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A sliced steak sandwich from Helmer's in Hoboken, NJ. Toast topped with thin slices of tender, rare beef, all covered with a savory garlic, butter, and wine sauce that permeates the meat and sops into the bread. And a side of crisp shoestring fries.
This would all have to be washed down with a wonderful full-bodied Cabernet. Funny, I can't think of one dessert -- guess I'll have to avoid the executioner until a sweet memory implants itself in my brain.
John Grooms
Editor
The dueling cultures of my background, from Gaffney, SC, to Brussels, Belgium, mean somebody's going to have to do some traveling to get my last meal together. If it was breakfast, I could just fry up some homemade pork sausage from the regrettably named Grubb's Meats in Gaffney and put it in a big croissant from the bakery around the corner from where we lived in Brussels. But since we're talking about a larger meal here, I'll start off with my Belgian grandmother's (or Memere's) best appetizer: puff pastry filled with roast chicken in an herbed cream sauce. I'll follow that with my Rutherford County grandmother's (or Grandma's) juicy-inside crisp-outside fried chicken that was good down to the very bones, along with some of her legendary cornbread and a side order of shredded pork barbecue from Bridges' Barbecue in Shelby, NC. I'll need a break, but after that, we can get rolling again with Belgium's national dish, mussels and fries (the mussels steamed in white wine with onions, celery and chervil, and the fries, as per tradition, cooked in a mix of oil and lard). Follow that up with a cultural mix of roast fillet of hare a la Bruxelloise, served with Southern fried squash and pinto beans. All this would be accompanied by Orange Crush (in the old, squat, brown bottles) and a couple of bottles of French wine, picked out by CL's Tricia Childress. And finally, if I haven't exploded yet, I'll have a bowl of Grandma's banana pudding (preferably cooked the day before and then kept in the fridge), and a big slice of Memere's rice pudding pie with a páte sable crust. At that point, I would have eaten so much I'd want to die anyway. But at least I'd die happy.
Sam Boykin
Reporter
I am Sam. Sam I am. And I'm here to tell you, about my last meal plan. For CL's food issue is drawing near, a point my editor has made quite clear. "Write this blurb!" was his command, so I got to writing, cold beer in hand. And while writing while drinking makes typing slow, alcohol is like brain oil, and helps the words flow. Now back to the story, sorry for the preamble, but the six-pack is gone, and I'm starting to ramble.
Although I love to eat, a connoisseur I'm not, and rarely use words like epicure or bon vivant. But I do adore food, this much is true, and have been known to nosh on a Big Mac or two. But those days are over, now that I've matured, and fear that my belly will soon turn to lard. Today it's low fat this and low carb that, as I battle the bulge, and try not to get fat.
For it seems every year, my waist continues to expand. I wish I still wore 31 jeans like when I was the Sam the Man. But after mulling over my options, as to my favorite gastronomic infatuation, I'd have to say it's lobster, that tasty, stalk-eyed crustacean.
