Quotes About Food

Popcorn is American. Nobody but the Indians ever had popcorn, till after the Pilgrim Fathers came to America. On

The barrels of salted fish were in the pantry, and yellow cheeses were stacked on the pantry shelves. Then

There's always time to read. Don't trust a writer who doesn't read. It's like eating food prepared by a cook who doesn't eat.

Tell me what you ate when you were a child, and whether the memory cheers you up or not.

Culinary historians looking back at the first decades of the twenty-first century will be blessed with vast quantities of material to study, thanks to blogs and social media, but all that material will still reflect only the lives of a certain swathe of active and self-promoting food lovers.

But what struck me as I followed the paper trail through each life was that while extraordinary circumstances produce extraordinary women, food makes them recognizable.

No self-respecting gastronome was going to look back on the 1950s with anything except pity. •

Many dinners emerging from the scientific kitchen were entirely white…

Compounds like wedding cake, suet plum-puddings, and rich turtle soup, are masses of indigestible material, which should never find their way to any Christian table (Shapiro citing Mary Peabody Mann, Christianity in the Kitchen).

Like the food experts of the last century, today's enthusiasts are fully convinced they have rescued food from the barbarous prisons of the past.

Julia's attitude toward British food—that it was inedible, that it had little relevant history apart from being inedible, and that a more sensible population would simply take its meals in France—had been locked into place for a long time, and no respectable gourmand would have contradicted her.

The food could climb the social ladder but sometimes the cook was left behind.

Her favorite place to watch human behavior was a restaurant, for there she could sit quietly in the background while people interacted with food. Each glimpse of the intimate relationship between the person and the plate cried out to her. Cafeterias, tea shops, cafés, pubs, dining cars, a park at noon—anywhere people were eating was fertile ground. To be in the presence of food—appetizing, appalling, it hardly mattered—was to start creating.

Should I eat first or accuse the Master of the City of murder? Choices, choices. -Anita

Truth is, I love Corn Dog on a Stick and Mrs. Field's Cookies.

You enjoying your rabbit food?" I asked. "That was low, Anita," he said, and he stirred his salad with his fork, not really eating it. Maybe that was how you lost weight on salads; you just didn't want to eat them, so you didn't eat, and voilà, you lost weight.

I forked a waffle onto a paper plate and went to cut it, but it immediately collapsed into a soggy pile of dough.

The food of love isn't music. It's grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches.

Dinner alone is one of life's pleasures. Certainly cooking for oneself reveals man at his weirdest. People lie when you ask them what they eat when they are alone. A salad, they tell you. But when you persist, they confess to peanut butter and bacon sandwiches deep fried and eaten with hot sauce, or spaghetti with butter and grape jam.

In foreign countries I am drawn into grocery shops, supermarkets and kitchen supply houses. I explain this by reminding my friends that, as I was taught in my Introduction to Anthropology, it is not just the Great Works of mankind that make a culture. It is the daily things, like what people eat and how they serve it.

Cooking is like love. You don't have to be particularly beautiful or very glamorous, or even very exciting to fall in love. You just have to be interested in it. It's the same thing with food.

My grandmother used to say that there's something truly intimate about sharing food with the people you love. [Stacey] Intimate? Sharing food? People you love? Amber raises an eyebrow. Um, no offense, Stace, but it sounds like Gram was into food kink.

KATH PHARAOH'S WAY WITH EEL'S The young ones are the best, before the turn yellow. Put them in a pillowcase with a handful of salt and swish that around in a tub of water till the sliminess is gone. Fry them in bacon fat. They're soon done. If you can't get elvers, then get an old boy, eight or nine years old. After you've skinned him, cut him into two-inch pieces and bake him on a grid. That needs a good hot flame. Nice with piccalilli.

We're an Italian family, and food is as important to the holiday as a virgin giving birth to an illegitimate baby in a horse stall.