Day 28: Choose your final meal on death row…

…and make it.

There were, of course, a few limiting factors (leaving aside those restrictions the prison would itself impose – no alcohol being the most grievous). First of all, I wasn’t actually headed to my death after this meal. While this wouldn’t have prevented me from pulling a Groundhog Day, it obviously would prevent me from requesting something like a hunk of raw venison and a bottle of scotch. Cost was a second factor – no half-dozen bottles of World Wide Stout. Third, I wasn’t the only one eating this, which put a lot of things off the table (deep fried waffles; a dozen scotch eggs; brisket-bacon-and-baked-beans burgers). Finally, I was supposed to make it myself – and, while I’m a competent cook (sometimes), I’m no Alfredo Linguini.

Because this is the way these things work out, we had dinner with my parents tonight – which would usually mean that my dad was cooking, because he always cooks. But I called him yesterday, told him about today’s task, told him what I was thinking about cooking – and, tonight, we cooked it together.

That’s right: shepherd’s pie, made with actual shepherds sheep. Well, sheep and bison. And carrots, onions, celery, corn, peas, red bell pepper, and mashed potatoes on top – shepherd’s pie is an almost-perfect food (it needs bacon – bacon makes all things better). It was quite tasty; everyone had seconds, and Elanor had thirds. There was also a princess castle cake for dessert, which my wife and children made for my mom – a belated birthday cake. All in all, it was an excellent meal.

I can die a happy man.

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