food
There are some questions that are impossible to answer.
What’s your favorite movie of all time?
Favorite song?
Best memory ever?
The options are too broad to select just one. And it depends on the mood.
I’ve never been able to come up with a good answer for “What would you want your last meal to be?” Should I ever find myself on Death Row, I would be hard pressed to create a menu. The options are too broad and varied.
But today my answer would be:
For an appetizer, I would want a fondue course–apples, celery and dark rye bread dipped in ooey gooey melted cheese. A crisp bruschetta with spicy tomatoes and heavy garlic. And a large sea salted loaf of still hot bread so you can tear out hunks to dip in a low dish of balsamic vinegar and an excellent extra virgin olive oil.
Of course, I would need a large bottle of a California Merlot. I’m not picky about the year or the brand but the temperature must be just right–a few degrees below room temperature.
The meal itself mimics the appetizers–sea salt, cheese, basil, balsamic vinegar and olive oil. All my favorites.
I’d start with a Roma tomato salad, topped with thin slices of red onion and basil and large curds of homemade Mozzarella cheese. Its dressed with balsamic vinegar, olive oil, sea salt and coarse black pepper. This is my summer time lunch–every single day, picked straight from the garden.
Next up is a grilled steak (medium rare) with goat cheese crumbles, grilled shrimp with lime and grill pineapple. I am obsessed with grilling since I couldn’t own a grill for the first decade of marriage.I’m still looking for a decent recipe for grilled pizza.
I’m also a fan of chargrilled chicken on penne pasta, with pine nuts, goat cheese and pesto. Side dishes are unnecessary.
Dessert is impossible to select just one. Creamy turtle cheesecake or tiramisu. Crisp baklava with hot honey. Steaming hot blackberry cobbler with vanilla bean ice cream. Salted caramels with chocolate drizzle. Lemonade ice box pie.
Dessert must be accompanied by a strong black coffee. No frills, no cream and dear Lord, no whipped cream with syrup drizzles. Black. Period.