Grief is a bad moon, a sleeper wave. It's like having an inner combatant, a saboteur who, at the slightest change in the sunlight, or at the first notes of a jingle for a dog food commercial, will flick the memory switch, bringing tears to your eyes.
I tried being anorexic for four hours and then i was like, i need some bagels
It really was something, to see Ram Bahadur Bomjon, apparently living without food or water. Before I went on that trip I'd asked advice on it from a very wise person who I love and revere - basically trying to see if I was somehow disrespecting Buddhism by trying to write about it, and also looking for some grounding on what stance to take. . . and my friend said, "Well, why don't you just go and see?" And I hear that in my head all the time now: "Why don't you go and see?"
If God gives you a Quiznos, can I have a bite? No way. You have to pray for your own food.
We are always giving foreign names to very native things. If there is a thing that reeks of the glorious tradition of the old English tavern, it is toasted cheese. But for some wild reason we call it Welsh rarebit. I believe that what we call Irish stew might more properly be called English stew, and that it is not particularly familiar in Ireland.
There's been a growing effort to kick soda out of the schools. And governors as different as Arnold Schwarzenegger in California and Mike Huckabee in Arkansas have worked hard to get soda and junk food out of their state schools, which is good.
Appetite comes with eating.
At present, I myself do not know of any local witches or warlocks, but there are several people who seem to have an uncanny power over food.
For many a pasty have you robbed of blood, And many a Jack of Dover have you sold That has been heated twice and twice grown cold. From many a pilgrim have you had Christ's curse, For of your parsley they yet fare the worse, Which they have eaten with your stubble goose; For in your shop full many a fly is loose.
Onions can make even Heirs and Widows weep.
Watch a French housewife as she makes her way slowly along the loaded stalls. . . searching for the peak of ripeness and flavor. . . What you are seeing is a true artist at work, patiently assembling all the materials of her craft, just as the painter squeezes oil colors onto his palette ready to create a masterpiece.
Though I love the luxury of the Waldorf Towers, room service there doesn't do soul food.
I just love food, especially my mom's Bulgarian cooking. Taco Bell is my favorite fast food restaurant. I also love Italian food.
I love tiny, plastic realistic food magnets. I don't know why. They're hilarious.
Man seeks to change the foods available in nature to suit his tastes, thereby putting an end to the very essence of life contained in them.
You can't just eat good food. You've got to talk about it too. And you've got to talk about it to somebody who understands that kind of food.
Nothing rekindles my spirits, gives comfort to my heart and mind, more than a visit to Mississippi. . . and to be regaled as I often have been, with a platter of fried chicken, field peas, collard greens, fresh corn on the cob, sliced tomatoes with French dressing. . . and to top it all off with a wedge of freshly baked pecan pie.
When the wine goes in, strange things come out.
The onion and its satin wrappings is among the most beautiful of vegetables and is the only one that represents the essence of things. It can be said to have a soul.
I was always wondering why the first ten minutes of eating fast food is heavenly and then after those ten minutes you start feeling like s**t?