The Last Meal

When asked about what I want to eat, the answer usually comes immediately to mind.  However, The Last Meal has a certain sense of gravity to it that makes me hesitant to even start.  As a college student, deprived of a full kitchen and limited only to foods that fit on a meal plan (which is surprisingly varied, and looking less and less appetizing by the day) home-cooking would be the way I'd want to go out.  I have no particular meal in mind, as long as my mom makes it I'd die happy.  It's not just the physical food that I crave, but the process before it.  The sounds of NPR which are almost guaranteed to be on at all points of time in the house, the occasional blaring of the smoke alarm and the ensuing chaos to just dear god make it stop.  The smells of sauteing onions, grilled vegetables, even the very particular scent of boiling pasta have a very homey feel for me.  The scents that would fill up the house made the wait agonizing but it was so much more fulfilling when we finally sat down and ate.  I think it is the sense of fulfillment that I miss the most and I think that would make for the perfect last meal.