Quotes About Hospitality

I'm actually a very shy person, which is why I always chose to be in the kitchen. You can make people happy and entertain them, without really being there. You can make a very short appearance and then say, 'I've got something on the stove, gotta go!'

My nanna was an extraordinary lady, and a good old-fashioned cook. She'd just be pottering around, cooking dinner for 25 people on a wood-fired stove without a problem.

I have the version of me where I'm interviewing someone, where I definitely am the straight man, and I like to show a lot of respect to my guest and let them take the reins. I don't like to compete with my guests. I don't like to be funnier than my guests or get into a 'Who's wackier?' sort of thing.

I'll be in, like, Starbucks or something and I'll say my order and someone will snap their head around and go, 'Whaat, Alaska?! Hieeee!' I find it nice because I can be alone in a strange city where I don't know where I am, and then if a fan runs into me I feel like I am among friends and family.

Why do guests always end up in the kitchen at parties? Is it a social phenomenon? Some strange gravitational pull? I don't know, but one thing is for sure: If your friends are going to congregate in your kitchen, you'd better make it as nice as possible.

I've never met a stranger.

Some of the most lasting contacts and friendships that I have developed began by just grabbing a drink or breaking bread with a stranger at an industry event.

We must make every effort to extend a hand to the stranger, and continue to fight to make sure we don't give up on our American values.

Even for southerners, Arkansans are amazingly friendly and extend hospitality to all strangers with astonishing openness. You couldn't find a pretension in that state if you hunted from Jonesboro to El Dorado.

I'm quite good, though I say it myself, at making strangers feel at ease.

But they who give straight judgements to strangers and to those of the land and do not transgress what is just, for them the city flourishes and its people prosper.

A city like London is sociable in a sense that there are people gathering in bars and restaurants, concerts and lectures. Yet you can partake of all these experiences and never say hello to anyone new. And one of the things that all religions do is take groups of strangers into a space and say it is OK to talk to each other.

One of the things that I miss about Canada is that even the strangers, you have an immediate rapport, there's just an understanding that we're all good people, let's be nice to each other. And Kiwis have that. I find the Kiwis have that.

There's nothing more human than selling food to strangers, you know?

I know Australians are no strangers to pubs, but in the U.K., the pub is a real meeting place because the houses can be quite small, so the pub is an extension of the living space.

I love talking, even to strangers.

All asylum seekers at our border should remind us that we are a nation of immigrants and that we were once strangers at the border.

We have always been told not to open the door to strangers, especially because of the terrible things that could happen these days. I never have, unless they are expected and are friends or family.

Honestly—and maybe some of you can relate to this—I just can't stand the pressure of being responsible for hosting a memorable (and not in a bad way) evening. Martha Stewart, bless her heart, intimidates me. That level of entertaining is so over my head: What do you mean, you didn't dig up your own potatoes for this dish? You didn't make the doilies? The plates didn't just come out of a kiln? I love Martha, but it gets ridiculous.

To be a good houseguest, you should be as independent as possible. You should buy groceries or take your hosts out for dinner. Pick up after yourself. Pretend to have a good time even if you're not. Say, 'I'd like to make a dinner reservation tonight. What's your favorite restaurant?' Try not to break anything. Be quiet.

He was glad to see the Member of Parliament, Mr. Foot, though...

Murder had come back to The Hatteras West Inn, and it was a most unwelcome guest.

I've even been known to go to bed while my guests are still partying.

After we ate our heaping slice of humble pie, we asked the missus if she could at least serve it up a la mode next time.