Just so you know, Kenny and Zuke’s might be serving this for lunch tomorrow should you request it:

The “DDD”: a deep fried, triple-decker reuben

Here’s how Nick “Zuke” Zukin describes it in his e-mail:

In the middle is the standard lovely reuben with 9-10 ozs of house-made pastrami, two slices of swiss, russian, and kraut. On top and bottom is another reuben, each with about 4 ozs of pastrami, and two slices of swiss cheese. That's over a pound of pastrami, 1/4 lb of swiss cheese, and a whole bunch of creamy russian all grilled together into a delicious mess. And as if that wasn't a cholesterol bomb waiting to explode in your heart, we went ahead and battered and deep-fried it. Hey, what can I say, we like to have some fun once in a while.

You call that fun? I call it a myocardial infarction waiting to happen. Wait, so did he. I guess he does call that fun. Further details are hard to pin down. If you do order it, and eat it all, it might be free. If you don’t eat it all, the price may be subject to Zukin’s whim.

I think I can eat the whole thing. I think I’m going to try. If I don't post tomorrow, suspect the worst (just keep your cheers to a respectful minimum). Stay tuned.

“What’s your final meal?” For most of us it’s a hypothetical question, an ice breaker, a small-talk personality test. We’ll ruminate for a moment, sifting through a mental catalog of all the flavors and smells we’ve enjoyed in our lives, searching for that one perfect meal, just right for our final day on the planet.

For some, there’s no hesitation. They know exactly which meal speaks to them most, and more than likely it’s a dish they ate as a child, prepared by their mother or their grandmother. For me, my final meal would be pot roast and mashed potatoes as made by Grandma Coleman—accompanied by orange jell-o with carrot shavings, and a garden salad with buttermilk ranch dressing from a mason jar. It’s a no-brainer. That meal holds all the flavors of my childhood. Just the thought of it can bring me feelings of ease and safety.

For some, the question isn’t hypothetical. For some, it’s incredibly real. So what do people choose when they are faced with imminent death? It’s a morbid question, to be sure, but thanks to the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, we have an answer that can be heartbreaking, humorous, and profound.

The Death Row section of the TDCJ website lists once listed the last meal requests of people scheduled for execution. At first it’s merely a curiosity, the most interesting thing being how much food the prisoners have requested:

Six pieces of french toast with syrup, jelly, butter, six barbecued spare ribs, six pieces of well burned bacon, four scrambled eggs, five well cooked sausage patties, french fries with catsup, three slices of cheese, two pieces of yellow cake with chocolate fudge icing, and four cartons of milk

God's saving grace, love, truth, peace and freedom

Then, it becomes very real. In all of this food you begin to see a host of memories and yearnings. There are mothers and grandmothers in this list. There are truck stops, and dives, and girlfriends, and homelands. When you realize how what we eat connects us to our world and who we are, the last meal request is almost like a prayer. But it’s less a communion with God than it is a communion with the environment that formed us. Like a prayer, it can be a confession or adoration or plea. Maybe “God’s Saving Grace” isn’t such a stretch when you're looking for it in fillet mignon and pineapple upside down cake. At least you’re filled... If only physically.

And what about those who decline their meal? This is the saddest thing to me: that these men will leave a world that fed them, with only the taste of their own spit in their mouths.

I don’t care what your stance on the death sentence is—to be sure, these people have done some incredibly bad things, or been wrongly convicted for some incredibly bad things—but if there’s anything that can connect us to the fact of their humanity (for better or worse), it’s what they order when their days on the earth are numbered:

Chocolate birthday cake with "2/23/90" written on top, seven pink candles, one coconut, kiwi fruit juice, pineapple juice, one mango, grapes, lettuce, cottage cheese, peaches, one banana, one delicious apple, chef salad without meat and with thousand island dressing, fruit salad, cheese, and tomato slices

I think that whatever your stance, it’s important to be connected to the humanity of these people.

I don’t want to end this post with some kind of “treat every meal like it’s your last, because for some it really is” bullshit, because I know you’d roll your eyes and froth at the mouth.

But aside from just morbid fascination, I’d ask that you take a look at these last meals and just let it sink in a bit. Who knows, maybe you’ll get something out of it. Maybe you won’t.

All I know is that I’m calling Grandma Coleman and thanking her for all that pot roast while I’ve got the chance.

Links via FARK

Word reached me today of some interesting deals in the world of local food. They just keep coming. Thanks, Recession!

Ping on the Cheap

In what they call a response to “non-stop demands” from their patrons, Ping will be serving an “Early Menu” from 4 pm - 5:30 pm, Monday through Saturday, beginning tonight. Everything on the menu—skewers, bao, ramen, cocktails—is priced at $5 or below.

The folks at Ping seem to have a strange aversion to the term “Happy Hour,” but never-the-less a happy hour will be welcome here, considering the largest criticism of Ping I’ve heard so far is that the bill has a tendency to get very large, very quickly.

Three Restaurants for $30

NE newbies Lincoln, Belly, and Ned Ludd have teamed up to offer a passport of sorts. Diners can purchase a card for $30 at any of the above restaurants redeemable for one appetizer and a glass of wine at each eatery. It’s like a ready-made food crawl. The card can be used in one day or can be saved and used over time.

Country Cat Throws In Some Booze

Montavilla’s own Country Cat Dinner House is offering nightly specials Monday through Thursday that, joy of joys, include delicious booze. Consider the PBJ: $10 bucks will get you a pork sandwich, baked beans, and a jigger of Jack Daniels. It’s as if they turned Steve’s vacation into a meal.

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