With enough butter, anything is good

It's simply a very romantic place. Just one look at any of those streets, and you couldn't be anywhere else - it's so beautiful, and there's that location, and the sense of the free spirit. Who couldn't become ravenous in such a place?

Cooking is one failure after another, and that's how you finally learn.

The tomato hides its griefs. Internal damage is hard to spot.

I admired the English immensely for all that they had endured, and they were certainly honorable, and stopped their cars for pedestrians, and called you “sir” and “madam,” and so on. But after a week there, I began to feel wild. It was those ruddy English faces, so held in by duty, the sense of “what is done” and “what is not done,” and always swigging tea and chirping, that made me want to scream like a hyena

Cooking well doesn't mean cooking fancy.

But I was a pure romantic, and only operating with half my burners turned on.