Last Meal: Blanc's César Ramirez Gets His Goat

Posted by Nina Lalli at 9:15 AM, January 30, 2008

César Ramirez, a longtime protégé of David Bouley's, is busy manning the month-old kitchen at Bar Blanc, where he makes things like confit of baby pig with chanterelles, brussels sprouts, and natural jus with cinnamon star anise and orange. We sprung the question of his last meal recently, and he asked for some time to think about it. Not much time—he called back five minutes later with some rich memories.

I decided you have to leave with something that brings you back to the beginning, like a dish I grew up with: barbacoa. It's a goat, cooked in the ground for 24 hours. An amazing dish. Every time I smell lamb, it reminds me of this. I grew up in Mexico—well, I was born in Mexico; I grew up in Chicago.

How old were you when you left? I left Mexico when I was four years old, but I couldn't forget this food. Do you know how it's done? With this charcoal like iron, so it stays hot, and banana leaves. The hole is covered with plywood.

Isn't this where the word "barbecue" comes from? It is sort of similar to barbecueing, and the word is close . . .

How is the meat seasoned? Just with some herbs, salt, and pepper. It's more about the technique of cooking it that makes it special: Everything just melts. It's like what the Hawaiians do with a pig.

Right. In restaurants, I try to cook like this. Not the same kind of food—believe me, I know Europe better than my own country. But if you can bring back a good memory to someone who is eating your food—even if the food is very modern—it makes your whole meal a lot better. You still gotta have one of those homey little touches, a little something. Technique is very important, but I like to cook simply, seasonally. Like figs from my grandmother's tree when they are perfectly ripe, and the honey is spilling out of them. You just bump it with your hand and it falls off.

Yum. In cooking, I rely on my product. Onions and garlic are always the base, because without Italian food, there couldn't be French food. Most people don't know that, but it's true.

Oh, I'm with you there. Anyway, you've been in New York for about a year. What do you think of the Mexican food here? I don't eat Mexican food here. People think Mexican food is tacos, but it's a lot more. I eat Mexican food all my life. Food is the love of a family, to bring it together. At least in my family, it was a big deal. And my mother and grandmother were always excellent cooks. Mexican food is very sophisticated, but that's not where my heart was. I was married to a French woman, and I went there.

Where in Mexico are you from? Cuernavaca, south of Mexico City—a very cultural town, very Spanish. At the end, you go back. You're going to die. You can't take anything with you—nothing material, just memories. That's why you have to live your life well, and one of the joys is eating. And I'd want to bring my kid and show her, too.

Fabio Trabocchi's Last Meal: Back to Mussel-Shucking

Posted by Nina Lalli at 6:49 PM, January 2, 2008

Fabio Trabocchi, who took over the kitchen at Fiamma in September, was wholeheartedly excused for a menu that seems too fussy to be Italian when Frank Bruni gushingly renewed the restaurant's three-star status last month in The New York Times. (Those original three stars were earned by Michael White, now at the helm at L'Impero and Alto.) As we dialed Trabocchi's cell-phone number the other day, we prepared to ask him to spell the names of the fancy wines and obscure ingredients he would want to indulge in for his last meal. But as it turns out, his fantasy involves his home province on Italy's Adriatic coast, an old bike, a tiny fishing boat, and nothing French.

So, if you could have anything in the world, what would your last meal be? Probably my last meal would be in the same place I started being a chef. It's a little restaurant in Le Marche, where I'm from. It's not well-known, just a simple summer/beach place in a town called Numana, but I think that's where I would have to be, just because it's like going back to where I started. They did certain things very well, like grilled fish, because it's all very fresh. Very casual. It was only open in the summer.

It's so different from what you're doing now. It is, but it's a good rewind of everything that has happened until now. That's the place where I started to get into cooking. Certainly, I had no idea where I would go, that I would cook in New York or Washington, D.C., or London. It's hard to think about dying, but I think, hey, it's my last meal—I could tell you something fancy, but this is what I picture.

Was it a family-run restaurant? Yes, a father, daughter, and mom is in the kitchen. They own a little boat that they are using to go fishing. Then at dinner time, it's more of a pizza place.

How old were you when you worked there? Fourteen.

Really? Yeah, so now you see why it was a big deal. At that time, in Italy, you could work at 14, and my father bought me a 14-year-old bike—the same age as me—and I rode that to the restaurant every day. It was my first summer job, and I found out I liked it. After that, I went to culinary school.

Were you actually cooking in the restaurant? I did everything. I was like the go-to guy: "Fabio, shuck the mussels." "Fabio, we need to move the cars." "Fabio, roll the pizza dough." Whatever was required—I started with opening the umbrellas for people sitting on the beach. I would also clean up the beach, prep for lunch, bus tables, anything.

So what would the meal actually be? Would you cook? Oh, no, I enjoy the party this time. The wife would make spaghetti with mussels right off the boat, and branzino, also from the Adriatic, in salt, cooked in the wood-burning oven.

It sounds great. Yes. We'll see, in many, many years, if it comes true.

Last Meal: Sara Moulton is Really Hungry

Posted by Nina Lalli at 12:02 PM, December 19, 2007

Sara Moulton, a Julia Child protégée, Gourmet Magazine's executive chef, a cookbook author, and former Food Network star, will be back on TV in April. Her new show, named after her second cookbook, Sara's Secrets for Weeknight Meals, focuses on sitting down to real dinners during the workweek. Moulton describes herself as a teacher, and it seems fitting that, this time around, she'll be on public TV.

