If time, so fleeting, must like humans die, let it be filled with good food and good talk, and then embalmed in the perfumes of conviviality.

For me, a plain baked potato is the most delicious one....It is soothing and enough.

since we must eat to live, we might as well do it with both grace and gusto.

But if I must be alone, I refuse to be alone as if it were something weak and distasteful, like convalescence.

People ask me: "Why do you write about food, and eating, and drinking? Why don't you write about the struggle for power and security, and about love, the way the others do?" . . . The easiest answer is to say that, like most other humans, I am hungry.

Salad is roughage and a French idea.

Sharing our meals should be a joyful and a trustful act, rather than the cursory fulfillment of our social obligations.