Good bread is the most fundamentally satisfying of all foods; and good bread with fresh butter, the greatest of feasts.
As for butter versus margarine, I trust cows more than chemists.
All sorrows are less with bread.
One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.
People who love to eat are always the best people.
If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.
It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato.
Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.
A gourmet who thinks of calories is like a tart who looks at her watch.
When I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and it is all one.
The greatest delight the fields and woods minister is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me and I to them.
What I love about cooking is that after a hard day, there is something comforting about the fact that if you melt butter and add flour and then hot stock, it will get thick!
There is nothing better on a cold wintry day than a properly made pot pie.
I want to go to culinary school because I love cooking. One day I'd love to open up a restaurant or cafe
Nobody seems more obsessed by diet than our antimaterialist, otherworldly, New Age, spiritual types. But if the material world is merely illusion, an honest guru should as content with Budweiser and bratwurst as with raw carrot juice, tofu, and seaweed slime.
Ive never gone to culinary school, but I do love cooking.
We plan, we toil, we suffer - in the hope of what? A camel-load of idol's eyes? The title deeds of Radio City? The empire of Asia? A trip to the moon? No, no, no, no. Simply to wake just in time to smell coffee and bacon and eggs.
There’s no sight on earth more appealing than that of a woman making dinner for someone she loves.
The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.
The kitchen, reasonably enough, was the scene of my first gastronomic adventure. I was on all fours. I crawled into the vegetable bin, settled on a giant onion and ate it, skin and all. It must have marked me for life, for I have never ceased to love the hearty flavor of raw onions.
I will not eat oysters. I want my food dead. Not sick. Not wounded. Dead.
I have made a lot of mistakes falling in love, and regretted most of them, but never the potatoes that went with them.
As the days grow short, some faces grow long. But not mine. Every autumn, when the wind turns cold and darkness comes early, I am suddenly happy. It's time to start making soup again.
I want my food dead. Not sick, not dying, dead.
Cooking is at once one of the simplest and most gratifying of the arts, but to cook well one must love and respect food.
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