Salad Is Roughage And A French Idea.

I Am More Modest Now, But I Still Think That One Of The Pleasantest Of All Emotions Is To Know That I, I With My Brain And My Hands, Have Nourished My Beloved Few, That I Have Concocted A Stew Or A Story, A Rarity Or A Plain Dish, To Sustain Them Truly Against The Hungers Of The World.

In General, I Think, Human Beings Are Happiest At Table When They Are Very Young, Very Much In Love Or Very Alone.

There Is A Communication Of More Than Our Bodies When Bread Is Broken And Wine Is Drunk. And That Is My Answer When People Ask Me: Why Do You Write About Hunger, And Not Wars Or Love.

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.

It Must Not Simply Be Taken For Granted That A Given Set Of Ill-assorted People, For No Other Reason Than Because It Is Christmas, Will Be Joyful To Be Reunited And To Break Bread Together.