I am proud to be an American. Because an American can eat anything on the face of this earth as long as he has two pieces of bread.

People can be induced to swallow anything, provided it is sufficiently seasoned with praise.

I care not who hoes the lettuce of my country if I can eat the salad!

Everybody loves something, even if it's only tortillas.

If it has four legs and is not a chair, has wings and is not an aeroplane, or swims and is not a submarine, the Cantonese will eat it.

Almost anything is edible with a dab of French mustard on it.

We have pizzas, we have three-hundred hamburgers, many, many French fries, all of our favourite foods.
I want to see what's here when we leave, because I don't think it's going to be much.
If it's American, I like it. It's all American stuff.

I do not complain that you eat white men's foods. If you enjoy them, go ahead. Shall we just agree to have freedom to eat what one likes?

I want to ask America: What does crow taste like? Because y'all are eating it.

I believe that, as an American, I should be able to walk into any restaurant in America and order my hamburger – that most American of foods – medium fucking rare. I don’t believe my hamburger should have to come with a warning to cook it well done to kill off any potential contaminants or bacteria. … I believe I should be able to treat my hamburger like food, not like infectious fucking medical waste. I believe the words “meat” and "treated with ammonia" should never occur in the same paragraph – much less the same sentence.

We ate ice cubes because it felt like eating. We split a tube of toothpaste between us for dinner."

Americans are just beginning to regard food the way the French always have. Dinner is not what you do in the evening before something else. Dinner is the evening.

We got so much food in America we're allergic to food. Allergic to food! Hungry people ain't allergic to shit. You think anyone in Rwanda's got a fucking lactose intolerance?!

If I were on death row, my last meal would be from Steak ’n Shake. If I were to take President Obama and his family to dinner and the choice was up to me, it would be Steak ’n Shake. If the pope was to ask where he could get a good plate of spaghetti in America, I would reply, “Your Holiness, have you tried the Chili Mac or the Chili 3-Ways?” A downstate Illinois boy loves the Steak ’n Shake as a Puerto Rican loves rice and beans, an Egyptian loves falafel, a Brit loves bangers and mash, a Finn loves reindeer jerky, and a Canadian loves doughnuts. This doesn’t involve taste. It involves a deep-seated conviction that a food is right, has always been right, and always will be.