Last Meals

Every collection of writ needs whimsy. With that in mind, I consider last meals.

I assume folks are mostly like me and have wondered about their final moments preceeding death. It’s a little dark, perhaps even morbid. But some good can come from delving into the mind’s myriad workings to see how you might behave during moments of truth.

When it comes to last meals (or last sunsets, kisses, thoughts, words, etc) something seems to me inherently misaligned. I think it stems from the fact that we assume those moments are significant relative to moments in, say, the middle of our lives. That assumption comes, of course, from our basic presumption that WE are significant relative to other life.

Maybe you’ll pardon the pessimism if I describe it this way:

Chances are very good that your last meal won’t be worth dying for.

My grandmother frequently described food as “to die for”. The idiom was understood as such, because while my grandmother’s use of this phrase equated Bagel Bites and lobster bisque, logic suggests that the two are not comparable cuisine.

Certainly most people could think of a favorite meal that they would prefer, were it to be their last, but I suspect that in very few cases are those folks ready to say that it’d be worth dying for.

Now in deference to objectivity, here’s a possible exception.

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