Perfectly ripe mangoes from Maharashtra, India.

Perfectly ripe mangoes from Maharashtra, India.

Um, yeah. I get two last days on Earth.

well, hell, I'd indulge my sweet tooth well and good. lemon meringue pie, mint chip ice cream, fruit salad (no melon!) and whipped cream, chocolate, chocolate and more chocolate.

And lots of cheese. All sorts of cheese.

Nothing. I'll be too busy making sweet, sweet love.

Or posting on metachat.
OMG! End of world. Final Bunnie Shoutout.
You know how it is.

Or,
I would get horrendously drunk. Raid the local wine emporium and drink all the best red wines.

coffee from Irving Place, key lime pie, proscuitto & provolone & banana pepper subs, caramel coated marshmallows from the Monmouth Sweet Shop, Merritt Canteen Chili-cheese-bacon burgers, caviar & blini, pecans, maui onion & garlic macadamia nuts, Herr's bacon & horseradis potato chips,Lombardi's Pizza with sweet sausage, pancetta & garlic, stilton fritters from telephone Bar, rare porterhouse steak, potatoes au gratin, lobster tails, crab cakes, gorgonzola cheese, Shorty's pulled pork, Miss Mamie's collard greens, Valomilk cups, philadelphia maki, beans with hot sauce from Chicken Festival, fried sweet plantains, new england clam chowder, cream cheese jalapeno poppers with Nance's sweet & creamy mustard for dipping, sauerbraten from Zlata Praha, Dulce De Leche oreos, deep fried mars bars, pickled eggs and lots of beer (some Bud to warm up, then Unibroue's La Fin Du Monde, a Peche Lambic, and a Macallan 18 year old scotch. and other stuff I'm forgetting.

*hands jonmc the rolaids*

hey, it's my last day on earth, I wouldn't be worried.

tru dat!

I would eat the raw brains of my enemies, and drink their foul blood from the bowls I would make from the tops of their skulls after I saw them off.

French toast for breakfast, with loads of butter, sugar, and syrup. Tall orange juice, perhaps mixed with amaretto. Fresh strawberries, dipped in chocolate, bananas dipped too. Ice cream, with caramel and chocolate sauce. BLTs, bread and butter pickles, and what ever I can lick off my husband. Rare rib eye steak for dinner, with buttery green beans, and mashed potatos. Cheesecake. More whoopee. Then I could die happy. Or explode, if my demise was wrong.

Razor clams!

Eat? I would be too busy getting rolling drunk and fucking anything that would stay still for 15 seconds.

2 dozen fresh oysters (pei), fucking lobster, filet mignon with some kind of mushrooms, butter and bleu cheese, collard greens, salty french fries, steamers in white wine and garlic, a really ripe peach, some good red wine and a glass bottle of seltzer, several triple espressos, calvados, one of those giant Churchill Cuban turd cigars, a Laphroaig, several really cold pints of guiness, Sex, a long sweaty nap (Set two alarms dammit), then a fistful of speed, a bottle of wild turkey,a case of whatever cold, not sweet beer is available, several tabs of mescaline, three packs of Marlboros, a cd player that only plays Freebird and Creedence and an army .45 with ivory handles (not pearl handled son, I ain't a pimp in New Orleans), because I want to die as I lived, a fucking cliche!

Much as I might like getting drunk from time to time, I'm not sure I want to be stone drunk on my very last day on earth. Buzzed, sure, but not out of my head.

I wouldn't want to spend the entire day eating. Three really good meals +dessert would be plenty, and leave lots of time left over for the mad sex.

So, brekkie: Homemade waffle (non-Belgian) with plenty of maple syrup and butter and strawberries, a pile of crisp-almost-but-not-quite-burned bacon, rich coffee, fresh squeezed OJ. Or instead of the waffles, these breakfast things my grandmother used to make -- chunks of white bread dough, stretched out thin and fried in a skillet with a little oil. Called 'doughboys,' they were yeasty and warm and chewy inside, crisp and brown outside, and heavenly.

Lunch: Big salad of tender soft baby greens with peppered goat cheese, toasted walnuts, artichoke hearts, kalamata olives, and other good stuff like that.

Supper: Chicken fried steak with cream gravy and black pepper, steamed fresh sugar snaps, sweet corn, iced tea with mint (or maybe cold beer, buzz time). Alternatively, steak au poivre, medium rare, with brandy cream sauce and potatoes rosti and sauteed spinach. And a bottle of great red wine.

Dessert: a bowl of fresh raspberries.

Well, Miko, given that I almost never get really drunk, it would be my very last chance to relive my younger days without the penalty of the killer hangover that strikes me whenever I drink to excess in this, my dotage.

Oh, never fear dg, I was judging not, just trying to create some line of reasoning to plan my day by. If I got too drunk I wouldn't taste the dinner or feel the sex. That's all - me planning to ride a buzz on just this side of drunk would be motivated by nothing other sheer self-interest.

Adopted Mom: A colander of plump, just washed, lightly sugared blueberries to share. We used to stand at the kitchen counter and take turns picking out the fattest ones.

Dad: A pile of his homefries, perfectly browned, not burnt, and salted. I have his frying pan, but I have yet to duplicate his homefries. And a bowl of his famous clear-broth pacha (a gelatin made from boiled cow's feet, interspersed with sliced hard boiled eggs), which I was always afraid to try.

Birth Mom: Best spaghetti sauce ever, with meatballs the size of fists (she crushed the tomatoes herself). Her pink glazed ham baked with pineapple rings and cloves. A brown paperbag full of Hostess goodies from the corner store (she always had this for me when I came to visit).

Jon: A large box of Apple Jacks, half gallon of cold, cold milk, two large bowls and two spoons. Eaten naked in lounge chairs on our porch at midnight. iPod playin'. A bottle or two of Herradura to pass. (It was his parents' porch our first time together.)

Might as well take matters into my own hands:

Fugu, made by a rookie chef. And if I weren't paralyzed yet, free Fudge-ums™ for dessert. Even a dying man loves free!

My guacamole (which is heavy on the garlic, cilantro, and citrus), some dark chocolate, hummus, toasted dark rye from Ann's Bakery with peanut butter, cactus and mushroom tamales from Dodo, a couple of Kvak beers, and a pumpkin spice cookie.

Kwak, not Kvak.