What would you eat for your last meal? Here's the thing: I really fantasized about this and decided I'd be very hungry. There are just too many things I would want. When I was done, I realized it was all carbs and fat. I'm really going to hell in a handbasket, but I guess that's the point.

Sounds great so far. I have to have some absolutely beautiful caviar. I'm imagining that the Russian stuff isn't endangered, so I can start with osetra on homemade blini. I haven't decided where to put the cheese, so I just put it at both ends.

I like your style. I'll have fondue, with the usual cheeses. Then Peking duck with lots of extra-crispy skin, and I'd like the porcini gnocchi from Union Square Café with that. Is that OK, to mention a restaurant?

Sure. Good, because once I thought of that, I thought, "I'd really like to have their garlic potato chips, too." And then I thought, "I'd really like to have Beppe's french fries." Have you had them? They fry them with a bunch of herbs.

Yes, delicious. Yeah, so there you go. Three carbs with my low-fat Peking duck. . . . If I had to have a vegetable—I mean, I really do love vegetables, but for this occasion, I don't know—I would have Indian-spiced cauliflower with peas. Then more cheese. Epoisses, which is my favorite cheese, with sliced baguettes. And for dessert—I don't know what season it would be, but it doesn't matter. This whole meal couldn't happen at one time, but who cares? Cherry pie made with sour cherries, or a sour-cherry crumble, with brandy-spiked whipped cream. And if that's not good enough, a few dark-chocolate truffles afterwards. And I thought about the drinks—a Veuve Clicquot La Grand Dame to start. People always serve champagne with caviar, even though they don't go together, but who cares? It's celebratory. Although I don't know how celebratory this occasion really is. Anyway, I would want a nice French chardonnay, too. And at some point, a beautiful red Bordeaux. And a double espresso, maybe with the truffles.

And the setting? The company? My parents have an old farmhouse in northeastern Massachusetts. We could be there. I'd love for my husband to be there. He's my best friend. And my kids—we have a good time together, the four of us. My son, in particular, would be pleased with all these carbs. And we all like duck.

Sounds perfect. Well, it's more food that any person should eat—especially a five-foot-tall person, but whatever.

Last Meal: Dave Wondrich Drinks Himself to Death

Posted by Nina Lalli at 8:49 AM, December 12, 2007

David Wondrich, a writer and historian whose passion is America's drinking tradition, has just published Imbibe!, a book chronicling the life of "Professor" Jerry Thomas, who wrote the first known bartending guide, How to Mix Drinks, in 1862.

Wondrich translated 100 of the professor's recipes into modern measurements, so we can all learn how to prepare a proper toddy.

It's been an exciting morning here—there was a fire next-door.

Yikes. Did it make you hungry, by any chance? I'm always hungry. It makes me focus on my mortality, at least. I think I would have to do this a little bit backwards. It would be street food, a steady stream of little plates. Some Spanish chickpeas and fritters, some dim sum, maybe a nice pork sandwich from Reading Terminal in Philly. I have to get the drinks just right.

Oh, backwards, meaning the drinks are the main menu, and the food the accompaniment. What's first? A vintage Henriot champagne. I would be with my closest friends, of course. We'd sip that, and as long as you've got the champagne, there should be caviar and blintzes. We'll interpret "street food" liberally.

Hey, there are caviar stands. Yeah. Then Dale DeGroff would make a martini and Gary Regan would make me a Manhattan. Then I would have to relax. Those are two powerful drinks. Next would be a pint or two of a porter—maybe to go with that pork sandwich. I would also have a Stinger, which is cognac and white créme de menthe. It has to be really fancy cognac. There's no other way. At this point, I'd probably be pretty, uh, tipsy. I might have to drink seltzer for a while.

Wise. But then you'd need to rally before you passed out. I think a couple of old-school punches would be a good palate cleanser. I would have a Garrick punch—a light, lively gin punch—just because it's delightful.

What's in that? Green tea, cognac, champagne—it's difficult to make. Also, a Chatham Artillery Punch, which is equally elaborate. This is pretty close to the end. At this point, maybe shots of whiskey till I pass out. Then I don't want to know what happens.

Do you eat anything else? I'm like the Russians. I never drink without eating something. Maybe soppressata from Caputo's in Brooklyn, some aged Gouda, things like that. Jamón ibérico. Then end it with a nice straight rye—that would be its own course.

Any specific setting? Maybe my backyard here in Brooklyn. Otherwise, I'm particular to the back room at McSorley's. They only have beer, so we'd have to bring everything, but it would be most pleasant.

Last Meal: David Chang's Time Machine

Posted by Nina Lalli at 8:36 AM, November 28, 2007

David Chang is even busier than usual, with his third East Village restaurant, Ko, about to open and his original Momofuku Noodle Bar having just relocated. But he took a few minutes to ponder the menu he would request as his final feast. Although it's really more than one meal, it represents him well: a love of ramen, of course, and a deep admiration for fine dining. But then again, don't forget the pork rinds or booze.

Are you ready to talk about your last meal? I dunno. I mean, what are the parameters?

There are none. You can travel through time, whatever . . . Well, I think, besides mom's cooking—some braised short ribs and maybe her crab cakes—I'd have to have some meals that I never got a chance to eat. Like Lespinasse, when Christian Delouvrier was there, probably the opening team of Jean-Georges at Gramercy Tavern in 1998. These were all legendary crews. We just don't have restaurants like that anymore. And I'd go to other places I have never been—like I've never done Europe before. I mean, I've done it like a bum, going from hostel to hostel, but I would go and do the fine dining there: Pierre Gagnaire, L'Arpége, Michel Bras. That's just the start. There are so many places I've never been to. I've never eaten at El Bulli. I'd make sure all the friends were there for the whole trip, of course, and we'd just go everywhere. And be drunk the whole time. I mean, I'm on my deathbed, so I might as well.

