Given the clientele, the restaurants on Capri might resemble those fancy Northern Italian places on the East Side of Manhattan where the captain has taken bilingual sneering lessons from the maitre d' at the French joint down the street and the waiter, whose father was born in Palermo, would deny under torture that tomato sauce has ever touched his lips.

Canadians are very well behaved, they don't throw their food.

I'm more disturbed when people expect me to be serious.

Although I grew up in Kansas City, ... I have always kept more or less au courant of Texas barbecue, like a sports fan who is almost monomaniacally obsessed with basketball but glances over at the N.H.L. standings now and then.

Getting a tattoo would probably make me cry.

When it comes to rapacious 19th century capitalism, my family's hands are clean.

Perhaps we've time to have a look at the Number Thirty-One bus queue before we turn in.