Food, glorious food. We love it. We need it. More than half the country is overweight because of it. And we all have our favorites. Family recipes and local restaurant dishes that we turn to again and again, to celebrate special occasions, comfort us when we're upset, or simply to save us the trouble of cleaning our kitchen. Don't even get us started on the new temptations foisted upon the masses almost daily (damn you 7-eleven and your new western omelet breakfast croissant!).
But what if you could have only one last meal? And we're not talking a Christ-type last meal — pretty much goes without saying that's a bread-and-wine kind of occasion. What if, say, you committed a heinous crime and were sentenced to die tomorrow? Plenty of people have been there. And plenty of other people are fascinated by what death row denizens choose for their final menu. Hell, until last December, the Texas Department of Criminal Justice — well-known leaders in American executions — had a page on its website dedicated to death row inmates' final repast requests. Books have been written about criminals' last meals, the website deadmaneating.com is devoted to the subject. And with very few exceptions, these condemned souls take full advantage of the opportunity to eat whatever they want on their respective states' dimes. Who wouldn't? John Wayne Gacy (executed in Illinois, 1994), for instance, enjoyed Kentucky Fried Chicken, fried shrimp, french fries, strawberries and Diet Coke. Walter LaGrand (Arizona, 1999) supped upon six fried eggs, 16 strips of bacon, hash browns, pineapple sherbet, a breakfast steak, a cup of ice, 7-Up, Dr. Pepper, Coke, hot sauce, coffee and — of course — four Rolaids. And Aileen Wuornos (Florida, 2002), so popular these days as portrayed by an uglified Charlize Theron in Monster, ate only a burger and other snack foods from the prison's canteen. Then you have Ted Bundy (Florida, 1989), who waived his right to a last meal, dining instead on whatever happened to be on the prison's menu of the evening (in his case, burritos and Mexican rice). And let's not forget Robert Buell (Ohio, 2002), who hoped his final meal of a single black, unpitted olive would one day sprout from his body an olive tree (as far as we know, it didn't).
To get you in a last-meal sort of mind, your intrepid Planet staffers have offered their idea of fine day-before-death dining. So if, like so many others, you're interested in execution cuisine, grab a fork, strap on a bib and prepare for some comestible punishment.
Sara Kennedy
WP Food Critic
When I began to think about a Last Supper, what immediately came to mind was the most infamous meal ever ordered by the late New York Times food critic Craig Claiborne. In 1973, he successfully bid $300 at a charity auction for the chance to dine at the restaurant of his choice, anywhere in the world, with no cost limit. Claiborne and Chef Pierre Franey picked Chez Denis in Paris, ordering 31 courses and nine bottles of the finest wine. The final tab was an estimated $4,000. The Vatican sniffed that it was "scandalous."
But Claiborne's audacity wins points with me. After all, it's only money. So, taking a cue from the master, I did not concern myself with expense. However, to keep it relevant, I limited myself to items available in the Bay area.
1. Orange Cosmopolitan, $8.25, Armani's Restaurant, Grand Hyatt Tampa Bay, 6200 Courtney Campbell Causeway, Tampa, 813-874-1234.
2. Appetizer: roti canai, Indian pancake, $4.95 for two, Satay House, 5731 Seminole Blvd., Seminole, 727-399-8395.
3. Soup: Chinese beef and pepper soup, $2.99/cup, $3.99/bowl, Michael's Grill, 11720 N. Dale Mabry, Tampa, 813-964-8334.
4. Salad: Sally's endive salad with citrus and warm bacon dressing, $7.95, Crazy Conch Café, Tierra Verde, 1110 Pinellas Bayway S., Tierra Verde, 727-865-0633.
5. Crusty handmade bread: $1.25/loaf, Domenic's Capri Italian Restaurant, 411 Mandalay Ave., Clearwater Beach, 727-441-1111.
6. Pasta pockets, stuffed with six kinds of cheese and topped with a lusty red sauce, $16.50, Spartaco Trattoria Italiana, 3215 S. MacDill Ave., Tampa, 813-832-9327.
7. Wine: Bottle of Cake Bread Cellars Chardonnay, 2000, $80.
8. Mixed grill of shrimp, scallops, and fresh Hawaiian fish served with chipotle grits and three sauces — smoked tomato beurre-blanc, lobster fondue and kaffir lime, $25, Pacific Wave, 211 Second St. S., St Petersburg, 727-822-5235.
9. Wine: Bottle of Chateau Ducru-Beaucaillon, 1999, $122.10.
10. Chateaubriand, 13-ounce, with Dijon bordelaise sauce, $42.20, Bern's Steak House, 1208 S. Howard Ave., Tampa, 813-254-2421.
11. Side dish: Fleming's potatoes, $5.95, Fleming's Prime Steakhouse & Wine Bar, 4322 Boy Scout Blvd., Tampa, 813-874-9463.
12. Vegetable side: Fried green tomatoes with homemade ranch dressing, $3.16, The Whistle Stop Grill, 915 Main St., Safety Harbor, 727-726-1956.