Sure, there would be no hang-over to deal with. Yeah, and we'd end up in Beijing, eating crawfish and drinking a nice bottle of Bai Jiu, which is basically distilled anything. It could be rusty nails.

Is that something you've done before? Oh, yeah.

Tell me more about what you'd have your mom make you. She makes these ridiculously good crab cakes—just a little egg, a little mayo, lots of blue crab. And her short ribs, of course— I could really just eat that, a bowl of rice, her kimchi, and call it a day. But if I had an unlimited budget and a time-travel option, why not go for it? I could go on—like, I would definitely have to have some fried chicken, too, and french fries, and some really good bread and butter. Warm bread and salted butter. Maybe a fish taco going on there, and an ice-cold beer. Oh—Taishoken, at Higashi-Ikebukuro. I'd have to have a bowl of ramen there. It's closed now.

Oh, good use of that time machine! Yeah, we'd do it all. From pork rinds to the highest of the high. Why not?

Last Meal: Rocco Brings back his Nonna

Posted by Nina Lalli at 10:21 AM, November 21, 2007

Rocco DiSpirito's new cookbook, Rocco's Real Life Recipes, takes inspiration from his family, his technical training, and the kinds of creative flavor combinations he was known for at his restaurant, Union Pacific. Having worked with DiSpirito, a recent guest judge on Top Chef before and having had the chance to spend time eating and cooking with his family, we would have been shocked if his last meal didn't involve an old lady and a lot of olive oil.

My answer's boring. You know, my grandma's eggs.

C'mon, let's hear it. OK. So, I was probably six the first time I remember this. My grandma had a chicken coop and a rabbit hutch. I used to stay with her a lot [on Long Island]—most of the summer—and she used to get fresh eggs for me. And then, in a big pan, she would fry some garlic till it was brown, and some green peppers, which she grew herself—it would all be in a bath of olive oil. She would cook the eggs in there. The bottoms would get cooked, and the tops, but they would still be a little runny in the center.

Is it like a frittata? No, they're whole. She was basting them in the oil. It's actually called basted eggs, I came to learn later. Really, a pool of oil. They were magnificent. She would cut me a huge slice of her homemade bread and then sit across from me in her kitchenette and watch me eat. It was such a wonderful moment. What amazes me is that she always expected me to eat all those eggs, and I always did. You would think eating that kind of thing would make you fat—I probably had half a cup of olive oil—but I never got fat, until a few years ago.

Oh, please. So, she never ate with you? No. She just watched me. I rarely saw her eat at all, actually.

Really? Well, she had no teeth, for one thing.

That would make it tough. Yeah, she would just pull them out when they were ready to go. She was hardcore. Anyway, I could tell you my desert-island fantasy meal, if you want. I mean, everyone wants their grandma's cooking.

Well, maybe. But for good reason. Yeah—I mean, I've never had better eggs, but it's not really about that. It was just the ridiculous amount of love moving in my direction. You would need some kind of special ghostbusters' measuring device to even calculate it. It would be off the charts—bwah! bwah! bwah! You feel that from very few people in your life.

Last Meal: Michael Ruhlman Eats it all the Time

Posted by Nina Lalli at 9:00 AM, November 14, 2007

Michael Ruhlman, the author of The Making of a Chef, The Soul of a Chef, and The Reach of a Chef, has a new book out, The Elements of Cooking, a glossary of terms from "acid" to "zester," with many more exotic entries in between (such as "myoglobin"). He's also the co-author of The French Laundry Cookbook, among others.

What's this all about?

I ask you what your last meal would be, and then you talk about that. It's a very easy thing to answer. I'd have an enormous steak frites dinner with a big, fat, juicy Zinfandel, because that's my favorite thing to eat. No one knows when the inevitable catastrophe of death is going to come, so it's best to have your favorite meal all the time. If you're not doing what you love, what's the point? What are you waiting for? Why not just end it now? I eat this meal as often as possible, and it never ceases to please me. Am I making any sense?

Yes. It's inspiring. Really? That's the best thing you can say. If you were going to put a gun to my head at midnight, I'd start around seven, with a martini, some wonderful music, wonderful people, and maybe a foie gras torchon, which is in French Laundry. That's one of my favorite things様ots of fat, but I'm not gonna suffer tomorrow預nd a brioche I make.

Would you do all the cooking yourself? No! I'm not gonna be working my final hours. I would have my friends cook幼olleagues who have given me so much: Thomas [Keller], Eric [Ripert], Brian [Polcyn], Michael Symon. I'd make them give me one last thing! Wouldn't it be great to cook a last meal for someone else? Imagine how good we'd get, if we just pretended.

That's a lot of pressure. But the great thing about food is that it's not really about food. That's why people are so food-obsessed. Food and sex are the two things we all do. Well, I guess some people don't have sex, but everyone eats. And we tell stories. Almost no one exists without story. And those two things are inseparable庸undamentally linked! I hope you can intuit some meaning from my inarticulateness. I've never thought about this before.

Really? Well, I have. But I haven't tried to put it into words.

