Weekend Reading:What we’re reading, cooking, and clicking this week.

A recent collaboration to celebrate summer's end between photographers, farmer, restaurant owners and chefs, resulted in a grand foraged feast. All ingredients were handpicked within 25 miles of Table on Ten in the Catskills, where the meal was held. From the looks of these images, there is no argument that chef John Poiarkoff of The Pines and chef Camille Becerra of Navy, may have produced one of the most ravishing nine course meals I've ever seen. I only wish I were at the table.

Sparked by a recent pop-up restaurant in London themed off of historical last meals—the final meals of death-row inmates—Hannah Goldfield examines the obsession with the question of one's last meal. In the case of death-row inmates, she proposes that the description of a last meal humanizes the criminals. However, she feels that this London restaurant has taken a step too far: actually serving and eating the meals becomes offensive. Perhaps the act of eating brings us too close to these criminals, or otherwise turns a startlingly morbid reality into a grotesque product of pop-culture. In any case, it's hard to cast off the romance of a last meal: the certainty of that final meal does seem to be a strange privilege. [The New Yorker]—Oliver Erteman, Digital Editorial Assistant

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Weekend Reading:

What we’re reading, cooking, and clicking this week.

A recent collaboration to celebrate summer's end between photographers, farmer, restaurant owners and chefs, resulted in a grand foraged feast. All ingredients were handpicked within 25 miles of Table on Ten in the Catskills, where the meal was held. From the looks of these images, there is no argument that chef John Poiarkoff of The Pines and chef Camille Becerra of Navy, may have produced one of the most ravishing nine course meals I've ever seen. I only wish I were at the table.

Sparked by a recent pop-up restaurant in London themed off of historical last meals—the final meals of death-row inmates—Hannah Goldfield examines the obsession with the question of one's last meal. In the case of death-row inmates, she proposes that the description of a last meal humanizes the criminals. However, she feels that this London restaurant has taken a step too far: actually serving and eating the meals becomes offensive. Perhaps the act of eating brings us too close to these criminals, or otherwise turns a startlingly morbid reality into a grotesque product of pop-culture. In any case, it's hard to cast off the romance of a last meal: the certainty of that final meal does seem to be a strange privilege. [The New Yorker]—Oliver Erteman, Digital Editorial Assistant

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