Anne Lamott

Hers was a face anyone would naturally want in the kitchen, a combination of fresh peach and aged potato. You could see the weight and warmth and softness of her cheeks - that tender part a mother would cup in her hands - now grown so old. I love that she loved fats too much, and cheeses; I love that she would not let you eschew either. She was just about the last of the food people who did not get caught up in any modern madness, insisting instead on staying in the luxuriousness of taste and texture and communion.

Anne Lamott, M.F.K. Fisher A life in Letters