“To any who would suggest that there is no alternative to the work-centred society, I submit that it is a profoundly sad society that cannot envisage a future where a sense of social solidarity and purpose are achieved through anything other than commodity relations. [ch.eight]”
“How do you hurt someone who doesn’t care what you think of him, doesn’t care what you say to him, and doesn’t care if you attack him?”
“You are the salt of the earth. And you are here to season the world.”
“I find it wonderful how a microwave, a wet paper towel and 15 seconds can extend the life, taste and quality of pretty much any cake donut.”
“To reign is worth ambition though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.”
“The more they talked of escape, the harder it was to dowse the flame, for it shone like a gateway to a golden world. The Dutch Indies were famed as the most beautiful string of islands in the world, green hillocks scattered in calm blue seas, blessedly free of the head-hunters that plagued the Pacific. As for food, Jack had heard tell of luxurious feasts, of roast pig and yellow rice: the very words made their stomachs rumble.”
“The more I feared people the more I was liked, and the more I was liked the more I feared them.”
“Here’s the premise: you’re in a bunker in the post-apocalyptic world. (I’m assuming that, by the date of publication, this will still be a “premise.”) You’ve managed, almost magically, to bring with you the 10 movies, but only 10 movies, you’ll be able to watch for the rest of your days.”
“The food in his life was the one thing that remained consistently exciting- from the most expensive black truffle to the freshest apple pie at the bakery around the corner, the scent of cinnamon wafting through the pastry lattice.”
“In life, stay away from those who will “offer” to buy you food then go about to tell the world they fed you”
“Rachel reappeared with a wooden peel holding a free-form pizza heaped with vegetables, its edges blackened by the flame. Melody s mouth practically watered at the sight of it. The moules on Saturday had been amazing, but after the day she d had, pizza and wine and butterscotch bars- hopefully with good coffee- would feed her soul as much as her body. Her friend cut the pizza into diagonal strips with a dangerous-looking mezzaluna, and then it was a free-for-all to grab the crispiest slices. Melody closed her eyes to savor the perfectly tender vegetables on top of the crisp pizza crust and sighed with happiness. You did a garlic Parmesan cream sauce. I figured I was allowed to deviate from traditional primavera since it s pizza. It s good Parmesan. Local. Makes up for the fact it s not Italian.”
“If there is no food for a living being, I will destroy the whole world”
“We also ate well in the kitchen, and I found that I had inherited my father s palate and appreciation of good food. Our cuisine at home always been rather basic, even in the days when we had a cook, and I became fascinated with the process of creating such wonderful flavors. Show me how you made that parsley sauce, those meringues, that oyster stew, I d say to Mrs Robbins, the cook. And if she had a minute to spare, she would show me. After a while, seeing my willingness as well as my obvious aptitude for cooking, she suggested to Mrs Tilley that her old legs were not up to standing for hours any more and that she needed an assistant cook. And she requested me. Mrs Tilley agreed, but only if she didn t have to pay me more money and I should still be available to do my party piece whenever she entertained. And so I went to work in the kitchen. Mrs Robbins found me a willing pupil. After lugging coal scuttles up all those stairs, it felt like heaven to be standing at a table preparing food. We had a scullery maid who did all the most menial of jobs, like chopping the onions and peeling the potatoes, but I had to do the most basic of tasks- mashing the potatoes with lots of butter and cream until there wasn t a single lump, basting the roast so that the fat was evenly crisp. I didn t mind. I loved being amongst the rich aromas. I loved the look of a well-baked pie. The satisfaction when Mrs Robbins nodded with approval at something I had prepared. And of course I loved the taste of what I had created. Now when I went home to Daddy and Louisa, I could say, I roasted that pheasant. I made that apple tart. And it gave me a great rush of satisfaction to say the words. You ve a good feel of it, I ll say that for you, Mrs Robbins told me, and after a while she even sought my opinion. Does this casserole need a touch more salt, do you think? Or maybe some thyme? The part I loved the best was the baking. She showed me how to make pastry, meringues that were light as air, all sorts of delicate biscuits and rich cakes.”
“Your wealth is your well being.”
“He calls for food. Who will feed me? I, who have fed so many, am hungry. Bring me food. Let there be food. Oysters on a silver salver. He drinks them from their shells. Sweet skewers of pork with a peanut glaze. He tears them with his teeth. Filo parcels of feta and spinach. He breaks them with his hands. His prayer is answered. The feast surrounds him.”
“Alice chewed the cake thoughtfully. What had the little treats in Wonderland tasted like? Sweeter, she thought. Would they be too sweet now? Besides growing up and out, there were other changes in her. Given a choice between a fondant-covered petit four and a bit of fat from a juicy roast, she would choose the latter.”
“I had always believed that the very best food contains something elementally repugnant. That its innate grotesquerie is what makes it so perversely alluring. My own favorite foods tended toward a certain sludgy, muddy texture. And from the most expensive and genteel through to the indulgently crass, the appeal of slop abides: caviar, escargots, foie gras or hamburgers, kebabs, macaroni and cheese. Even vegetable soup forms a membrane. Apples begin rotting from the very first bite. No matter which end of the spectrum, there lies fundamentally and yet delectably disgusting, some squirmy, sinewy, oozing, greasy, sticky, glutinous, mushy, fatty, chewy, viscous thing that compels. The line between pleasure and revulsion can seem so very thin, if it even exists at all.”