Review- My Last Supper

Ever wondered what some of the world’s most famous chefs would enjoy for their last meal on earth? My Last Supper by Melanie Dunea attempts to shed some light on that topic, with interviews, photos and recipes from 50 notable chefs.

The meals range from the soul-satisfying (linguini with white clam sauce for Lidia Bastianich), to the pretentious (Michelle Bernstein lost my interest during her long-winded description of asparagus), to the gluttonous (oysters, caviar, ham, squab and pheasant for Jacques Pepin). Some wish to go out on a sweet note (Jamie Oliver would have rice pudding with roasted peaches), while others just want to wash everything down with a nice, stiff drink (Juan Mari Arzak would like nine different alcoholic beverages and a Coke, but no water. He hates water.). Tyler Florence objects to the concept of a last supper (“It’s not fair, frankly”) and only eventually concedes that he won’t be dining on any haute cuisine (“No fucking foie gras”), preferring instead the southern feast of his childhood—fried chicken, collards and black eyed peas. I knew I liked that guy.

As part of the interview, each chef was asked whom he or she would invite to the last supper and what music would play in the background. After careful consideration, I think I’d most like to be at Charlie Trotter’s last repast, dining alongside Hunter S. Thompson, Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald while Miles Davis and Bob Dylan play together. Although, Daniel Boulud’s supper was a close second—Bacchus and Escoffier are coming, but Bono’s doing a solo (boo). And I don’t know that they’d agree to it, but if they did, I’d like to attend Angela Hartnett’s dinner, where Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld will be performing their stand-up together.

I particularly enjoyed the pictorials—they give a real sense of the chef’s personalities in the ways they’ve agreed to be immortalized. Mario Batali wears a vibrant headdress of turnip greens, while Anthony Bourdain strips down to nothing, holding only a strategically placed ham bone. Lydia Shire hoists up an impossible large lobster, and Neil Perry rests a fish in his lap that looks like it matches him, poundage-wise. But I must confess my bias for Wylie Dufresne’s shot, which combines wit with cheese. He’s stretched out on a table surrounded by stacks of Kraft singles—love it.