" 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