Hands Are Our Earliest Tools. Cooking Starts

In A House Without A Genuine Kitchen, One Of The Delights Of Growing Up Is Lost.

I've Long Said That If I Were About To Be Executed And Were Given A Choice Of My Last Meal, It Would Be Bacon And Eggs. There Are Few Sights That Appeal To Me More Than The Streaks Of Lean And Fat In A Good Side Of Bacon, Or The Lovely Round Of Pinkish Meat Framed In Delicate White Fat That Is Canadian Bacon. Nothing Is Quite As Intoxicating As The Smell Of Bacon Frying In The Morning, Save Perhaps The Smell Of Coffee Brewing.

Goodness, How Much There Is To Learn About Food!

I Don't Like Gourmet Cooking Or 'this' Cooking Or 'that' Cooking. I Like Good Cooking.

The Kitchen, Reasonably Enough, Was The Scene Of My First Gastronomic Adventure. I Was On All Fours. I Crawled Into The Vegetable Bin, Settled On A Giant Onion And Ate It, Skin And All. It Must Have Marked Me For Life, For I Have Never Ceased To Love The Hearty Flavor Of Raw Onions.