No yoga exercise, no meditation in a chapel filled with music will rid you of your blues better than the humble task of making your own bread.

At present, I myself do not know of any local witches or warlocks, but there are several people who seem to have an uncanny power over food.

gastronomy is and always has been connected with its sister art of love.

It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others. So it happens that when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and the hunger for it… and then the warmth and richness and fine reality of hunger satisfied… and it is all one.

In America we eat, collectively, with a glum urge for food to fill us. We are ignorant of flavour. We are as a nation taste-blind.

old age is more bearable if it can be helped by an early acceptance of being loved and of loving.

It must not simply be taken for granted that a given set of ill-assorted people, for no other reason than because it is Christmas, will be joyful to be reunited and to break bread together.