I’ve Long Said That If I Were

The Secret Of Good Cooking Is, First, Having A Love Of It.

Too Many Simple Green Salads Suffer From A Lack Of Imagination.

I Believe That If Ever I Had To Practice Cannibalism, I Might Manage If There Were Enough Tarragon Around.

I Have Had, In My Time, Memorable Meals Of Scrambled Eggs With Fresh Truffles, Scrambled Eggs With Caviar And Other Glamorous Things, But To Me, There Are Few Things As Magnificent As Scrambled Eggs, Pure And Simple, Perfectly Cooked And Perfectly Seasoned.

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.