I'm following, although surely there's more to this philosophy. Oh, there is. Basically it's all about fundamentals. Just think of a hollandaise葉ake away the shallots, the vinegar, the salt, and the pepper, and you still have an egg-butter emulsion. I've devoted my life to fundamentals, to knowing and understanding the yolk and the butter. In fact, I'd like a tarragon and shallot b饌rnaise with my steak葉o dip my fries into. And a single-malt whiskey to finish it off. Oh, the kids are coming in the door from school now; we have to finish up.

Last Meal: Mark Bittman Does Not Want to Talk About it

Posted by Nina Lalli at 11:13 AM, October 31, 2007

Mark Bittman, The New York Times' "Minimalist," has a gigantic new book out, How to Cook Everything Vegetarian, in which he provides about 2,000 meatless recipes without relying on weird fake-meat products. This is vegetarianism we can live with—it seems just like real food.

Have you been thinking about your last meal? I didn't think about it, frankly. This last-meal stuff, I don't know. Am I supposed to take this seriously? I mean, am I about to be executed? Or am I going to die a beautiful death?

It's up to you. I think if I were about to be electrocuted, I'd want to eat quickly—I would be too nervous to enjoy it anyway. I would keep it simple, too: three or four fried eggs, cooked in butter, as much bacon as I want— really good bacon, not too crispy— some Poilâne bread. Maybe I'd want coffee, I don't know. I guess a cappuccino, but just one. It's going to add to the jitteriness.

Right. What's that bread? It's similar to Balthazar, but pre-dates it. Just basic, good bread. Semi-sourdough- slash-rye-slash-whole-wheat.

So, if you don't get the chair? Well, if I'm having surgery the next day—they're going to remove my stomach and put me on a liquid diet for the rest of my life, but otherwise I'm going to be fine—at that point, I would want to be surprised. Maybe I'd go to Jean-Georges, but bring David Chang along and ask them to alternate courses. You're laughing, so I guess this is OK?

Sounds great. You certainly don't have to have a menu planned out. I don't want a menu planned out.

Anyone you'd want to be with? Oh, who would I want to be with? I don't know. How do you get people to talk about this seriously? It gives me the creeps. I mean, it's not like I like thinking about getting my stomach removed, but it's better than dying. . . . So, is that enough? Do you want me to keep going?

That's OK. I appreciate your contemplating your death against your will. On a more pleasant note, I'm looking forward to cooking from your book. I'm broke, so I've been cooking vegetarian recently by default. When I go out with friends who have expense accounts, I'm ordering what I want—I eat meat. But at home, if I'm making breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I'm eating plants.

Last Meal: Anne Saxelby's Got a Tug Boat Full of Curds

Posted by Nina Lalli at 9:50 AM, October 24, 2007

Anne Saxelby, the dairy enthusiast who started Saxelby Cheesemongers last summer at Essex Market, was bound to request some stinky items for her last meal. But was there room in her heart for any other edibles? It turns out that her travels and friendships have yielded love for other delicacies, and she'll even throw in some fruit for the lactards.

You basically do all the work here. Yeah! Where do you even start? It would definitely be outside耀ome marshy, beautiful waterfront area, under a tent or some covered thing with flowers growing on it, maybe. In the water nearby would be parked a tugboat. I don't know what that's for, but I want it. I have a thing about tugboats. Maybe the party could move to the boat for ice-cream sundaes or something様ike do up your own cheese plate on the tugboat!

You should be a party planner. Right? I'd want it to be a big, raucous party, and all my friends would come, of course. All the courses would be contributed by different people. One thing I know is, I would make my friend Julien Alex bring the best roast chicken, from Casa Mingo in Madrid.

Does he live there? Yeah葉hree of us did in college. This restaurant was like a castle, and for $10, you could feast on roast chicken, chorizo, Manchego擁t was the best. I would definitely start with something green. I would ask Collin Allegres to do an amazing salad-y green thing, and some kind of mushroom parade揺e always finds these amazing mushrooms, and when you eat them, it's like, "That was a mushroom? I had no idea it could be like that!" It would be simple, awesome, hearty fare.

Sounds great. The wines would be provided by these two guys悠 lived with one of them in Italy, and the other I know by association, Paolo Bea. We would have to have Stanco Radikon. He's a crazy fool and makes really kick-ass wine. He'd be a good guest at the party, a good dancer, I'd imagine. Of course, all the cheesemakers would be there. There are too many to mention, but Michael Lee from Twig Farm, Mark and Liz from Cato Farm, some good stinky stuff from Matea and Andy. They'd bring some swarthy wheels of blue由ick and Helen from Grayson. I would have it end with total cheese debauchery, and the ice-cream sundaes, even though it's wrong to have that much dairy at once. I guess we could have some fruit, for those who can't handle it.

Sure, why not? Anything else? Oh, my friend Smoky makes the best mayonnaise ever. There would have to be something highlighting that. Maybe a kick-ass egg salad or something. And Brussels sprouts, because they're my favorite vegetable擁t would be sad not to give them a little shout-out. I would throw those with the chicken and make a good medieval feast.

Last Meal: Padma's Place is in Her Kitchen

Posted by Nina Lalli at 8:57 AM, October 3, 2007

In some unexplainable way, Top Chef host Padma Lakshmi is pretty even over the phone. She's like the good-looking girl at school who you want to hate, but then it turns out she's really friendly and laid-back, and you almost hate her more for that.

At first, she thought we were asking about the last meal she ate, which was at Vermilion, in Chicago (where the Top Chef winner will be crowned tonight). Lakshmi says Vermilion is one of the best Indian restaurants in the country. For her very last meal, though, she'd do the cooking herself, all from her new cookbook, Tangy, Tart, Hot, and Sweet.

