By Magenta Edwards
I am oddly fascinated by the requests given by inmates on death row for their last ever meal.
What an incredibly difficult decision to have to make, to ponder upon all those nostalgic tastes that whisk you back to your childhood, to your grandparents garden, to your first time at the seaside, a school trip to the zoo… how memories flood back bringing with them snippets like photo frames of a happy time in a golden hue.
How wonderful that our tastes and aromas serve as a time travel machine teleporting your mind deep in to the past…
Can you imagine having to make such a ludicrous choice as this? I wondered what are the rules? Are there courses? And if so can you pair drinks to each one?
As I eagerly flitted through the research on the matter I came across some bizarre and then yet some utterly gluttonous fare. For instance, one guy asked simply for a single olive with the pit left in, another for 2 pints of mint choc-chip ice cream… then there was a request for 12 pieces of fried chicken, two buttered rolls, mashed potatoes with brown gravy, two sodas and a pint of both strawberry and vanilla ice cream.
Death Row Dinner
I discovered the traditional last meal was a medium rare steak with eggs over easy, hash browns, toast, butter, jelly, milk and juice – so if a person could not make their own choice they would be served this – which to me sounded rather bloody good.Pardon to the pun.
Apparently booze is a no-go – blimey no redders? Being an American law there was obviously an abundance of deep fried fast foods – comforting I suppose in a time of high stress..
I decided my decision came down to 2… Either a full English breakfast done to my strict specifications… eggs soft poached – mushrooms cooked in the bacon fat – real crumbly black pudding etc etc.. or of course the Sunday roast with all the trimmings – perhaps even some stolen from Christmas dinner i.e. bread sauce and pigs in blankets – no sprouts though – not enough room on my final plate…
Quite undeniably to chose just one meat would be quite impossible so it would have to be a good wodge of soft pink roast beef, of falling apart lamb and juicy chicken encased in a crispy wafer.
Thankfully, I am not a mass murderer ,and, alas, not from a country that believes in this penalty – however I am now quite ravenous and am sure I can rustle up some eggs and bacon and imagine that it is my last… I wonder if it tastes any different?
