Some children like to make castles out of their rice pudding, or faces with raisins for eyes. It is forbidden -- so sternly that, when they grow up, they take a horrid revenge by dying meringues pale blue or baking birthday cakes in the form of horseshoes or lyres or whatnot.

In France, cooking is a serious art form and a national sport.

The best way to execute French cooking is to get good and loaded and whack the hell out of a chicken.

In department stores, so much kitchen equipment is bought indiscriminately by people who just come in for men's underwear.

The measure of achievement is not winning awards. It's doing something that you appreciate, something you believe is worthwhile.

Food like love is a deeply emotional matter.

Cooking was taken with such seriousness in France that even ordinary chefs were proud of their profession. That's what appealed to me.