13. Dessert: Chocolate pecan toffee mousse tort, with toffee sauce and creme Anglais, $5, Mise en Place Restaurant, 442 W. Kennedy Blvd., Tampa, 813-254-5373.
14. Coffee: Large Cuban coffee, $1.50, Fourth of July Café, 1611 Howard Ave., Tampa, 813-254-2278
JIM HARPER
WP Editor
A last meal is a time for guilty pleasure. One of mine, already, is going to be Popeye's fried chicken, where I almost always order a third piece and an extra biscuit. Guiltily, of course.
Since I will no longer be concerned with clogged arteries and abdominal fat after my demise, I can really splurge this time. I'll take four pieces, dark meat (one full leg and two extra thighs), spicy, and three or four biscuits. The biscuits are so good you don't have to butter 'em, but I will add some guava jelly on the side.
Also, some home-cooked collard greens, rinsed three times and braised an hour or so with smoked pork, onion, red pepper flakes, a little salt and sugar and a lot of tarragon. My best friend's eggplant Parmesan, made the day before and reheated. Hush puppies from Jimbo's. (Hell, who's watching carbs?)
Do they let you drink in prison? If so, I'll take a good bottle of zinfandel to balance all that high-flavored food.
And for dessert: my mama's apple crisp. Real whipped cream would be nice. And a glass of cold milk.
ERIC SNIDER
WP Senior Writer
If it's my last meal, folks, I'm going out big, with a spread that'd make Crazy Buffet look like a snack. I wouldn't finish it all, but I'd at least sample a whole bunch of stuff. I can just see the jailer coming to get me and I'm still shoveling it in and chugging it down. I don't want to be frog-marched to the chair; I want to be dragged in a full-on food-and-drink-induced stupor. Any last words? A big burp and a fart.
We'd start with beers: A couple Bud Lites to cleanse the palate, a Bass Ale and as many bottles of Negro Modelo as necessary. And then the food, in no particular serving sequences, just laid out in front of me like a banquet: a plate of raw ahi tuna sushi; (Mom) Erma Snider's chicken parmesan; (wife) Bonnie Snider's ground beef and cabbage pie; roast pork verve from Red Mesa; a medium filet mignon from Bern's; McDonald's fries; chicken curry and rice from the Jerk Hut; roast pork from Pipo's; Panang curry chicken from Thai Am; homemade mashed potatoes smothered in brown gravy, with peas mixed in; a slice of plain pizza couriered from Manhattan; a Philly cheese steak (from Philly), with extra grilled onions and peppers; a plate of spaghetti with marinara from Mama's Bistro in Rome; a full rack from Lee Roy Selmon's ribs; cashews; seedless watermelon; fudge brownies with walnuts; and a coconut cream pie made by the best damn pastry chef in town.
SUSAN EDWARDS
WP Contributing Editor
My last meal would be a feast for all the senses, and it would last several hours. All the people I love would be there, and we would have plenty of music and wine to go with our food. The table would be set with lots of candles and flowers, and it would be outside in a garden. I gave up cigarettes almost 10 years ago, but if I'm gonna die tomorrow, I'm also going to smoke at least one after each course, probably more.
We'd start with a big, rich red wine, crusty baguettes straight from the oven, olives, roasted garlic and some cheeses — including an evil French triple cream, Spanish Manchego and a good, stinky goat cheese.
Then, we'd have seafood bisque drizzled with sherry.
Next, there would be salad with romaine, arugula, dried cherries and pecans, dressed with walnut oil and reduced balsamic vinegar. And crispy fried potatoes with rosemary and lots of salt.
The main course would be roasted beets, carrots and pheasant with chutney, and steamed asparagus with plenty of butter and salt. Plus a good Chablis.
If I'm going to die tomorrow, I'm having two desserts tonight: tiramisu and chocolate hazelnut mousse with fine aged port and Cuban cafe con leche.
We'd finish up with Monte Cristo cigars from Cuba dipped in 20-year-old Havana Club rum.
SCOTT HARRELL
WP Music Critic
Let's just think of it as the cookout before the cookout, shall we? Because it's not going to matter in the long run — apparently, there isn't going to be a long run — I'll toss aside my usual stringent eating habits just this once. Let's see. For a pre-appetizer, I'll go with chips and salsa (hot, naturally) from Carmelita's St. Pete location on Park Street, and keep 'em coming. Next, I'll have two Sabrett's "natural casing" hot dogs (they snap when you bite into them) on poppy-seed rolls, with spicy brown mustard, diced red onions, sauerkraut and mango-habanero hot sauce. For the main course, a rack of boiled and lovingly smoked baby back ribs, glazed with a mixture of Uncle Dea's Spicy BBQ sauce and a little pineapple and apple juice. Sides? How about onion rings, grilled corn on the cob slathered in garlic butter, and a couple of jalapeno-cheddar cornbread muffins? For dessert, I'd like a box of Willie Wonka Runts sour hard candy, and, assuming I get booze, I'll wash it all down with a bottle of Patron silver tequila and a sixer of, well, whatever's handy, really. I've got all night to finish. And hopefully, I can lure a couple of guards right up to the chair for some gut-wrenching, pant-drenching final revenge.
