Sometimes...we don't want to feel like a postmodern, postfeminist, overstretched woman but, rather, a domestic goddess, trailing nutmeggy fumes of baking pie in our languorous wake.

Cake baking has to be, however innocently, one of the great culinary scams: it implies effort, it implies domestic prowess; but believe me, it's easy.

But if you know that something has been really vicious, you don't read it, you don't let it into your head. What's damaging is when sentences go through your head and you burn with the injustice of it.

There is a kind of euphoria of grief, a degree of madness.

I am not sure about facelifts because I wouldn't want to be someone who just looks like she's had a facelift.

I don't like conflict.

I am not a chef. I am not even a trained or professional cook. My qualification is as an eater.