrities recognized by first name alone:  Giada, Paula, Emeril, Nigella.  And it’s no longer just the Phantom Gourmet helping us find the best pancetta-stuffed pork chops in town.  We’ve got plenty of food bloggers and restaurant reviewers pointing us in the tastiest direction.

My husband and I like to think we know “good” food, though our definition sometimes stretches to include the pancakes at several north-Jersey diners. We have our own way of judging the quality of food, and it has nothing to do with Michelin stars.  For us, it comes down to a simple question:

If we were on death row, what would we choose as our last meal?

We often debate this over a weeknight dinner of spaghetti or cereal. I hope that doesn’t mean we’ve run out of conversation after eight years of marriage.   Never mind what we might have done to get on death row.  Never mind that we don’t live in a state that sanctions the death penalty.  And never mind the politics seething behind the issue of capital punishment.  The important part of the conversation is the food.  What foods are so deliciously stupendous that we’d choose them over all other foods as the last thing we’d want to eat before exiting this world?

Truly, isn’t that the highest praise we could give a meal?  Isn’t that worth far more than any Zagat’s rating?

Steve envisions a day’s worth of meals, though I told him that was cheating, since you’d only get one meal.  One choice.  For breakfast, his menu includes eggs benedict with steak.  For lunch, a pepperoni pizza.  And for dinner, the Capital Grille’s filet mignon, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, and potatoes au gratin.

“I don’t think the Capital Grille does take out,” I tell him, because I’m a stickler for detail.

“Somebody from the prison could go pick it up.”

“Why would they do that for a convicted felon?”

“They’d have to.  It’s my last-meal request.”

I shake my head.  “You couldn’t eat all of that in single day.  You’d get sick.”

But really, does it matter how much indigestion your last meal causes if you’re going to be put out of your intestinal misery–and all of your misery–at the end of the day?

Since I first selected it, my last meal hasn’t wavered.  Despite all of the warm goat cheese salads, Kona-crusted sirloins, and chocolate lava cakes I’ve eaten over the years, when it comes right down to it, I’m a Jersey girl at heart and like the simple things in life.  My last meal would be a Bertucci’s pizza with roasted zucchini followed by a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream.  And don’t forget the Rolling Rock.  If I’m going out, I’m not going out sober.  The only question is whether or not to add pepperoni on the pizza.

“Bertucci’s isn’t that good–not if it’s your last meal on earth,” Steve says.

As if there’s a right answer.  As if this isn’t all about opinion.

“Pizza and ice cream are the perfect combination,” I say.  “I can’t think of anything I’d rather have.”

Of course, you’d have plenty of time to think about your last meal while on death row.  But I’m a planner, so I’d feel better knowing that I had this figured out before my cell door slammed.  One less thing to worry about, I suppose.  Troubleshooting, as a friend of mine always says.  But how hungry would you be if you knew you were about to die?  Pretty hungry, I think.  Especially if you’re a stress eater like me.

Steve and I use the last meal as a yardstick when we try out a new restaurant:

“These steak tips are great,” he says.  “Really tender and flavorful.”

“Yes, but would they make your last-meal request?” I ask.

He puts down his fork to give serious thought to this question.  Finally, he looks at me and says, “No. They wouldn’t.”

I smile:  There are good meals, there are great meals, and there are last meals.

Who needs restaurant critics?

There are web sites cataloguing the last meals of criminals who have been executed (http://www.famouslastmeals.com/ and http://www.icanhasinternets.com/2012/02/the-last-meals-of-the-infamously-condemned/). Here, for instance, you can learn that serial killer John Wayne Gacy’s last meal included a dozen deep-fried shrimp, a bucket of original recipe chicken from KFC, French fries, and a pound of strawberries.  The sites include photos of the criminals as well as their last meals–in case you have trouble picturing what that bucket of chicken looks like.

Not everyone chooses a complete meal.  Aileen Wuornos opted for a cup of black coffee. Timothy McVeigh selected two pints of mint chocolate chip ice cream.  Velma Barfield, the first woman to be executed in the United States after the 1976 return of capital punishment, asked for a can of Coke and a bag of Cheez Doodles.  I hadn’t considered snack foods as part of my last meal, since I’d want to save room for the pizza.  But if calories don’t count, appetite is infinite, and we’re using my husband’s multi-meal approach, I’d tack on a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, perhaps as an afternoon snack.

One of the strangest last-meal requests came from James Edwards Smith in Texas. Instead of a meal, Smith requested a lump of dirt, apparently for a Voodoo ritual.  Because dirt wasn’t on the approved list of prison foods, his request was denied.  He settled for a cup of yogurt instead.  Maybe yogurt was on the approved list for the Voodoo ritual, because I can’t imagine choosing anything so nutritious.  I’m not going out sober, and I’m not going out skinny either.

And speaking of Texas, which has executed more people than any other state since 1976 (count:  478):  In September 2011, the state announced that it would no longer accommodate the last-meal requests of prisoners on death row (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/09/23/us/texas-death-row-kitchen-cooks-its-last-last-meal.html).  Those scheduled for execution now receive the same meal served to other inmates in the unit.  Talk about being robbed.  Talk about getting a bum rap.

Inmates can blame convicted killer Lawrence Russell Brewer, whose last-meal request included the following : Two chicken fried steaks with gravy and sliced onions; a triple meat bacon cheeseburger; a cheese omelet with ground beef, tomatoes, onions, bell peppers, and jalapenos; a pound of barbecued meat with half a loaf of white bread; a bowl of fried okra with ketchup; three fajitas;  a meat-lover’s pizza; a pint of Blue Bell ice cream; a slab of peanut-butter fudge with crushed peanuts; and three root beers.

Does anybody really eat okra?  Or know what it is?  Maybe if Brewer had left out the fried okra, nobody would have taken notice.   Or maybe if he’d actually eaten any of the food he’d ordered…

Perhaps the Food Network could do a show about last meals.  Apprentice chefs might cook their best beef wellington or chicken parmigiana for a panel of death-row inmates.  The inmates would choose which meal they’d want on their final day.  Again, is there any higher praise?  The show might be called, “Dead Man Cooking” or “Cooking with the Convicts.”  Hey, in a world with programs focused on the “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” and “Dog The Bounty Hunter,” it’s not such a crazy idea.  It would definitely put a new spin on the concept of “Phantom Gourmet.”  The winning chef would get a spot on “Good Morning America” and his/her own show – this time, cooking for people who are likely to be alive to watch future episodes.

But don’t rely on “Bobby Flay’s Barbecue Addiction” or “Rachael Ray’s Tasty Travels,” to help you decide what’s best to eat.  Give it some thought.  Ask one simple question:  What would you choose as your last meal?

“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.” – Virginia Woolf