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It's #128 on Amazon, so I'm guessing this book will appear under many tinsel-frocked Christmas trees — My Last Supper: 50 Great Chefs and Their Final Meals, by Melanie Dunea — a thick, lush photo, interview, recipe volume that's been described as Annie Liebowitz meets Heat.

The conceit here is that 50 chefs, ranging from Jaques Pépin to Gary Danko to Nobu himself, were asked to imagine they would die the following morning and instructed to plot out their final fantasy meal.

Here's a portion of the publisher's description:

Chefs have been playing the “My Last Supper” game among themselves for decades, if not centuries, but it had always been kept within the profession until now. Melanie Dunea came up with the ingenious idea to ask fifty of the world’s famous chefs to let her in on this insider’s game and tell her what their final meals would be. My Last Supper showcases their fascinating answers alongside stunning Vanity Fair–style portraits. Their responses are surprising, refreshing, and as distinct from each other as the chefs themselves. The portraits — gorgeous, intimate, and playful — are informed by their answers and reveal the passions and personalities of the most respected names in the business. Lastly, one recipe from each landmark meal is included in the back of the book. With My Last Supper, Dunea found a way into the typically harried, hidden minds of the people who have turned preparing food into an art. Who wouldn’t want to know where Alain Ducasse would like his supper to be? And who would prepare Daniel Boulud’s final meal? What would Anthony Bourdain’s guest list look like? As the clock ticked, what album would Gordon Ramsay be listening to? And just what would Mario Batali eat for the last time?

Curious, I looked up the menu for the actual last supper -- which was, of course, a Passover seder meal. No one knows for sure, but it probably included unleavened bread, lamb with bitter herbs, saltwater, and wine. This was a supper at which the shared cup symbolized a "new and eternal covenant," an era in which everyone would be redeemed, heart, mind, and soul.

Now, this sounds far loftier to me than the truffles, foie gras, blowfish, and (believe it or not) hotdogs the celebrity chefs of Dunea's book listed among their desires. But in the absence of bread and wine consecrated by a prophet, I think I'd have to go with either the Salade Chinoise from Vincent A Restaurant followed by Alex Roberts' roasted duck with Brussels sprouts, or carryout from Pizza Lucé with a really nice Côtes du Rhône.

Anyone else care to contribute a recommendation for last-day-of-life dining in the Twin Cities metro?