For a moment, or a second, the pinched expressions of the cynical, world-weary, throat-cutting, miserable bastards we've all had to become disappears, when we're confronted with something as simple as a plate of food.

I wish I could play bass like Larry Graham or Bootsy Collins. My God, I'd give up just about everything else for that.

They're professionals at this in Russia, so no matter how many Jell-O shots or Jager shooters you might have downed at college mixers, no matter how good a drinker you might think you are, don't forget that the Russians - any Russian - can drink you under the table.

Luck is not a business model.

When I cook, I generally stick with what I know, what I'm comfortable with, and what I feel I've paid my dues learning, and am good at.

I'm excited by any food that's prepared by someone who's proud of what they're doing, who puts a personal imprint on food.

That without experimentation, a willingness to ask questions and try new things, we shall surely become static, repetitive, moribund.