Claude 'Curly' Putnam Jr. wrote:Then I awake and look around me
At four gray walls that surround me
And I realize that, yes I was only dreamin'
For there's a guard and there's a sad old padre
Arm in arm we'll walk at daybreak
Again I'll touch the green, green grass of home
John Mariani,
last seen proving incapable of finding pizza to eat between the Hudson River and Phoenix AZ, has
another of his astonishingly wrong-headed (but undeniably well-paid and expense-accounted) food pieces in the "top wines of the year" issue of the Wine Spectator, now on newsstands. His theme-- raising hopes unfairly; it's purely hypothetical-- is what he would eat were he to be executed the next morning. He begins-- well, no description of his comments would prove credible in court; one must simply give them the rope to hang themselves:
The defendant John Mariani wrote:I'm often astonished when I hear about the foods that death-row inmates choose for their last meal. Case in point: One recent unfortunate in Texas ordered up a dozen tamales; refried beans with chorizo; six hard-shell tacos with lettuce, ketchup, hot sauce, six jalapeños, tomatoes, cheese and extra ground beef; three Big Red sodas; six brownies; and two packages of Rolos.
Granted, not the most exemplary of Tex-Mex meals, what with the declassé ketchup, Big Red and (sniff!) Rolos. And the sheer quantity begins to raise the suspicion that the executionee has a final, Rabelaisian joke in mind for the prison's cleaning staff. Still, one can't help but believe that Mariani would look down his nose even at the most authentic plate of humble Tejano food. Consider what he offers as his final earthly repast:
The condemned, John Mariani wrote:Amuse at French Laundry
Duck foie gras brulee at Taillevent
Truffle-butter ravioli at San Domenico, New York
Dover Sole, Dorchester Hotel Grill Room, London--
Oh, but why go on, because by this point, even the most indulgent of prison wardens will have sent in one of the more eager maniacs to finish the job and spare the taxpayer the cost of all this striving and putting on airs.
However excellent any one of Mariani's choices may be, the cumulative effect of this globe-trotting from one four-star choice to the next, one precinct of the ultra-rich to another, is depressing. If one's life
were to be ended by the hangman the next day, are obese sheiks and obsequious headwaiters really the companions one would choose to see you off into that good night? Would one still be killing time with the game of checking off famous restaurants from one's lifetime list, or carefully rearranging contenders on one's personal scoresheet of the best, as if any of that mattered in the face of eternity?
"Nope, I don't want the overwrought
pièce de côte de boeuf Simmental au feu de bois, vert et côtes de blettes, os à moelle, jus corsé from Alain Ducasse's Le Louis XV in Monaco. But I will order the Prime Illinois corn-fed 21-day-aged bone-in rib eye at Wolfgang Puck's stunning new steak house, Cut, in Beverly Hills, Calif.," scribbles Mariani in the grip of his obsession, like a sociopath who still imagines he has the power to pass judgements of life and death upon his victims, rather than being about to have society's judgement carried out upon him.
What Mariani seems insensible to is the fact that, in the face of extinction or divine punishment, all this striving for ever-more-refined sensation, all this worldly vanity, vanishes faster than a waiter's friendship in the face of an 8% tip. Food offers many meanings beyond taste alone, and many consolations other than mere excellence, though admittedly someone whose entire life is led in four-star restaurants may have long since forgotten that fact.
Our earliest memories of food are inextricably bound up with maternal love, community, bounty and want, the teaching of right and wrong, loss, forgiveness-- the simple and basic things that country music concerns itself with. And for those of us who wind up on the gallows, another great country music topic, our thoughts are far more likely to turn back to this plain and simple food at the decisive and final moment. By our crimes, we may have severed ourselves from the community; yet by sharing in the community's plain and honest food once again, as we did at Mama's table, even the worst of us may go home again in our hearts, for a moment, before we get what's coming to us for the terrible things we done. I don't think John Mariani could say that even about Alain Ducasse's
pièce de côte de boeuf Simmental au feu de bois, vert et côtes de blettes, os à moelle, jus corsé.
Claude 'Curly' Putnam Jr. wrote:Yes, they'll all come to see me
In the shade of that old oak tree
As they lay me 'neath the green, green grass of home.