You could have anything, anywhere, cooked by anyone . . . I would probably have, um, the veal ragu with fresh linguine from Cipriani, which I have a weakness for. Or my own coconut-milk beef curry, with fresh curry leaves. And then I'd have cardamom cr駑e anglaise with candied ginger.

Yum, where is that from? I would take the cardamom cr駑e anglaise recipe in my new book, and drop in candied ginger in the ice cream machine. You know what else? The mushroom flautas from the appetizer section of the book.

What would you drink? I would just drink a nice dolcetto with that, I guess. No, wait擁f I can have anything in the world, I'd have a 1982 Ch穰eau Margaux.

Yeah, you should go for it for a last meal. Would you want to be anywhere special? I always wanted to go to Egypt, so maybe I'd go there . . . But maybe that's weird, to go to Egypt to eat noodles and drink Ch穰eau Margaux.

Maybe傭ut, hey, you can do whatever you want. You know, all these dishes are in my book葉here's even a version of the veal ragu, so if this is my last meal, maybe what I'd want to do is go through and pick the dishes that are the favorites for my friends and family, and cook for all of them揺opefully in my big, new, beautiful apartment in New York that I'm going to find soon! Because for my last meal, I'd want to be with people I love.

Is this book more personal than your others? Oh, yes, it's really personal. There are family recipes, and it encompasses sort of the greatest hits of the last few years.

Last Meal: Morimoto has a Recipe for You

Posted by Nina Lalli at 12:43 PM, September 19, 2007

Photo courtesy DK Publishing

For the record, Masaharu Morimoto does introduce himself just by his last name when he calls you on the phone. The chef has just published his first cookbook, Morimoto: The New Art of Japanese Cooking, which features, in addition to many photographs of its author tying his cooking kimono in the traditional samurai style, more than 120 recipes. One may never really master Morimoto's most basic slicing skills or plating instincts, but he insists it's possible. You can even make tofu at table-side while your friends ooh and ahh. When we spoke to him, Morimoto claimed he's no pastry chef, but below is his red miso soufflé recipe—one of the more tame desserts included in the book. (Asparagus Pocky and sugared salmon with beet sorbet and yuzu foam are clear Iron Chef offspring. We'll let you attempt those on your own.)

So, what would you want to eat for your last meal? Of course, sushi.

Of course. What kind of fish would you want to eat? Would it be traditional? Yes, very traditional. I think I would make it myself. It would all be local, so it depends on the season. If there was eel, I would have eel. If there was really good tuna, I would have that. So I don't know what season it would be. I would have really good seaweed—everything. Maybe I have to do the polishing the rice, washing it, making the tea. I would do it all myself.

How long does it take to make the rice? Maybe one hour. Oh, and I would maybe also drink some Morimoto sake. My own brand.

Any sweets? Sweets . . . hmm. Maybe, maybe not. I'd be very full. And I'm not a pastry chef. I know what else I would have: miso soup with tofu.

Where would you want to be? In my restaurant.

Red Miso Soufflé

(Makes four servings)

* 2 teaspoons unsalted butter

* 1/2 cup red miso

* 1 1/4 cups sugar

* 6 whole eggs, separated

* 6 egg whites

1. Preheat the oven to 375F. Butter four (8-ounce) ramekins or individual soufflé dishes.

2. In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the red miso, 1 ?4 cup of the sugar, and the 6 egg yolks. Blend well.

3. In another large mixing bowl, beat the 12 egg whites until frothy. Gradually add the remaining 1 cup of sugar while continuing to beat until soft peaks form. Fold the beaten whites into the red miso base. Divide among the ramekins. Level off the tops with a spatula.

4. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes, until puffed and just set. Serve immediately.

Recipe by Masaharu Morimoto, from Morimoto: The New Art of Japanese Cooking. DK Publishing, New York.

Last Meal: Aar Sanchez and his granny

Posted by Nina Lalli at 12:05 PM, September 5, 2007

Aar Sanchez, the chef and owner of Paladar on the Lower East Side, went up against Morimoto last year on Iron Chef, in the black sea-bass battle, which ended in a tie. Sanchez was psyched just to be matched up with the Japanese chef. "That guy was born filleting fish," he said. This summer, Sanchez has been filming a new reality show for the Food Network, in which he and seven other chefs compete to become the next Iron Chef. Sanchez is the only New Yorker in contention, and we say: Represent.

Hi. Sorry悠'm eating a sandwich. I'm excited to talk to you. You got a lot going on! You got a lot going on, too. Like, lunch . . .

Heh. Yeah, it is pretty exciting over here. So, your last meal. Lay it on me. Well, the one place I would really love to be is sitting in my grandmother's house in El Paso. She would obviously be alive, and she would make me her famous refried beans, her homemade chorizo, her tortillas容verything homemade, of course. And I would drink her overly sweet iced tea with it. I'm using the food as a vehicle, just to be together.

Did she live near you when you were a kid? I grew up in New York, but we would visit her in the summertime, which was great. When your grandmother's food has the chance to sit 遥ou know, she wasn't in a hurry擁t's wonderful.

Did you cook with her? Yes, absolutely. We'd collaborate on a meal together. I have a lot of fond memories.

Would you have any sweets, or just the iced tea? Ha. She was not so big on dessert. Actually, she would sometimes have guava paste. We would eat that with cheese, like a real Spanish kind of thing.

Yum. Is that something she would make, or buy? She would buy it, or make it sometimes, but she did used to make her own cheese.

