ŷ������

“For a beverage, you asked for some “cherry-assed Kool Aid.�� Okay, now you’re just adding “assed�� in places where it doesn’t even make sense. Regardless, we will fulfill your request for Cherry Kool-Aid. However, Halle Berry will not be pouring it from her mouth into yours.
For dessert, you asked for your mother’s homemade peach cobbler. It is highly unorthodox for someone other than the prison kitchen staff to prepare a final meal. Also, you killed her about eight years ago, remember? So you’ll have to settle for Hostess.”
― Colin Nissan

“We stand around the tray. Just staring at it. Forever in awe. The chicken fried steak will be just as she remembered it. The biscuits will flake just like they used to. The pecan pie will be sweet and will take her back to those times she sat at the tables just outside the shack on a summer's day. And for once, she'll have fresh strawberry ice cream to go with it.”
― Liza Palmer, Nowhere But Home

“We'd kissed before, but those kisses weren't like this one. Nothing had ever been like this one. He kissed me like a man who knew he'd been condemned to die and had chosen me in lieu of his last meal.”
― Seanan McGuire, Ashes of Honor

“What would your last meal be?" I asked suddenly. That was a night when I thought it would be all right if my life ended.
"A really long omikase. Like at least thirty-four courses. I want Yesuda to cook them himself. He puts the soy sauce on with a paintbrush."
"Salmon pastrami from Russ and Daughters. A ton of bagels. Like three bagels."
"In-N-Out double double."
"I'm thinking about a Barolo, something really ripe and dirty, like from the eighties."
"ShackBurger and a milk shake."
"My mom's was veal scallopini and a Diet Coke."
"Nonna's Bolognese----it takes eight hours. She makes the pappardelle by hand."
"A roast chicken---I would eat the entire thing by hand. And I guess a DRC. When else would I taste that kind of Burgundy?"
"Blinis, caviar, and crème fraîche. Done and done. Some impossible Champagne, Krug, or a culty one like the Selosse, drunk out of the bottle."
"Toast," I said, when my turn came. I tried to think of something more glamorous, but toast was the truth. I expected to be mocked. My suburban-ness, my stupidity, my blankness.
"What on top?"
"Um. Peanut butter. The raw kind you get from the health-food stores. I salt it myself.”
― Stephanie Danler, Sweetbitter