DAVID BRAMER
WP Copy Editor
I'm from the "Rage, Rage into the Night" school of dying. Death isn't separating egg yolks and whites, people. Your body's headed one way, your soul another. It's a divorce that deserves to be messy. … But face it: When you're a dead man walking, outrage only takes you so far. You might start out roaring, but you're gonna end up blubbering. The truth is, to die right (fry right?) you need to be fearless. You can't just be square with the idea of dying, execution has to sound absolutely optimal.
Not doable? Think, dubious reader, you've been there. You were 19. It was a party. You drank in a way sane people don't drink — copious amounts of Jack Daniels, Ouzo and cheap wine — and ate stuff that sane people don't eat, not in combination anyway. Kielbasa and fried pork rinds, jelly donuts. Stuff with due dates long past due. Something almost raw. Something intermittently blue. You smoked like a pig on a spit. Your footing passed from merely quirky to delusional (the Earth really does spin! Gravity works!), and your words came out like bad dubs. You did things that were out of character … until some smirking Good Samaritan dragged you to your home toilet, on the waters of which you spent the night pitching in a leaky boat. You retched, you prayed to the Ultimate Executioner: "Die me, Lord! Pull the trigger! Just this once…"
What would my last meal be? Do you really have to ask?
KELLI K
WP Associate Editor/Operations
If I'm sitting on Death Row, obviously I did something to deserve it, and thus don't deserve some spectacular last meal. But no one said life's fair (I'm on Death Row, man), so here we go.
First, select friends and all 100-some-odd family members would join me for dinner. There'll be puke buckets for a few (don't ask), and individual ashtrays for all the smokers. We'd toast my impending death with hard cider, Captain Morgan and Diet Coke, and tequila.
After drinks, we'd enjoy chorizo fuendido from Red Mesa, lovely pitas and tzatziki from Acropolis, and some chips and queso from Estela's Mexican Restaurant. Why not throw in some of my mom's Philadelphia Cream Cheese dip and a few bags of scoop-size Frito's. The liquor would continue to flow.
Our main course would consist of filet mignon and chicken stir-fry from Arigato's Japanese Steakhouse, including plenty of that restaurant's fat-laden Goody Goody sauce. Mom's cabbage rolls would be on the menu, along with her luscious beef roast surrounded by browned potatoes, baby carrots and a vat of gravy, and we'd also need several large mushroom-and-pepperoni pies from Sally O'Neil's Pizza Hotline. Throw in a few wraps from Ciccio and Tony's for the health conscious who aren't dying the next day. More liquor.
For dessert, we must have baklava, also from Acropolis, a chocolate cake lovingly made by WP co-worker Amanda Cramer, and an array of Little Debbie snack cakes.
After dinner, we'd continue smoking until the guest of honor herself was smoking. Literally.
COOPER CRUZ
WP Events Editor
The chemically engineered tastes of McDonalds have always comforted me.
Growing up, whenever I was sick, my mom would reward me for good behavior at the doctor's office by spinning through the McDonalds drive-thru on our way home. My order was always an orange drink and large fries.
The Hi-C orange flavor in the drink is utterly unlike the taste of fresh-squeezed orange juice, but it's an adequate facsimile, sweet and delicious coming up through a straw. And the fries (oh, lovely amalgam of air, vegetable oil and potato flour deep-fried and dusted with salt!) offer instant hand-to-mouth gratification as potent as beer to a drunk.
I can only guess this nutritionally meritless meal, which has helped me cope with health stress in the past, would soothe me in facing however much of my life's end I see coming.
Years ago I drove my deteriorating dog through the McDonald's drive-thru in my hometown and bought him a sundae before I took him to the vet to be put down. I parked in the lot and fed him from the cup as he lay in the passenger seat. And although my dog was plainly unsettled by arriving at the vet, the cold steel table and the stick of the needle, I like to believe he enjoyed his last taste of the world.
MARK SANDERS
WP– Sarasota Events Editor
A last meal, like anything else in life, should be about love and togetherness. As with the giblets in one of those food-separating Tupperware containers, are too often distanced from one another, befuddled as a bug contemplating birds in flight. How much of our own troubles can be reduced to simple misunderstandings, insecurities and unwillingness to compromise with others? Sure, the green bean casseroles of life might not mix well with the mashed potatoes, but woe be unto whomever's afraid to mix it up a bit.
So the selection is natural: a smoothie to celebrate memories of lives past. Some of Grandmother's pumpkin pie; a snot-laden cherry limeade from that time I had pneumonia and swore I was dying; a slice of my nephew's birthday cake; falafel from that street corner vendor in Amsterdam; dad's pork chops; a burrito from the bar I worked at in college; maybe a few other morsels from the archives of life. And of course bananas, because, after all, what smoothie doesn't contain bananas? As unappealing as it may sound, these are the tastes that've passed through my gullet, as mixed in my conscience as they are in that big glass carafe.
This article appears in Mar 4-10, 2004.