Really? What was that like? It was pretty amazing! She grew up on a cattle ranch耀o, when you grow up on a cattle ranch, you gotta make everything.

What was her house like? It was, you know, very modest, very sweet and lived-in. She had a piano葉hat was a huge element of her house. She loved to play the piano.

Do your brothers cook too? Oh, yeah容veryone in my family cooks.

She must have been pretty happy with you becoming a chef. Oh, yes. She was very proud of me.

Last Meal: Hangin' with George Lang

Posted by Nina Lalli at 1:07 PM, August 29, 2007

George Lang, at 83, seems to have lived several lives洋any happy, and some incredibly difficult. Over the course of an hour or so, Lang talked about being a child violin prodigy and eventually playing with the Dallas Symphony Orchestra. As a teenager, he was a 100-meter running champion. Later he escaped Hungary, where his entire family perished in the concentration camps. At 21, Lang came to New York and rented a bed in Hell's Kitchen while working as a dishwasher, then later as a saucier at the Plaza and a manager at an Italian wedding factory on the Lower East Side. He is an impressive calligrapher, a former Fulbright Scholar in Italy, and a writer at Travel and Leisure; he ran the Four Seasons; and, of course, he revived the Cafe des Artistes and became the first international restaurant consultant. Oh, and last Christmas, he hung out with the pope. What did you do?

When I got to Lang's office, where he sits surrounded by about 3,000 cookbooks, he had already jotted down ideas about his last meal. "I prepare everything," he said. "If I do it. Otherwise, I don't do it." His last-meal desires were largely inspired by a lifetime of travel. "I certainly could have as my last meal some of the great dinners I had in the past. For instance, one of them had crisp chunks of sweet bread scented with a light vinaigrette sauce, served with truffled potatoes."

From China, he included "huge Pacific oysters dipped in a Chinese version of barbecue sauce and then threaded on a skewer and cooked until they are almost crisp outside洋iraculously, the oysters retained their saline taste and tender texture," as well as a hot pot with "blushing raw beef" to dip into a vinegar-spiked broth and wrap in lettuce. "Of course," he added, "we must follow each bite with a swallow of good Belgian beer."

Lang described his mother as a wonderful cook�"not vertically, but horizontally," he said, meaning that she knew how to make everything and also the best place to find any ingredient. "Not just another store," he explained, "but another village!" He said the food he grew up eating wasn't just extremely good but consistently good, which he sees as the key to success in the restaurant business, along with knowing your diners.

Some of Lang's mother's dishes would have to be included in his last meal: fisherman's soup, stuffed goose neck, sour cherry soup, layered cabbage, stuffed peppers, plum dumplings, pancakes with apple meringue, and whipped-cream strudel. "And then I will have what it takes to get to another world," he said.

Last Meal: David Coleman Goes to Tulum

Posted by Nina Lalli at 8:19 AM, August 22, 2007

Full disclosure: David Coleman—or, as I know him, Coleman—is an old friend, though one I hadn't seen in a couple of years before running into him at the farmers' market recently. I found him much more heavily tattooed than he'd been before, but otherwise, Tocqueville's chef de cuisine was the same. He has a certain way of scowling at you like you're a crazy person (or maybe that's just me). But when he talks about music or traveling, or especially about food, his enthusiasm betrays his grimace, which becomes a straight-up grin.

Let's do this. Have you thought about your last meal? Uh, yeah. It'll be in Mexico, in Tulum. I had this meal at a place called Mike's Cafe. It's a weird name, not really Mexican. I don't even know if it's still there, but it was incredible.

Oh, Tulum. I want to go there. What'd you eat? First of all, I had this drink that was made with something called "wild Mexican spinach." I asked the guy, and he said that would be the best translation. It was puréed with cucumbers, and then they put it over ice. It was amazing.

Whoa. What did it taste like? I don't know. I mean, I never had this flavor before. It was like frothy and green. The stuff itself looked like spinach—he showed me. But it had a little fennel-anise flavor to it, and a little sweetness. Then I had this big plate of ceviche, which just had radish and lime juice, habanero peppers. It was served with popcorn.

What kind of fish? Tile fish. It was just so good. Then I had chicken enchiladas, baked with tomatillo sauce and queso fresco. That's what I would want for my last meal.

Did you have any sweets? They just give you some fruit—you know, mangoes and papayas. It's so cool there, because you're in this little town, and the restaurant has garage doors that are open, and you're just looking out at this dirt road. It made me feel like I was in the desert.

Where's the beach? It was like a mile away. You can stay in these bungalows, and they turn off the electricity at 10 p.m. It's pretty cool.

Would you bring anyone in particular? No, I would go myself— if I'm gonna die, of course. I want a peaceful meal.

Last Meal: Kenny Lao Hearts Mutton Sticks

Posted by Nina Lalli at 10:21 AM, August 15, 2007

Kenny Lao, the founder of Rickshaw Dumplings, which is about to open its second location, is a man after our own heart. Considering his dumpling obsession, we weren't surprised that his fantasy last meal was part-Chinese and all-delicious. And by the way, those mangoes are called Alphonsos.

Have you thought about your last meal? Yes. Yes, yes. One question謡hat's the method of death?

That's up to you. It seems like electrocution, from the ones I've read.

That's what generally comes to mind. I kind of prefer the guillotine, because it's more humane. It's very quick.

Guillotine it is. So, I have a list of things, and I'm assuming it's all going to be brought to me. First it would be, well, I don't really know what to call them in English. Spiced mutton meat sticks. It's Xinjang meat, made by Uyghurs.

