Okay, I know how it looks, but I swear I am innocent. First off, that dude stabbed himself. I know, I know...but that mofo was crazy from the start. And is it my fault he fell into the vat of acid? Sure, those blue industrial bins in my bathroom weren't sealed—but sometimes you just have to use common sense around industrial barrels, you know? It doesn't matter if you're running around like a bleeding, stabbed idiot—common sense is key.
And would I really wear his bones like a post-apocalyptic suit of armor if I hated him? C'mon now.
Like I said, I know how it looks, but I'm sure a little common sense will clear a lot of it up. Sadly, in this cuckoo-bananas world, common sense is a lot to ask for, and I hope my last meal reflects a man whose taste is practical and unpretentious, with just touch of flair.
Appetizer: I'm the type of guy who's never understood the point of an appetizer. It just seems like a delay to the main event, right? All this waiting is making me stabby and impatient—I mean, calm, cool and innocent.
That said, who could say no to the vareniki (cheese and potato dumplings) from Kafe Sobaka Restoran Pomegranate (2469 Broadway)? Not only does the Georgian restaurant provide a peaceful, elegant alternative to the open-wall, craft eateries, but its food is complex without being pretentious. These dumplings are like little, steamed pillows that explode with a rich dill-and-cheese flavor.
Main course: I've always said that I could solely eat pizza for the rest of my life, so it makes sense that it would be my last meal. I've also believed that there's an Occam's razor element to the quality of a 'za: the best pizza is usually the simplest.
No doubt, Luigi's Pizza (1137 25th St.) is the best in San Diego. Its thin crust is conducive to rolling like a taco—a mark of a great slice. Although it has a lot of signature pies, I'm gonna go with a standard pepperoni pizza for my final meal.
Dessert: Donuts have gotten wildly out of control in terms of craft excess. Why people are spending more than $4 on a donut is beyond me. It just seems crazy to me, and I'm the guy who wore the bone suit (out of respect, of course).
Donut Star (601 W. Washington St.) should be the destination for anyone who's finished with overpriced pretentious donuts. Part of the shop's appeal is its dingy, noir-ish vibe, which seems like the perfect environment for a down-on-their-luck private investigator to sip cheap coffee into the wee hours of night. But it also makes some great donuts that always taste fresh, no matter what time you go in.
Drink: Just leave me drunk with a couple of Bali Hai's (2230 Shelter Island Drive) infamous mai tais, probably the booziest drinks in town. I don't want to leave the mortal realm concerned with mixologists, mouthfeel or flavor infusions. A lethal dose of rum will do just fine.