Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.
Don't eat anything your great-grandmother wouldn't recognize as food.
Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.
One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating.
We are indeed much more than what we eat, but what we eat can nevertheless help us to be much more than what we are.
The act of putting into your mouth what the earth has grown is perhaps your most direct interaction with the earth.
Health and cheerfulness naturally beget each other.
You are what what you eat eats.
Don't eat anything incapable of rotting.
The smell of good bread baking, like the sound of lightly flowing water, is indescribable in its evocation of innocence and delight... [Breadmaking is] one of those almost hypnotic businesses, like a dance from some ancient ceremony. It leaves you filled with one of the world's sweetest smells... there is no chiropractic treatment, no Yoga exercise, no hour of meditation in a music-throbbing chapel. that will leave you emptier of bad thoughts than this homely ceremony of making bread.
The shared meal elevates eating from a mechanical process of fueling the body to a ritual of family and community, from the mere animal biology to an act of culture.
Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you who you are.
Life is a combination of magic and pasta.
There is no chiropractic treatment, no Yoga exercise, no hour of meditation in a music-throbbing chapel, that will leave you emptier of bad thoughts than this homely ceremony of making bread.
I love your cooking, honey, but sometimes I need some real food.
Favour fresh, real food. You can be assured that you are offering your body anti-inflammatory nutrician.
If beef is your idea of 'real food for real people,' you'd better live real close to a real good hospital.
Now that's a concept that's always fascinated me: the real world. Only a very specific subset of people use the term, have you noticed? To me, it seems self-evident that everyone lives in the real world - we all breathe real oxygen, eat real food, the earth under our feet feels equally solid to all of us. But clearly these people have a far more tightly circumscribed definition of reality, one that I find deeply mysterious, and an almost pathologically intense need to bring others into line with that definition.
That anyone should need to write a book advising people to "eat food" could be taken as a measure of our alienation and confusion. Or we can choose to see it in a more positive light and count ourselves fortunate indeed that there is once again real food for us to eat.
When it becomes a revolutionary act to eat real food, we are in trouble.
or simply:
