If You Had To Choose Your Last Meal, What Would It Be?

"If you had to choose your last meal, what would it be?"

I can't recall the first time I tried to answer the question, but it's one I've asked myself over and over for many years. I'm sure I was a kid in school when I first heard that condemned men were always given a last meal of whatever they wanted. As a kid, who knows what I would have said? Pizza? Hamburgers?

I remember being in my 20s and occasionally hearing about someone in prison who was about to be executed. That kind of thing seemed like it was bigger news back in the 1990s. It seems to me that, as a nation, we were struggling with the constitutional and ethical questions surrounding the death penalty.

Back then, I didn't know yet that I was a "foodie" -- indeed, the term wasn't part of the common lexicon yet. But in much the same way that parents of gay children can look back and point out specific examples of their kids' "gayness" at a young age, I too, can point out my reaction to the news that someone on death row was about to be executed: I'd feel sad for the poor guy for a few seconds, and then I'd wonder what he was going to have for dinner.

Can they really have anything they wanted? What if they wanted, like, I dunno... 50 lobster tails? Was there a cost limit? What if they wanted something super exotic like Chinese bird's nest soup? Would they have to postpone the execution until they could get it? What if you asked for a particular chef's signature dish? Could Wolfgang Puck be compelled by the state to make a condemned man's last barbeque chicken pizza? Could you really ask for anything?

These might sound like cheeky questions, but remember, I was just a kid and this was long before the Internet. I really did wonder about these things! And the questions drove me crazy, because it's not like I could go to the card catalog at the public library and just look up "Last meals for the condemned."

But being obsessed about the idea of a last meal was more than morbid curiosity. Without having to even ask the root question of "Why is it important to grant the condemned a last meal?" I thought I intuitively understood the reasons and implications behind the tradition of offering a last meal to the condemned.

"Well, obviously, it's granting the condemned a last, but profound, comfort before being executed." Apparently, I'm wrong about that. According to Wikipedia, accepting a last meal symbolizes a coming to terms (IE. a kind of forgiveness or absolution) with those who are about to chop your head off.

I've also since learned that there are general restrictions on the condemned's last meal, and that the restrictions depend on the state where you're being executed. Some states put a limit of $40 on the meal (Seriously? That's my bar tab when I'm drinking... alone.). And some states limit the request to the food already available within the prison system, while others allow you to order things like Domino's pizza or roast beef sandwiches from Arby's.

But back to the question... What would you have as your last meal?

Wikipedia lists a several last meal requests that have been made in the past, and it appears that steaks and lobster tails are pretty popular. But, interestingly, some of the condemned have used the opportunity to make a personal statement.

"Joan of Arc: [requested] Holy communion."

"Odell Barnes: [requested] 'Justice, Equality, World Peace.'"

"Philip Workman: He declined a special meal for himself, but he asked for a large vegetarian pizza to be given to a homeless person in Nashville, Tennessee. This request was denied by the prison, but carried out by others across the country"

"Victor Feguer requested a single olive with the pit still in." (I have no idea what that means.)

"James Edward Smith requested a lump of dirt, which was denied. He settled for a small cup of yogurt"

One thing is for sure, though: You can count on me not to use my last meal to make a statement. And I wouldn't use the opportunity to indulge in expensive caviar, lobster, and foie gras, either. No, I think I would want my last meal to be comforting, calming, and delicious.

But what's the most comforting and calming thing I could eat?

There's a short list of things that might fit the bill (and, yes, a McDonalds Big Mac and fries are on that list), but over the years, I've come to realize that there's only one dish that I would want on my last day alive: my mother's Filipino chicken adobo and steamed rice.

This is the one dish, above all others, that comforts me the most. I would have to guess that, as a kid, we had it every couple of weeks. It was good hot, warm, or cold. It sated completely, and paradoxically, created a craving for itself.

And the memories that go along with the dish? They're cumulative.

The pungent and savory aroma of vinegar and soy sauce simmering takes me back, simultaneously, to every moment of my childhood. That is to say, it reminds me of being 6 years old as much as it reminds me of being 16 years old. It reminds me of summer lunches as much as it reminds me of winter dinners. How can a dish do that?!

It only has five ingredients: chicken, vinegar, soy sauce, black pepper, and bay leaves. And yet, these simple ingredients transform... and then transcend.

Chicken adobo and rice is the food of my family... the food of my childhood. No matter where and when, eating it reunites me with my family. If I were condemned and about to be executed, this is the food that I would choose as my time machine to instantly transport me back to a time long ago and transform back into the kid that is my mother's son, the kid that is the big brother to my two younger sisters and my baby brother.

Is it trite to think that there is a food that could represent the innocence of my childhood?

Maybe.

But if this atheist foodie were about to be executed, it's all I would have left.