Until I Discovered Cooking, I Was Never

In The 1960s, You Could Eat Anything You Wanted, And Of Course, People Were Smoking Cigarettes And All Kinds Of Things, And There Was No Talk About Fat And Anything Like That, And Butter And Cream Were Rife. Those Were Lovely Days For Gastronomy, I Must Say.

I Was A Republican Until I Got To New York And Had To Live On $18 A Week. It Was Then That I Became A Democrat.

Too Much Trouble," "too Expensive," Or "who Will Know The Difference" Are Death Knells For Good Food.

I Had My First French Meal And I Never Got Over It. It Was Just Marvelous. We Had Oysters And A Lovely Dry White Wine. And Then We Had One Of Those Lovely Scalloped Dishes And The Lovely, Creamery Buttery Sauce. Then We Had A Roast Duck And I Don't Know What Else.

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