It seems like women are always in the kitchen around food and they're serving and they're giving and they're enjoying and it's part of the plentitude of life and the enrichment of life.

On a sticky August evening two weeks before her due date, Ashima Ganguli stands in the kitchen of a Central Square apartment, combining Rice Krispies and Planters peanuts and chopped red onion in bowl.

Try my all-you-can-eat vomit soup. Sadly, people don’t want seconds, because they don’t even want firsts. But it tastes great. I tasted it on the way down—and then again on the way up.

She glanced down at the contents of her plate. Just tell him what it is. Simple. Look at it and say what it is. "Sloppy Joe," she managed."Hmm," he said, sounding doubtful. "May he rest in peace.

Fish strips—where food meets getting naked. My love is also nourishing and nude, and if you want to see it, you’re going to have to get in line with the rest of the starving perverts.


Remember, too, that at a time when people are very concerned with their health and its relationship to what they eat, we have handed over the responsibility for our nourishment to faceless corporations.

If you see me sitting at a dining room table with a clean plate and bowl in front of me, you’ll know it’s because I’m a starving artist. I’m also thirsty, as my cup is also empty.

Love, like hefty leftover stew, could be eaten with a spoon—or with some homeless guy I just met. I would offer you some, but we haven’t met yet. And whose fault is that? Oh yeah—yours.

Cookery means…English thoroughness, French art, and Arabian hospitality; it means the knowledge of all fruits and herbs and balms and spices; it means carefulness, inventiveness, and watchfulness.

Simultaneously the whole party moved toward the water, super-ready from the long, forced inaction, passing from the heat to the cool with the gourmandise of a tingling curry eaten with chilled white wine.

If man be sensible and one fine morning, while he is lying in bed,counts at the tips of his fingers how many things in this life truly willgive him enjoyment, invariably he will find food is the first one.

Do I look like someone you know? Well you don’t know me, so why don’t you go bother my clone? And if you do see my clone, tell him I should have made an omelet out of him when I had the chance.

The truth is, most of the genuinely tragic episodes of lost food are things that are somewhat outside the reach of the home cook, even a home cook like me who has been known to overreach from time to time.

A guy I grew up with recently died. I attended his funeral, but only because I thought there’d be free food afterwards. I brought to-go boxes with me. You know, to remember him for as long as I could.

I still have my little red hardcover notebook—spine now held in place by packing tape, pages dotted with cooking stains—filled with her loving instructions for mandelbrot, nut cake, and strudel.