Quotes About Sensory

Food is all about balance; it is all about taste.

If you see how a plant grows and you taste it in situ you have a perfect example of how it should taste on the plate.

We have developed a culture in which we eat with our taste buds, not our brains.

Things taste less salty when they're cool.

I was once married to a woman who could eat anything and tell you what was in it: the most complicated recipes. Her memory of taste - now that's what I call memory!

The thing about all my food is that everything is a remembered flavor. Maybe it's something I had as a child or maybe it's something I had in Milan, but I want it to taste better than you ever thought.

I actually get a metallic taste in my mouth when I think about electric music.

I will pursue my passion of cooking every day until my hands fall off and I lose all sense of smell and taste.

With food, you're the artist; you put the colour in it, you present it to the table and it has the ability to knock out the senses. It can look fabulous, be beautifully presented and smell great and taste good as well.

Enantiomers often smell and taste differently.

As you eat more healthily, your palate changes - it's amazing. Your taste buds constantly adapt: from minute to minute, in fact. If you drank orange juice right now, it would taste sweet. But if you first ate some sweets then drank the same juice, it could taste unpleasantly bitter.

I've always felt that poetry was particularly erotic, more than prose was... I say that you read poems not with your eyes and not with your ears, but with your mouth. You taste it.

I like reality. It tastes like bread.

The power of 'Madame Bovary' stems from Flaubert's determination to render each object of his scrutiny exactly as it looks, or sounds or smells or feels or tastes.

Everyone has a different impression of what they are eating; not everyone tastes the same things, and definitely, not everyone has the same food memories.

By the time a meal I'm preparing rolls around, I'm usually so full from tasting that I'm not hungry any more.

I know people who will look at the label on some ham, and if it's a day over they'll throw the whole packet out instead of opening it up and tasting and smelling it.

Tasting food, thinking about it, talking about it, and deciding whether it can be better is the crux of my job - and my life. So when I discovered a tasting spoon that felt better in my hand, a touch softer against my bottom lip, and that stood a little taller on my counter, there was no going back.

She can tell if her cornbread is done, and all the rest, by their aromas alone—that, or the angels mumble it straight into her ear. It's not the clock that tells you when it's done; the food does.

I had a lot of those memories clicking before me like projector slides in the dark. Lots of pictures, smells and sounds flashing in and out.

I remember a time when smoke filled the house. Not coughing smoke but smoke from a woman's smooth-voiced singing, with piano, bass, and drums. All together these sounds made smoke. Uncle Darnell would say, "You can't remember that. You were two. Three, maybe." But I do. I still see, hear, and feel bits and flashes. The sounds of musical smoke.

office by now. It still didn't take long to find him, though. You could only go so far when you were nothing but a torso and arms. He'd pulled his upper half into a patch of blackness, but I could still smell that

L'oeil superficiel, l'oreille profonde et inventive. Le sifflement d'une locomotive imprime en nous la vision de toute une gare.

Un cri, un bruit. Leur résonance nous fait deviner une maison, une forêt, une plaine, une montagne. Leur rebond nous indique des distances.