It’s #128 on Amazon, so I’m guessing this book will appear under many tinsel-frocked Christmas trees — My Last Supper: 50 Great Chefs and Their Final Meals, by Melanie Dunea — a thick, lush photo, interview, recipe volume that’s been described as Annie Liebowitz meets Heat.
The conceit here is that 50 chefs, ranging from Jaques Pépin to Gary Danko to Nobu himself, were asked to imagine they would die the following morning and instructed to plot out their final fantasy meal.
Here’s a portion of the publisher’s description:
Chefs have been playing the “My Last Supper” game among themselves for
decades, if not centuries, but it had always been kept within the
profession until now. Melanie Dunea came up with the ingenious idea to
ask fifty of the world’s famous chefs to let her in on this insider’s
game and tell her what their final meals would be. My Last Supper showcases their fascinating answers alongside stunning Vanity Fair–style
portraits. Their responses are surprising, refreshing, and as distinct
from each other as the chefs themselves. The portraits — gorgeous,
intimate, and playful — are informed by their answers and reveal the
passions and personalities of the most respected names in the business.
Lastly, one recipe from each landmark meal is included in the back of
the book. With My Last Supper, Dunea found a way into the
typically harried, hidden minds of the people who have turned preparing
food into an art. Who wouldn’t want to know where Alain Ducasse would
like his supper to be? And who would prepare Daniel Boulud’s final
meal? What would Anthony Bourdain’s guest list look like? As the clock
ticked, what album would Gordon Ramsay be listening to? And just what
would Mario Batali eat for the last time?
Curious, I looked up the menu for the actual last supper — which was, of course, a Passover seder meal. No one knows for sure, but it probably included unleavened bread, lamb with bitter herbs, saltwater, and wine. This was a supper at which the shared cup symbolized a "new and eternal covenant," an era in which everyone would be redeemed, heart, mind, and soul.
Now, this sounds far loftier to me than the truffles, foie gras, blowfish, and (believe it or not) hotdogs the celebrity chefs of Dunea’s book listed among their desires. But in the absence of bread and wine consecrated by a prophet, I think I’d have to go with either the Salade Chinoise from Vincent A Restaurant followed by Alex Roberts‘ roasted duck with Brussels sprouts, or carryout from Pizza Lucé with a really nice Côtes du Rhône.
Anyone else care to contribute a recommendation for last-day-of-life dining in the Twin Cities metro?