A Quote by Rick Stein

I always could cook. Mostly it was down to osmosis. I spent so much time in the kitchen with my mum as a kid. She was always talking to me about what she was doing. — © Rick Stein
I always could cook. Mostly it was down to osmosis. I spent so much time in the kitchen with my mum as a kid. She was always talking to me about what she was doing.
My mum, she's a really good cook, she was our school cook as well, so in primary school. She was always cooking and in the kitchen so I've always been interested in it through her.
How could I not talk about her? It's impossible not to mention my mum. She is, has been and will always be amazing - everything that she's done for me and that she still does. We are very close.
I'll be having lunch with my mum and she'll complain about the paparazzi outside. I tell her that she could have worn a beanie, but of course she never does. She loves it - it's how she chooses to connect with people. That's fine, I can respect that. But I'm the opposite. I always have been.
Every so often I would look at my women friends who were happily married and didn't cook, and I would always find myself wondering how they did it. Would anyone love me if I couldn't cook? I always thought cooking was part of the package: Step right up, it's Rachel Samstat, she's bright, she's funny and she can cook!
I have always gone to nature, since I was a kid. I was brought up in the woods, I did not have lots of friends, so I spent lot of time alone. My mother always loved to live in the forest; she loved gardens, birds and nature and taught me a deep respect for that. She taught me about growing food and vegetables and to take care of animals. They also have feelings. So nature was always something sacred for me, the place I can go, meditate and pray. It's like a church in the nature for me.
A lot of the time I had a nanny. But I never felt like I didn't come first. Mum always made time to be a mother. On weekends she would sit down next to me, hold my hand or sit me on her lap and make me talk about my week. She would continuously try to get to know me.
I've had to ban my mum from coming to see me play. She gets so nervous before any show. I've always got a few nerves but she's so much worse than me. You'd think she'd be able to handle that kind of situation. After all, she is a concert pianist.
We've all met a certain type of spiritual person. She's a wonderful person. She loves the Lord. She prays and reads the Bible all the time. But all she thinks about is herself. She's not a selfish person. But she's always at the center of everything she's doing.
I'm terrible in the kitchen. I was mostly raised by my mother and she could cook, so I never perfected that skill. If I had to count on my own cooking to survive, I'd probably be thinner.
My mum will always come and see my shows if she can, and if she can't, she'll text or email just before wishing me a great show and telling me how much she loves me. She still gives tonnes of positive reinforcement and love. It's really remarkable what that does for a child, and it's really remarkable what that does for me as an adult.
My grandmother was the greatest cook in the world. She could just go in there, the whole kitchen would look like a tornado hit it and then she'd come out with the best food. Then she'd sit at the table and she wouldn't eat!
Mom spent the time that she was supposed to be a kid actully raising children, her younger brother and younger sister. She was tough as nails and did not suffer fools at all. And the truth was she could not afford to. She spoke the truth, bluntly, directly, and without much varnish. I am her son.
It wasnt until I was a sophomore in high school that I asked Mama if I could come into the kitchen and have her teach me how to cook something. Well, I wasnt in there five minutes before she said, OK, honey, you have to go now. I made her so nervous she was about ready to throw up. So I really didnt have an interest in being in the kitchen until after I was married, when I was 18. It didnt take me long to realize that Mama was not going to show up at my house every day and cook.
I was one of those people raised by a woman who was what I call a prisoner of war. She was captured, she didn't want to be there, she was unhappy, she was banging away in the kitchen, the way that a prisoner would bang on her jail cell, you know, really unhappy. She had to cook for nine people with really little money, so she really just got burned out. So I didn't know that you could actually cook and it would be calming, pleasurable.
Gwynn, she was always talking about wanting to be drunk and honestly I did want to encourage that, I wanted to go to a bar with her and let all the stuff sobriety pushed down be released so I could catch it in my palms and finally kiss her. She was just so sad. Melancholy was a fleshy wave permanently cresting on her face, she had to speak through it when she talked.
My mum was a fixed point in my universe who was never going to grow old or die; she was always going to be there. And when she got sick, I was on the road all the time, I wasn't at home much, there was a lot of pressure. It was an awful time, and when she died, it was like your world falls apart.
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