A Quote by Mario Batali

To eat the boiled head of a pig sliced like salami is very strange. It may seem cutting edge, but it's actually a lot older than any of the other traditional salami. — © Mario Batali
To eat the boiled head of a pig sliced like salami is very strange. It may seem cutting edge, but it's actually a lot older than any of the other traditional salami.
I don't take notes; I don't outline, I don't do anything like that. I just flail away at the goddamn thing. I'm a salami writer. I try to write good salami, but salami is salami. You can't sell it as caviar.
I'm a salami writer. I try to write good salami, but salami is salami.
As life's pleasures go, food is second only to sex. Except for salami and eggs. Now that's better than sex, but only if the salami is thickly sliced.
One of our neighbors is a salami distributor, and they pretty well - I mean, we used their salami to make a rocket engine out of. They just look at us and they're amused, they're fine with it.
I eat cheese and salami and a lot of fried chicken. I eat a big bag of oatmeal-raisin cookies every night and I don't gain weight. I still look OK as long as I'm dressed.
The best way to die is sit under a tree, eat lots of bologna and salami, drink a case of beer, then blow up.
There's almost nothing better than a baguette and a pound of salami.
It might seem strange to feast on Guinea pig, but Ecuadorians love to eat cuy. Personally, I think it's a phenomenal alternative to pork or chicken. High in protein, low in fat, cheap and easy to raise. Oh, and cuy tastes great, much like roast pig. You might call it a pet, but I prefer to call it dinner.
Baloney is just salami with an inferiority complex.
I can never resist the good stuff: salami, pepperoni, you name it. I love it all.
Get out the rye bread and mustard grandma, cause it's GRAND SALAMI TIME!
I think with a lifetime appointment to the Supreme Court, you can't play, you know, hide the salami, or whatever it's called.
I like to say that while antimatter may seem strange, it is strange in the sense that Belgians are strange. They are not really strange; it is just that one rarely meets them.
The journalist's job isn't to be someone's friend, or their psychologist, or anything other than what we actually are. And at the end of the day, that can definitely seem like such a strange, extractive relationship.
Do not make a stingy sandwich; pile the cold cuts high; so you should see salami coming through the rye.
In the middle of this it was good to have some moments in which whatever was left of you could sit in silence. When you could remember. When the evidence that had gathered could be sorted. And it was a difficulty if another person imagined these moments were their property. Your life got sliced from two sides like a supermarket salami until there was nothing left in the middle. You were the bits that had been given away right and left to others. Because they wanted the piece of you that belonged to them. Because they wanted more. Because they wanted passion. And you did not have it.
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