You can never have too much, butter.

Doors are going to open-doors you can't even imagine exist.

The road to hell is paved with leeks and potatoes

Two years ago, I was a twenty-nine year old secretary. Now I am a thirty-one year old writer. I get paid very well to sit around in my pajamas and type on my ridiculously fancy iMac, unless I'd rather take a nap. Feel free to hate me -- I certainly would.

Cooking saved my life! Sure, there were some miserable moments, but that was sort of the point, to find something challenging and consuming enough to take a place in the center of my life into which was creeping a horrible feeling of stasis and the doom of mediocrity.

There are times with your friends when you just have to put their whole mess out of your mind for a while.

But hard bitten cynicism leaves one feeling peevish, and too much of it can do lasting damage to your heart.