Wait, are they covered in cumin? Yes! And a lot of pepper.

Oh, God. There are a couple of stalls in Flushing. So delicious. I eat them in Beijing, I love those things. So, I'd start with that, as an amuse. Then some Super Rica tacos from L.A. It's a dirty taco shack that Julia Child said was her favorite restaurant.

What kind of tacos? Well, pork. Of course, and I would drink their dirty horchada. As you can tell from these first two, I like the kind of food where you're kind of wondering whether you're gonna pay the price the next day.

Me too. But in this case, I don't have to worry about it.

True. Very wise. Then I'd have Peking duck葉he traditional three-course version. First, just the skin with the pancakes and hoisin, then the meat, and at the same time, they make a broth with the carcass, and you have that as a digestive.

Yum. What else is in the broth? Just some winter melon. The carcass is the main flavor. Then, as a palate cleanser, a mango羊efrigerated, like, really cold. It would have to be the fiber-free kind.

The Indian ones? What're they called again? I don't know. They're called yummy. I would take a regular mango if they'd give me floss. And then I would have the chocolate Shanghai soup dumplings from Rickshaw, with a bib on. We give out bibs now, because they're oozing and chocolatey. You don't want to go to the guillotine with stains. Also, I'd have a wafer cone with hazelnut ice cream from Sundaes & Cones. It tastes like you're eating frozen hazelnuts.

Last Meal: Steak and Potatoes for Chino Loco

Posted by Nina Lalli at 8:45 AM, August 8, 2007

Daniel Parilla, the executive chef at 5Ninth, is best known as "Chino," a nickname he got when working in a Chinese restaurant in Philadelphia. "It's a common moniker for anyone Asian," said Parilla, who is Filipino. "The Mexican guys called everyone 'Chino,' and then I was 'Chino Loco.' A kitchen is like being on a sailboat," he said. "Or a football team." As for his last meal, Chino was the first person we've interviewed to insist on adhering to death row guidelines. Or almost.

You're on death row, or whatever, and you can have anything you want. Is it like, just one dish, a tasting? Are there rules?

No rules. Some people would travel around the world ... But, if you're on death row, you can't leave the compound.

Well, yeah. If you want to keep it strict, that would be noble. I just want it to be known that I'm taking into consideration the death row stipulations. Considering that, I would have a bone-in, dry-aged ribeye, 64 ounces center-cut; with garlic mashed potatoes, chunky and home-style; and creamy spinach. With garlic-mushroom Bordelais葉hat's my sauce. And a big bottle of barolo. A magnum! You get one drink, you know, on death row.

Right. My reasoning is, if I eat all this, I'll pass out before I need to get nervous. That's gonna put me to sleep before I get put to sleep.

Ha. I get dessert, too, right?

Absolutely. OK, chocolate-chip brownie a la mode, with chocolate-chip ice cream and extra chocolate sauce. A lot of chocolate sauce.

Nice. Hey, how's the steak cooked? Mid-rare, grilled and roasted. I have the same steak on my menu. Steak is one of the main things I like to eat when I go out. It's very fundamental, it's instinctive, it's satisfying, and the mashed potatoes and spinach葉hose things always work with steak. I could do something more exotic, more experimental, but it's something I know will satisfy someone, like someone who comes to the meatpacking district on a Friday night and really doesn't want to be there.

Ha. But his girlfriend makes him go out to eat before they go clubbing, or you're just having a shitty day, or you're tired, or whatever. For me it's like, you just want a nice steak, you know?

Last Meal: Tom Colicchio Loves Spatchcock

Posted by Nina Lalli at 12:54 PM, August 1, 2007

We hounded Tom Colicchio relentlessly about his last meal until the Top Chef judge took a break from opening Craft in L.A. to chat on his cellphone. Then we basically had no idea what he was talking about as he rattled off a fantasy list of delicacies he would ingest from around the world before dying. When he started talking about his mom's Sunday gravy, though, we were right there with him. Not that the spatchcock and the lamb's brain don't sound great, too.

Finally, I've got you on the phone! Have you thought about your last meal? Yes, it's been a crazy time. So, here's what I would do. I would travel around the world, eating the best meals there are, starting with oysters and pearls at French Laundry [located in Yountville, California, in Napa Valley.] Then I'd go to England and eat Heston Blumenthal's lasagne of langoustine and trotters at the Fat Duck.

Are these all meals you've had? Yes. I have to get a fish in here. Oh, Arzak, in San Sebasti疣, Spain. I would have the mendreska of bonita with winter savory and mentholated fish bones. After that, I would eat lamb's brain papillote at Cibreo, in Florence.

Wow. This is no joke. Where next? Tetsuya, in Australia. There, I would have the double [cooked] deboned spatchcock [a game bird] with braised daikon.

Wait謡hat? Deboned spatchcock. And for dessert, I'd end up in North Fork, Long Island, for Claudia Fleming's tapioca passionfruit sorbet at the North Fork Table & Inn.

A light end to a pretty intense meal. The thing is, all of this I would probably pass on for my mom's Sunday gravy, at her house.

Oh yeah? Was this something you grew up eating every week? Yes, definitely. Every Sunday.

And is it the typical style, with meatballs, sausage, and braciole? Yup. All that good stuff! Braised pork . . .

Does she still make it? Yes, and I make it her way, too. You make your meatballs, fry up all the meat, and then cook into the sauce.

How does she make her tomato sauce? You know, just crushed San Marzano tomatoes. Canned.

