by Lois Lawrence

Created on: May 13, 2008   Last Updated: August 12, 2010

If I am lucky enough to enjoy my last meal in the comfort of my home, I will probably want a well-roasted chicken with fluffy mashed potatoes and gravy.

But life is unpredictable. If, for example, I were to find myself on death row, I may have a different take on things.

What with the years spent fighting extradition from my pied-a-terre in Marseilles, and then years more prosecuting repetitive and hopeless appeals through state and federal courts, I would have had more than a little time to ponder my food choices.

On the eve of the fateful day, I would be ready to place my order with the prison chef de cuisine.

For an amuse bouche I'd go for a balut, that crunchy little fertilized duck egg from Vietnam. I'm sure that a well-connected prison emissary would have little trouble passing customs on the way back home to San Quentin with an egg for me and, no doubt, a few more for his troubles.

For an entree, I'd stick to the fowl theme as a tip of the hat to the foul play that got me here in the first place. Ortolan, that sweet little bird so beloved by natives of my adopted country, France, would be a perfect starter. The chef will be happy because most of the work will already have been done by French trappers who will have poked out its eyes and fattened it up to four times its original weight before drowning it, literally, in cognac.

Even so, knowing the chef, he might balk a little, because he'll know it is illegal to sell ortolans in their native Europe, and he has seen enough of prison life in this country, thank you very much, not to want to wind up in a French hoosegow. I would counter this argument (in writing after requesting a six month extension to research the issue) that while it may be illegal to buy them, it is still legal to eat them and I know my rights. I would also point out that, legal or not, ortolan was reportedly on the menu for President Francois Mitterand's final meal, and, who does he think he is making Mitterand look bad. That goes for the warden, too.

There is a proper and traditional way to eat ortolan, so I would be sure to request a large linen napkin which I could place over my head to hide from God while I chewed the bird up in a single mouthful. I'm not really religious but I can respect a good custom. Chewing the bird whole would be a fifteen minute process during which my gums would bleed from being scratched by ortolan bones. This is not a bad thing because the blood contributes to an amazing overall taste sensation.

It would

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