My meal would start with a bone-dry Gibson – served very cold, with no fewer than five cocktail onions. It'd have to be made with Beefeater or Tanqueray 10; only a proletarian, working men's gin would suit for that occasion.
I recently discovered Bobby's salt and vinegar twirls when I walked into a village shop that served lager, cigs and not much else, and decided to try a packet. Now I'm hooked, so I'd need a few of those with my Gibson, along with a few rock oysters – they're guaranteed to be plump. I could easily eat a dozen.
There are certain dishes that are perfect; usually they are made up of simple elements. I don't think I've ever had a dud plate of linguine vongole made with Palourde clams from the Rialto market in Venice, caught in the Bay of Biscay.
I'm very trusting, but I'd want to make it myself. I find that cooking has a great deal of therapeutic benefits.
I'm grounded in the real, physical and scientific so it would be of comfort to me to share my last meal with the likes of Isaac Newton, Christopher Marlowe and John Harrison, who solved the problem of measuring longitude while aboard a ship. Of course, my wife and children would be there too.
I'd choose a location that's familiar; there's a village in northern Kefalonia, Greece, called Assos, that's bustling in summer, but only has around two dozen residents in colder months. I'd like to set up a table at the Venetian fortress just outside the village, overlooking the bay on a bright, sunny winter's day.
When things are rationed they become more valuable. For that reason, I'd drink a single glass of Pieropan, La Rocca Soave Classico, either 2012 or 2013. After the linguine, I'd serve three English cheeses – a good Stilton, Cornish Yarg and Berkswell, and drink a glass of Claret, most likely a Chateaux Malescot Saint-Exupery Margaux.
As I don't believe in a spiritual world, I'd want to shift my state of mind to prepare for the end. Listening to the four interludes from Britten's opera Peter Grimes and the second movement from Ravel's piano concerto in G. There's something so mesmerising and comforting about those pieces.
Russell Norman is the owner of Polpo.
