I Never Feel Lonely In The Kitchen.

I Admired The English Immensely For All That They Had Endured, And They Were Certainly Honorable, And Stopped Their Cars For Pedestrians, And Called You “sir” And “madam,” And So On. But After A Week There, I Began To Feel Wild. It Was Those Ruddy English Faces, So Held In By Duty, The Sense Of “what Is Done” And “what Is Not Done,” And Always Swigging Tea And Chirping, That Made Me Want To Scream Like A Hyena

Just Speak Very Loudly And Quickly, And State Your Position With Utter Conviction, As The French Do, And You'll Have A Marvelous Time!

Of Course I Made Many Boo-boos. At First This Broke My Heart, But Then I Came To Understand That Learning How To Fix One's Mistakes, Or Live With Them, Was An Important Part Of Becoming A Cook.

I'm A Beet Freak. I Put Them In The Pressure Cooker.

Was It A Sign Of Creeping Decrepitude?