The Last Supper

This is my first submission for Sunday Scribblings. The prompt for this week was: Yummy or Yum. I actually wrote this post on Thursday, after reading a section in a book called Fruitflesh, by Gayle Brandelis; a book to inspire writing. It is actually really very good, even if I did happen upon it in a bookshop bargain bin.

The section I was just reading asked the reader to think about what one might request, should one know they were about to chance upon their final earthly meal. Boy, the thoughts that rained from that one.

My late father-in-law loved food. He was a big man and proclaimed to love REAL food, none of this quick fix dial-up pizza rubbish. “That’s not a meal, that’s a SNACK!”

In November 1999, it was discovered that he had a brain tumour. He died in September 2002, five weeks after my son was born.

He actually lived long after his original, dismal prognosis. He was a fighter. He had surgery to remove the tumour. The biopsy and MRI scan revealed that the brain tumour was a secondary form of cancer, and his body, even at that stage, was riddle with the disease.

Unfortunately for my father-in-law, the price he paid for a few more years, was the loss of his ability to swallow. Never again was this man, who loved food, able to eat as we do. Instead he consumed a liquid and vitamin enriched “meal” that entered directly to his stomach via a peg in his navel.

Sometimes my father-in-law would snatch a piece of food from the table he insisted upon sitting at, while others ate their meals. He would throw the food into his mouth and chew in a frenzied, angry fashion, while we all watched in horror, knowing he would inevitably choke, and could possibly even die, should he attempt to swallow it. But he just wanted to taste the food; enjoy the experience and social aspect of a family meal, like he used to. He wanted to sit at the head of his table, and he was frustrated that his body simply could not perform this seemingly simply function - swallowing, like it had previously been able.

And of course, he would choke whenever he did this, and panicked family members would scold him for attempting to eat. It was scary to witness the drama of it all, but I did not blame him. It was such a cruel fate, and food with the in-laws became a tense ride paved with guilt, after that. It seemed so unfair, that we sat eating a sumptuous meal, when he could not.

I wondered what he would have chosen as his last meal, if he had known his fate in advance.

In stark contrast, I attended a class with a woman who really appreciated food. At the end of our course, the class went out for a farewell dinner, at a local restaurant…nothing fancy, but still nice.

This particular woman was unabashedly sensory, which became evident as I sat, curious and enthralled, as she demonstrated her appreciation for the food presented before her.

I watched as she closed her eyes, and inhaled the curling aroma that exuded from the freshly cooked meal; and then her slow and contented exhale; a thankful breathing out like another might, in savouring the fragrance of a bunch of roses given by a new love.

I watched her pick up her utensils and contemplate the meal in its entirety, before she began to slice it up; her hesitation akin to a prayer. Mindfully… respectfully, she began to arrange small portions of food on her fork and as the food entered her yearning mouth, she closed her eyes again, only opening them once the empty fork was extracted from clutching lips. She chewed slowly, eyes in a meditative glaze as she pulled and dissected each tantalising ingredient, with her tongue.

She ooh’ed and arr’ed like she were making love to her meal. She appeared to be in gastronomic heaven, and the rest of us sat, feeling slightly uncomfortable by the enthusiastic display of her satisfaction.

This chorus of mindful feasting lasted her entire meal, and with every course, and when the wait staff appeared to remove her polished crockery, she made sure she told them how much she enjoyed the experience, insisting her compliments be extended to the chef.

I, along with others at our table, sat mesmerised by the concentrated appreciation she showed for her food, but she cared not and declared to us, unperturbed and unapologetically, “I love my food” – indeed she did. Her appreciation for food certainly made me think about how I mindlessly shovelled edible objects into my mouth – the contrast was glaringly obvious.

So, what would I choose as my final earthly meal?
Well, I think I might choose a basket of hot grainy bread to start off with, and a steaming bowl of New England clam chowder to go with it. I would indulge in a bottle of my favourite wine – Grant Burge Pinot Noir Chardonnay NV and a simple pan seared Atlantic salmon with a hint of lemon, served with a plate of steamed vegetables.

Now for dessert….hmmm the choices. Oh, the choices…
I think, above all else, I would choose my Mum’s homemade hot chocolate pudding; on its own, no ice-cream or cream to take away from the rich bitter-sweet chocolately goodness.

I would then pray to God I were not too full, but then again, it is my last earthly meal, so what the hell, because I would LOVE a latte to finish…with a side of peppermint chocolate truffles! Mmmm MMMMM!

What would you choose?