A desert island, with no hope of rescue?
Last meal. If it comes fully cooked and freshly prepared somehow, then I want my grandma's fried chicken one more time before I die, with a 20 gallon drum of powerade, and 10,000 mg of pure morphine for when the powerade runs out. Call it dessert for the desert.
As for a companion, any jaw dropping beautiful nymphomaniac would suffice.