From the LOP.
Yea chomo and I were talkin bout it. We become domesticated when ur not around. I need u to rape my phone and randomly call every girl I know to hang out until u make out w one of them. Hahaha
From Kimbo.
Petri no go home =( PPooOOOOrrr Petrrrii!!! find another way home captain!
Despite how many dead animals we pile onto our plates, we don't
spend much eating time thinking about our own death. Sure, there's the
rare sparring with fugu or fishing through a box of Sno-Caps at those
Left Behind movies, but death-row inmates aside, most of us don't think
much about our last meal.
Except for chefs. Apparently it's a
constant discussion they have late at night when they drink, a way of
getting at some essential truth about each other. So photographer
Melanie Dunea decided to ask 50 of the world's top chefs what they'd do
for their last meal, and then shot them in a way that summed up their
choice for her new book, My Last Supper (Bloomsbury USA). It turns out
there's a lot you can learn about people by the last thing they want to
eat, and about our food-obsessed culture when the people are culinary
pacesetters like these.
While some piled on the caviar, foie
gras and truffles (Thomas Keller, Helene Darroze and Gary Danko) and
one made an absolute pig of himself (Mario Batali), the majority of the
chefs picked incredibly simple foods. Scott Conant and Tyler Florence
wanted fried chicken; Jacques Pepin, a hot dog.
Gordon Ramsay
and April Bloomfield asked for roast beef; Jamie Oliver chose a big
bowl of spaghetti chased with rice pudding; Laurent Tourondel would
have a tuna sandwich with bacon, a Krispy Kreme doughnut and a Corona.
Even Wylie Dufresne, famous for his exotic combinations like pickled
beef tongue with fried mayonnaise, asked for scrambled eggs, a
cheeseburger and a steak. "There's always a return to childhood or some
country-ass thing. The word Mom comes up at least a third of the time,"
says Travel Channel host Anthony Bourdain, who played the last-supper
game many nights when he was cooking. "If someone comes up with a fancy
answer, all the chefs will shout him down, yelling 'You liar!'"
Ramsay,
host of Hell's Kitchen and recipient of 12 Michelin stars for his many
restaurants on both sides of the Atlantic, told me that he picked a
roast because he's burned out on caviar and chocolate fondants. But
then he started reminiscing. "We used to go to Sunday school and go to
the park, and we had to be home at 2 for lunch," he said, recalling the
roast-centered family meals when he was a boy back in Scotland. "You
never missed it, or you were in serious trouble. It's how I went
through my early years of childhood." Still, he resisted the obvious
Proustian implications and stuck to the argument that while a civilian
foodie would compile an elaborate, complicated meal, a chef appreciates
the perfection in simplicity--a sentiment shared by Florence, a Food
Network host. "One of the most brilliant meals I've ever had was at Il
Cibreo in Florence. Or real authentic dim sum in Hong Kong," says
Florence, who grew up in Greenville, S.C. "But if you've been around
the block a few times, they're just a notch on your belt. I am proud of
where I come from, and I think the food is as good as any rootsy
cooking: fried chicken that will make you cry and Coca-Cola out of the
bottle."
Coke? Fried chicken? If that's what the best chefs in
the world really want, are we being suckered by their trendy,
sophisticated meals? Sort of. If you want perfectly blended, intense
flavors--the most exciting treat for your taste buds--then cash in your
IRA, hold the maitre d' hostage until you get a reservation and eat at
a restaurant where one of these top chefs cooks. But when it comes to
our deepest desires, it turns out that food isn't just about taste.
It's tied right into memory and the longing for the sensations of when
we felt happiest or most loved. Suzanne Goin, chef at Los Angeles'
Lucques and AOC, put a plate of ripe tomatoes with basil on her list
even though she didn't eat heirloom tomatoes as a kid--her dad didn't
like salad, so they never had any. But those tomatoes were served at
the first staff meal she ate at Chez Panisse, site of her dream job.
"My meal is sort of like the edible sound track to my life," says Goin.
"I chose Lang & Reed Cab Franc rather than some amazing
million-dollar Burgundy, and I realize it's because it's the wine my
husband and I fell in love over."
Restaurant owner Danny Meyer,
who built his New York City dining empire on providing comfort food in
upscale settings, understands the dynamics at work. "If someone can
hand us those memories and maybe do it better than we remember it being
done, it's the culinary equivalent of a big hug," he explains. "What I
crave at the end of the world is the beginning of the road." And it's
not just the culinary cognoscenti who feel that way. Over the past six
years, Meyer's chefs have delivered food to hospice patients. "We
brought a plate of chocolate brownies to a woman, and it may have been
her last meal," says Meyer, recalling the dying woman's delight in the
baked treat. "Loved ones don't know how to put a smile on someone's
face, but we did it with the brownies."
Actor Mike Randleman has
spent the past four years documenting prisoners' last meals on the blog
Dead Man Eating, and he says nearly all requests are for comfort food:
80% are for cheeseburgers, steak or fried chicken. "You go back to
something that made you feel good at one time," says Randleman. "It
always makes my day when someone picks candy. An assorted bag of Jolly
Ranchers or a box of Whoppers. It's straight back to youth." For his
own last meal, Randleman, who has thought about this a lot, would take
a cupcake.
At first I thought I'd pick a huge plate of ribs, my
favorite food, followed by a piece of chocolate cake. But then I
realized what I truly want is an unimpressive bagel smeared with a bit
of cream cheese and piled high with Nova Scotia salmon. You really
can't change who you are.
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