Did she use the San Marzanos, or is that you? Well, maybe that's me.

And you would eat the pasta and the meat as separate courses, right? Oh, yeah.

That's good stuff. Yeah, it's great stuff.

Last Meal: Andrew Carmellini is a Mama's Boy, and There's Nothing Wrong with That

Posted by Nina Lalli at 9:14 AM, July 25, 2007

There are a lot of things to like about Andrew Carmellini, the chef at A Voce. He has a fancy résumé, but loves peasant cooking; he's married to a woman who wrote her dissertation on food in Victorian novels; and, recently, he spoke at a press conference about the Red Hook Ball Fields. Latin American food vendors have been operating along the perimeter of a soccer field in Red Hook Park for more than 30 years, and the spot has became a major eating destination on weekends. The city recently announced that it will open the location up to bidders, which could mean the end of the braised goat tacos Carmellini loves so much. "This is the kind of soulful cooking that keeps me intrigued," he said. But for his own last last meal, it's back to the 'burbs.

Are you ready? It's your last meal— you can go anywhere, have anyone cook for you . . . Well, I think I would have to go with comfort over traveling or anything like that. I've done a lot of that, and it's really great—but for a last meal, I'd have to go back to Ohio.

Where did you grow up? Cleveland—in one of the suburbs, so we had a backyard. I would just want a tomato salad from the garden and a prime, dry-aged steak on the grill, and of course my mom's lemon meringue pie. Definitely got to have the lemon meringue. I thought of summer, being outside . . . I would invite a bunch of friends and just hang out.

What cut of beef would you have? It would have to be côte de boeuf.

And the tomato salad? Just olive oil, salt and pepper, and basil. All from the garden.

Is your mother Italian? No, she's Polish. I'm Polish and Italian.

And she was always the cook? Yeah, totally.

What would you drink? If I were gonna go with wine, I think I'd go big. Maybe a 1971 Ridge Monte Bello—stick with something American, you know, keep it real. I'd want to keep the whole thing really simple and delicious.

Last Meal: Tom Valenti Says 'Yuh-Huh!'

Posted by Nina Lalli at 2:48 PM, July 18, 2007

True, we only heard it over the phone, but we're pretty sure that Tom Valenti's devilish, frequent giggle comes with a toothy grin. After all, the Ouest chef does look exactly like a jolly pirate, with his permanent facial scruff and long, wild locks. (The occasional bandana helps, too.) Valenti seemed quite tickled about the prospect of a last meal, and we weren't shocked when his menu turned out to be only slightly decadent and very simple, focusing, as he does in the kitchen, on "perfection" more than pretension.

So, is this like: You're going to the electric chair, and what do you eat first?

Yes, pretty much. Although, if you want, you can specify a different method of dying. Nah, electric chair is what comes to mind.

And you can have anything in the world. I know exactly what I'd have. I would start with some perfect oysters. Preferably off the coast of Normandy預s long as we're tripping. And some caviar. Just some perfect oysters and caviar. Then I'd have a perfectly roasted chicken, from Bresse. I'd have that with some pasta with white truffles and some Reggiano Parmigiano.

Is the chicken on the same plate with the pasta? Yeah, I think so. I would literally pour the juice out of the cavity of the chicken and mix it in with the pasta.

Yum. Yuh-huh! After that, just a simple green salad with hearts of endive. And I think I'd want to finish with a perfect piece of cheese, like a perfectly ripe Tomme de Savoie.

Any sweets? No, cheese and salad is my dessert of choice.

What about booze? Oh, yuh-huh! I'd definitely start with a white Burgundy, Le Montrachet or a Meursault. Then, lemme think . . . I could have any bottle of wine?

Any. Hmm . . . I'm thinking vintages now. I probably would opt for a '61 or '66 Bourdeaux. A '61 Petrus.

OK, so any particular setting you'd want to be in? I would like to be outdoors. As long as it's with my wife, I don't care.

Aww. One more thing: Would you do the cooking? Um, preferably not! I would defer to one of the great chefs. A chef who was a friend葉hat would be the best.

I want that chicken-juice truffle pasta right now. Me, too! I'm ready! Well溶ot ready for my last meal, but ready to eat.

And drink. Yuh-huh!

Peter Meehan's Last Meal: Outtakes!

Posted by Nina Lalli at 12:26 PM, July 11, 2007

Peter Meehan, who shares his fantasy last meal with us this week, had so much to say that we had to sacrifice some pearls of wisdom/hilarity for the sake of space. But on the internets, space is no object -- a fact which can be great and also dangerous.

Here are some Meehan outtakes:

When we got sassy and asked Meehan what he'd have if the meal had to be $25 or under, he sassed back and said "If it was $25 or under, I'd want to be Eric Asimov."

Meehan wanted arepas, tacos, and a "'surprise burger' -- the kind you order somewhere where you don't expect it to be good, and then it's amazing. I don't want to call it beforehand."

He debated a pizza course, considering Una Pizza Napoletana, but ultimately deciding on some pizza bianca from the Campo di Fiori in Rome.

When he asked us if Marcella Hazan could make him some Bolognese sauce, he also asked if we'd ever heard her talk. We didn't think we had. Meehan said: "Gravelly. Very gravelly."

He also wanted a combination hot and sweet sausage and beef sandwich from Johnnie's Beef in Elmwood Park, Illinois, and some salty, chocolate-y korova cookies made by his girlfriend. (Here's a recipe from Dorie Greenspan. It makes us crave a doober...)