What's Your Last Meal?

Going back centuries, everyone on Death Row was given a Final Request.
When the death penalty became popular again in the 1970s, those final requests turned into their own, quirky, little arterial death sentences instead of requests. They ignored the inherent, grandiose honor of one last taste of life’s gift. They ordered Moon Pies, malts, Whoppers, ice cream and French Fries buried in syrup and neon colored sprinkles, and food so fatty the lethal injection wasn’t needed.
They forgot the dignity of a final order; the serene science of culinary craft and enjoyment.
Most of the Condemned just wanted the fatty junk food their Mom’s never allowed.
That’s another crime to add to the heap.
I feel there is regality in equating life to food, and vice versa.
Evidence is the great WWI spy Mata Hari, who was such a multi-faceted, sought after, stunning, espionage expert, that everyone forgot she was really just a Dutch housewife with a fondness for horses.
She was condemned to die at the hands of a French firing squad reluctant at having to shoot this lovely work of female art – a face captured by every slice of light drawn on it.
Until the moment of her heart stopping, stories of faking her death ran rampant.
But instead of crying for mercy, Mata Hari asked for white gloves, and a simple suit that fit. She was then asked for a final order: Her Last Meal.
Amid the din of rolling drums, cocked rifles, and a sudden gust of wind from the west, Mata Hari ordered.
She asked for crackers and French rum.
Then she waved a kiss at each of the men condemned to shoot her, assuring them she held no grudges.
The soldiers wept; and rumor has it, could barely see through their own tears.
One anonymous bullet disposed of the most legendary spy ever known – a woman of Javanese descent who broke the hearts of dozens of international powerbrokers, kings, generals and officials.
Before the war, she was just a mother with small children she was forced to abandon. But in the end? She was a woman who could have asked for anything - even her freedom – and likely been granted that wish.
Nope. Just white gloves, crackers and rum.
Simple. Elegant. Divine.