My ultimate dream dinner would be Maine as heck, especially if a bottomless stomach was part of the fantasy. I’d order up lobster stew I had to eat with a fork, a side of alfredo smothered pasta, a Home Depot-sized bucket o’ steamers and, for a spot of greenery, fresh fiddleheads. Dessert would definitely be a luscious, velvety chocolate and peanut butter creation hiding under a Katahdin-shaped mound of whipped cream.
Pretty sure I couldn’t find (or manage to consume) that spread in one sitting! I doubt there are restaurants around serving it all up just as I imagined. Plus living so far from the sea and good groceries—-with a fiddlehead harvest as fleeting as spring itself—-means the only home-cooked part of the meal I could put my hands on at any given moment would be the Home Depot-sized bucket. And maybe the alfredo pasta if/when that IGA shelf stops looking like the spaghetti supply chain missed a big link trying to make it up the mountain. 
But would it be my best meal ever? Not if I couldn’t lean over and share succulent mouthfuls with someone equally appreciative, look beyond the table into the ambiance of nature, or indulge with absolute abandon.
So, fortunately, I can’t give one simple answer to this question. Best meal ever, for me, must be qualified—-modified according to place, time and companions. And probably has less to do with finding the perfect chef than the perfect setting in which to feed my soul while nourishing my body.
I can say that the best meal I’ve ever had on a boat was the lunch served aboard the Woodwind charter in Bonaire. The delicious concoction of Asian noodles mixed with pork, chicken, veggies and Caribbean spices followed by a warm brownie was as good as I remembered ten years ago, as good on last year’s Wednesday charter as it was on the Sunday charter before that. It was also the best meal I’ve ever had after the best snorkeling I’ve ever had with some of the best people in my family enjoying the best vacation together in recent years.
Then there was the best burger from the grasslands of Hawaii, the best freshly caught fish fry from Homer, Alaska, the best super fast food near the Millennium Force roller coaster at Cedar Point, and the best Olive Garden feed for fueling the general admission line at a U2 concert.
But maybe not. My mindfulness gurus caution against that sort of thinking, and I tend to agree. Once I declare “the best ever” I’ve no more room for exploration and indulgence as I sample life’s sweetness.