On second thoughts, No, come with me to heaven. There is hardly a passionate discussion on food in which the question of one’s last meal doesn’t crop up.

Take that as your last meal before you journey to the ‘never never’, but such a morbid notion is never directly mentioned in case it puts a damper on a subject of enjoyment.

In most cases the answer takes a long time to come out because there’s generally so much to choose from. So it might be easier to add a qualifier, such as ‘….depending on which country you are’, or ‘am I allowed several courses?’

That immediately gives me more choices so that if I was in Singapore I might probably crave for a spicy frog’s legs with congee and if I was in India I’d settle for no less that a black dhal curry slow-cooked with butter.

But since as I write this I happen to be in home sweet home Seychelles, then it is without question “kari koko bred mouroum ek kordonnyen sale”, then straight off to fetch my key from St. Peter.

So much so that to illustrate my last meal I got my seasoned friend Edith Hunzinger all the way from Germany to come to Mahe and spend part of her morning to pluck the leaves while I grated the coconut for the coconut milk and proceeded to photograph and finally to eating the dish.

Now depending on which stage of your life you’re at, plucking the leaves can be a tricky affair. As a child it was a daunting and harassing task, for my grandmother with whom I lived was never satisfied that I had removed enough of the little sticks that hold the little leaves to the main leaf that is then attached to the main stalk of the plant.

As an adult I find it therapeutic, something to relax you when you don’t want to think of the outstanding bills, and I even think it beats little sand boxes with little wooden rakes that some people offer to wearisome heads of corporations to help them brainstorm by themselves at their desks.

“Bred Mouroum” is a Seychellois creole linguistic twist of “Brede mouroungue” in French and what is otherwise known as “Murunga” or “Moringa” in places like southern India and Sri Lanka, where it is also known as “the drumstick tree” or “horseradish tree”.

But if you must know the latin names of everything that runs past your mouth, just ask for “Moringa pterygosperma”.

Now here’s some figures that will make you drop your bowl of cereals: gram for gram, Moringa leaves contain 7 times the vitamin C in oranges; 4 times the calcium in milk; 4 times the vitamin A in carrots; 2 times the protein in milk and 3 times the potassium in bananas, not to mention a high iron content.

Moreover, the leaves of this humble tree (Moringa Oleifera) that could easily pass for a useless shrub to the unfamiliar eye, have been used in Indian Ayurvedic medecine to treat as many as 300 ailments, from diabetes to high blood pressure, from glandular swellings to dysentery.

And, wait for it, scientific research has shown that the seeds of the Moringa plant can be used in water purification, thus opening up possibilities of making water in developing countries safer for drinking and cooking.

But putting my departing dish together turns out not to be an easy proposition and it involves the crossing of oceans, but what a labour of love it turns out to be.

So, for the ““karikokobredmouroumekkordonnyensale”, a ma facon:

PRE-PREPARATIONS: First, call my trusted taxi-driver friend Ahmed from Praslin Island to secure me some of the best salted ‘cordonnier’ and send it via a friend to Mahe. I’m fortunate that Ahmed happens to be coming down from Praslin to Mahe and proceed to Singapore via Dubai to replenish his larder and spruce up his car engine. Ahmed delivers personally as promised for otherwise it might have ended up in someone else’s kitchen. Second, beg Edith to come down from Cerf Island to pluck the moringa leaves since it’s my maid’s day off and I’ve just chopped off my left thumb while chopping Parsley, but that’s another story.

INGREDIENTS (for two people – assuming that you really must share your last meal with someone else):

(i)     2 salted cordonnier

(ii)    2 large dehusked coconuts (if you buy if from the shop, shake it for it’s better when the coconut water is still inside, not to be confused with coconut milk which is what you will get from adding warm or hot water to the grated coconut and squeezing the life out of it)

(iii)   A bunch of murunga leaves, say two large handfuls

(iv)  1 level spoonful dark curry powder (iv) two level spoonfuls turmeric powder

(v)   3 cloves garlic and half a thumb of ginger

(vi)  3 fresh cinnamon leaves, crushed slightly in your hand to release the essence better

(vii) one large onion, sliced (although some people will tell you not to put onion in a coconut milk dish as it waters down the milk

(viii)                  pinches of crushes cloves and cumin, which you have bought whole, roasted slightly and crushed, or if that is not available, in powder form

(ix)  sprig of curry leaves

(x)   last but by no means least, one or two red “Piman Kabri” (Creole for Goat Chilli), also known in Reunion Island as “piman cerise”, which rather resembles a squashed ‘Scotch Bonnet’ which belongs to the variery ‘Jamaican Hot’.

(xi)  Little salt and pepper to taste (remember the fish is already a little salty)

PREPARATIONS:

(i)   Discard the fish head and central vertebrae, then soak the salted fish for a few hours in cold or warm water (you can always use the discarded parts to flavour a fish Congee). Break the salted into this strips, of about 6-8cm

(ii) Make two separate presses from the grated coconut, the first using less water to get a thicker milk, and the second press for a more watery milk

(iii)                 Crush the garlic and the ginger separately

(iv)                  Cut the two chillies into small chunks

COOKING: Heat a spoonful of sunflower oil in wok or pan. Add onions and fry till translucent. Add garlic, stir. Add the strips of fish and fry for a few minutes, stir lovingly.

Drop in the curry leaves, stir for a few minutes so they release their essence. Add the curry powder, then the turmeric, stir. Add the Murunga leaves, stir even more lovingly. Add the ginger, and the cumin, cloves, and even a dash of soya sauce if desired, stir gentle.

Add the more watery coconut milk, to cover all the ingredients, then bury the cinnamon leaves beneath the ingredients, add the chopped chillies, cover the wok and let cook for a few minutes until the liquid is reduced. Stir, and add the thicker coconut milk and simmer with the wok top off until desired thickness of the sauce.

Meanwhile the rice cooker has switched itself to stand-by mode. Serve with hot steamed rice and a little say Green Mango salad or a Grated Green Papaya Salad or something sour. And if you want to be heavier as they serenade you to the pearly gates, you can always add a piece of boiled cassava, manioc, on the side.

Remove shirt (as you will perspire copiously), loosen belt (you know what I mean) and sit like a king at the table, and oh, don’t forget to say grace, to thank the Lord for the humble Moringa leaf.