Last Meal Death Row Request That Will Surprise You

Endless soup and salad buffet, which I would eat very slowly until the governor called with my pardon. But I don’t think one can do that.

Most states with the death penalty place regulations on last meals. Many do not offer outside food — the order is cooked by the prison chef out of prison stock (presumably, this would make it OK to order a prime cut of beef but not lobster or caviar.) Or, the outside food budget is capped in some way.

My buddy, whose cousin is serving a life sentence for murder, says that prisoners often order McDonalds or other fast food because you can’t get it in prison — and people tend to miss it after 20 years or so. My take is that the type of people who end up on death row often don’t have the most sophisticated of palates, either.

My palate is fickle. I never know what I’ll be in the mood for on a day-to-day basis. My mom wasn’t a very good cook (when I say “wasn’t” I refer to the days when she cooked, she’s still alive) so I can’t think of anything I’d want from her. I’m an OK cook but only for healthy dishes, and if it were my last meal I’d want something non-healthy.

Mainly, though, I’d want something freshly-made and reliable. So I’m going with a few choices here:

Made by prison chef: Teriyaki flank steak with white rice, iceberg salad and three sides: tempura shrimp, tempura vegetables and a few gyoza. Lots of assorted Asian sauces to go with them. Ginger ale to drink. Yellow cake with whipped cream frosting for dessert.

Made by outside source: Ezell’s Fried Chicken (spicy dark three piece: leg, thigh and back.) Side of baked beans and side of corn. If it had to be an outside source, then Famous Amos Oreo-style cookies for dessert with a quart of whole milk.

My own choice: If I could order anything, and it wouldn’t have to be food, I’d say a bottle of wine (Leonetti), a bottle of Talking Rain sparkling water (peach nectarine flavor,) a few Percocet and a bag of Totino’s pizza rolls. (If I were indulging in the wine and pills, I wouldn’t be that hungry.)

I would ask for a massive steak, and some potatoes. Burned to a crisp. I mean cremated, black with no liquid left, charcoal; served with fondue. I would also ask for several litres of Icelandic water. Then I would put my plan into action.

You see, saltpetre can be manufactured from human waste; by fermenting urine and fecal matter. I would have been doing this secretly for months, and would have gotten a decent supply of the volatile powder.

By combining it with the carbon from the burned food, and the sulphur from the volcanic mineral water (which I would extract by boiling the water away with the fondue set), I would have gunpowder. This could then be compacted and used to blast a hole in the wall of the prison, so I could make my escape.

Hey, I’m going to be killed anyway, worth a shot right?

As a South Indian, nothing brings me as much joy as simple Rasam Rice with ghee and a french beans vegetable preparation.

I can eat this everyday, I think of this when I feel home sick and would certainly want to have this as my last meal.

Anna – Saaru – Hurlikai palya!