“Remembering the careful way the cooks she'd met chose their ingredients--- the snails at L'Ami Louis, Taeb's saffron, Baldwin's asparagus--- Stella thought Django was more like a magician, conjuring dishes out of thin air. By the time George nudged Stella… — Ruth Reichl Copy Share Image
...in the end you are the only one who can make yourself happy. More important, ...it is never too late to find out how… — Ruth Reichl Copy Share Image
When a person has lived generously and fought fiercely, she deserves more than sadness at the end. — Ruth Reichl Copy Share Image
“but when I told her they didn’t cost one penny and were very nutritious (I made that part up, but I’m sure it must… — Ruth Reichl Copy Share Image
“He was like a jazz musician, joyfully improvising, imagining tastes that ordinary people could not. He pulled ingredients apart and reconstructed them in endlessly surprising ways: clear little cubes that tasted of just-picked tomatoes still warm from the sun, or cheese puffs that floated into your mouth and simply vanished, leaving a trail of flavor in their wake. One day… — Ruth Reichl Copy Share
“Every restaurant is a theater, and the truly great ones allow us to indulge in the fantasy that we are rich and powerful. When restaurants hold up their end of the bargain, they give us the illusion of being surrounded by servants intent on ensuring our happiness and offering extraordinary food. But even modest restaurants offer the opportunity to become… — Ruth Reichl Copy Share
“She took a sip of wine and held it in her mouth, straining to identify the flavors. Cherry, she thought. Licorice. Thorns. She imagined a forest in late autumn, damp leaves on the ground, a blaze of color. She took another sip. The man--- he must be Robert--- set a dish in front of her and she looked down, dismayed.… — Ruth Reichl Copy Share
“She's always sniffing the bottles in the spice cabinet." I didn't know she'd even noticed. At first it was just curiosity; why did fennel and cumin, identical twins, have such opposing personalities? I had crushed the seeds beneath my fingertips, where the scents lingered for hours. Another day I'd opened a bottle of nutmeg, startled when the little spheres came… — Ruth Reichl Copy Share
Plain fresh bread, its crust shatteringly crisp. Sweet cold butter. There is magic in the way they come together in your mouth to make… — Ruth Reichl Copy Share Image
“Tommy and I put on a radio play to entertain everyone while they unpacked their cookies. It was about a girl who saves up money for a prom dress, but at the last minute she says, "It's only clothes," and buys war bonds instead. The play was a big success, and my whole school pledged to buy war bonds, which… — Ruth Reichl Copy Share
“I remember the pissaladière. We stood there watching them cook and eating that soft, oily bread. Back then I was so poor I was living on bread and cheese, and the flavor of olives and anchovies went straight through me." He stopped, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, as if he was summoning the words from the… — Ruth Reichl Copy Share
“The meal began with pickled squid, oyster shooters, marinated anchovies, and scungilli salad. Then Rosalie set an enormous bowl of pasta con le vongole in front of Sal, who ladled it out, talking the entire time. The pasta was followed by huge platters of scampi, which we passed around. It was almost eleven when Rosalie set three enormous stuffed turbots… — Ruth Reichl Copy Share
“...I was not prepared for the feel of the noodles in my mouth, or the purity of the taste. I had been in Japan… — Ruth Reichl Copy Share Image
