Day of the Dead

So you have "lived deep" and extracted all the sweetness out of life, and you have had your last meal.

But, what food and drink would you like people to remember you by? What wafting smell would have the power to conjure you up from the grave, to draw you back down through the portals of heaven, to tempt you back onto this lovely balls-up of a planet?
Were you the Queen of buttered, slightly crisp and salty asparagus? Were you the King of French Cognac? Were you the Polish Prince of English wild forest mushrooms? Were you enslaved to Arabica? Were you an advocate for English cheese? Did you murder for a drink? Were you an innocent victim of chocolate? And, did you see the world in a grain of rice and eternity in a glowing coal of truffle?

On All Hallows, on November 2, in an act meant to both evoke and invoke the dead, Mexicans put up altars and lay out the favourite food and drink of those that they loved, respected or just plain put up with. Traditionally, Mexicans are both comforted and comfortable in the company of their dead.
Why not try setting up a homemade British altar of your own; fumigate the demons of Halloween with a little Mexican magic.
Push two tables together and cover them with sheets of orange, blue, white or purple crepe and ribbons cut out into patterns of the same material. Decorate the surfaces with lots of Marigolds and then place photos of your dear ones on the table. Carefully lay out the food and drink they liked together with few of their possessions: those tortoiseshell glasses, the hand illustrated book of German aphorisms, the teddy bear, a handful of the garden.
Then, before you go to bed, scatter a trail of bright yellow petals right up to the window ledge. Leave the window slightly ajar. Light the candles on the altar. Think of your "muertito" and go to bed. If you are lucky they will come back briefly and accompany you once more.
In the morning have a nibble or a sip from the food and drink on the altar. You will find, as many Mexicans have repeatedly pointed out to me, that the food and drink have lost a little of their flavour. This is the positive proof, to them, that the essence of the food has been consumed.

When I die, on the altar next to my picture, I want a bowl of cold beetroot borsht with sour cream and a taco or two made with cuitlacoche and melted Oaxaca cheese. And don't forget the tequilla.
Discussing the subject at home prompted my 14-year-old daughter to tell us she would have a Galaxy chocolate bar, battered stuffed chillies with cheese and a glass of cold milk. What food and drink would you like people to remember you by?