Cooking Up My Last Supper - December 2007
My recent story about the Globe and Mail's excerpt of My Last Supper, a wonderful book by Melanie Dunea, prompted the good folk at the book's Canadian distributor, Raincoast, to send me a copy, likely hoping that I would do exactly what I'm about to do, which is to comment further on it.
To review, the idea behind My Last Supper is to present the thoughts of fifty of the world's greatest chefs on how the envision their last meal on earth, accompanying each with an intimate photo portrait of the culinary magician in question. It is a fascinating concept almost ideally executed - I had hoped to go to my own grave without ever seeing Anthony Bourdain naked, but that is one of the book's few missteps - and provides rare insight into the thoughts and personalities of those interviewed.
Most disappointing to me is the near-complete lack of respect good beer receives from chefs who presumably otherwise care a great deal about the foods they ingest. Jamie Oliver, for example, chooses to sup Hoegaarden, of all things, with spaghetti all'arrabiata, ignoring that the chilies in the dish would render the beer almost flavourless. Anthony Bourdain picks draught Guinness for his dinner of roast bone marrow, presumably to reinforce his streetwise image, but actually revealing an utter lack of imagination. Laurent Tourondel serves Corona with his tuna BLT, hopefully turning to something else before he gets to his dessert of a Krispy Kreme doughnut, and Rick Bayless mentions Bohemia beer in the same breath as he does water, making me believe both are included as simple throat wetters.
Otherwise, it's wine, wine, wine, with an odd bourbon or single malt thrown in and the occasional nod given to green tea or some other non-alcoholic beverage.
Still, when all is said and done, this disservice to beer is purely personal to the chefs involved and does nothing to detract from the book's enjoyment or inspiration. And on that latter note, to bring the good year 2007 to a close, I'd like to present my own version of . . .
My Last Supper
What would be your last meal on earth? I would start with a selection of raw oysters and scallops shucked by my friend Patrick McMurray of the outstanding Toronto restaurant, Starfish Oyster Bed and Grill. There would be Galway Flats and Belons and Kumamotos, plus a handful of Malpeques for Canadian content. Then I must have some foie gras, simply sautéed to perfection, followed by two perfect, farm fresh eggs, lightly scrambled with excellent butter. Choosing a main course is tough, but in deference to my lovely fiancée, Maggie - who will hopefully have long since become my wife by the time I eat my last meal on earth - I'll opt for her favourite dish of roast rack of lamb, with roast potatoes and white asparagus on the side. A simple salad of lightly dressed greens freshly plucked from the garden will precede a cheese course of exquisitely ripe Brillat-Savarin and époisses, with a plate of my mother's homemade chocolate chip cookies to finish.
What would be the setting for the meal? I'd dine at the table of my late aunt and uncle in the south of France, because I enjoyed so many memorable meals there before I ever met Maggie and I'd like her to finally share that experience with me.
What would you drink with your meal? This is where it really gets fun. Champagne to start, for certain, and lots of it, plus a couple of bottles of aged gueuze for balance. Then a blonde, strong and spicy Belgian-style ale for the foie, something sweeter than a tripel but not cloying. The eggs I'd have with a tall glass of good Bavarian hefeweizen, and I think I'd need a selection of beverages for the lamb - a fabulous Burgundy, a British-style barleywine with about four or five years of cellaring behind it, and an aged, cask strength bourbon accompanied by a couple of cubes of ice on the side. The salad would be served by itself, or maybe with a New Zealand sauvignon blanc, and I'd have an intentionally mistimed trou Normand of calvados before the cheese course. The cheese would also need a mix of beverages, including a great marc de Bourgogne and a sweet stout from one of the many American brewers now doing the style so well. To finish, a bottomless glass of fifty year old, sherry-casked single malt from the Speyside region.
Would there be music? Given the setting and occasion, I think the joyfully tragic sounds of Edith Piaf would be ideal.
Who would be your dining companions? With all due respect to my friends and family, I'd dine with Maggie alone, eating and drinking and talking long into the night as we so often do.
Who would prepare the meal? After Patrick had finished the shucking, my friend and partner in beerbistro, Brian Morin, would take over. Mom, of course, would bake the cookies.
There you have it, dear readers, my last meal on earth, and now it's your turn. Following the six question format of the book, as I did above, send me the details of your personal last supper. I'll publish excerpts of the most interesting and noteworthy some time next year. Write mylastsupper@worldofbeer.com.
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