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Food for the soul is a part of all religion, as ancient savages know when they roast a tiger's heart for their god, as Christians know when they part… - M. F. K. Fisher
" "Food for the soul is a part of all religion, as ancient savages know when they roast a tiger's heart for their god, as Christians know when they partake of Body and Blood as the mystical feast of .
That is why there can be an equal significance in a sumptuous banquet for five thousand heroes, with the king sitting on his iron throne and minstrels singing above the sound of gnawed bones and clinking cups, or in a piece of dry bread eaten alone by a man lifting his eyes unto the hills.
That is why, to my mind, there can be nothing irreverent or illogical about putting together in one collection of feasts such apparently disparate things as St. Luke's story of the and Lewis Carroll's tea-part for , the and 's gluttonous orgy in decadent Rome.
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About M. F. K. Fisher
(née Mary Frances Kennedy, published primarily as M. F. K. Fisher, but also as Mary Frances Parrish, Victoria Bern, and Victoria Berne; July 3, 1908 – June 22, 1992) was a prolific American author of books on food and cooking combined with autobiographical memoirs. She also wrote essays, short stories, screenplays, travelogues, and three novels. She translated ’s Physiologie du goût and contributed to , , and . From 1942 to 1944 she worked for and was a gagwriter for Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, and Dorothy Lamour.
Also Known As
Birth Name:
Mary Frances Kennedy
Alternative Names:
M.F.K. Fisher
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Mary Frances Kennedy Fisher
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Mary Frances Kennedy Fisher Parrish Friede
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Additional quotes by M. F. K. Fisher
We lived for almost three years in , which the s called without any quibble and with only half-hearted contradictions "the gastronomic capital of the world." ...
... We ate s of ten years old under their tight crusts of mildewed butter. We tied napkins under our chins and splashed in great odorous bowls of Écrevisses à la . We addled our palates with s hung so long they fell from their hooks, to be roasted then on cushions of toast softened with the paste of their rotted innards and fine brandy. In village kitchens we ate hot with and snippets of salt pork in it.
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