My house is run, essentially, by an adopted, fully clawed cat with a mean nature.

I'm away 250 days a year. It's a tough situation.

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

Without Montreal, Canada would be hopeless.

I always entertain the notion that I'm wrong, or that I'll have to revise my opinion. Most of the time that feels good; sometimes it really hurts and is embarrassing.

Don't touch my d**k, don't touch my knife.

Few things are more beautiful to me than a bunch of thuggish, heavily tattooed line cooks moving around each other like ballerinas on a busy Saturday night. Seeing two guys who'd just as soon cut each other's throats in their off hours moving in unison with grace and ease can be as uplifting as any chemical stimulant or organized religion.