A Quote by Craig Claiborne

There is nothing better on a cold wintry day than a properly made pot pie. — © Craig Claiborne
There is nothing better on a cold wintry day than a properly made pot pie.
Fighting a cold, but I'm powering through. As they say, there's nothing better for a cold than doing interviews all day.
One cold wintry day in London, I was dreaming about salad nicoise—one of my favorites.
My father – who I know is up there right now, with a big pot of gumbo, he’s got a lemon meringue pie, he’s probably in his underwear, and he’s got a cold can of Miller Lite – and he’s dancing.
A cherry pie is . . . ephemeral. From the moment it emerges from the oven it begins a steep decline: from too hot to edible to cold to stale to mouldy, and finally to a post-pie state where only history can tell you that it was once considered food. The pie is a parable of human life.
Nothing ever tasted better than a cold beer on a beautiful afternoon with nothing to look forward to than more of the same.
Nothing is more dreadful than a cold, unimpassioned indulgence. And love infallibly becomes cold and unimpassioned when it is too lightly made.
Pot is a better drug than alcohol. I'll prove it to you. You're at a ball game or a concert, and someone's really violent and agressive and obnoxious, are they drunk or are they smoking pot?
There's this big pie in show business, and you physically can't eat the whole pie. If you give everybody a slice of pie, you will still have more than enough. The real trick is not to try to get the whole pie, but to keep the biggest slice.
There's nothing better than a cold beer.
Steam was till the other day the devil which we dreaded. Every pot made by any human potter or brazier had a hole in its cover, to let off the enemy, lest he should lift pot and roof and carry the house away.
Never say 'no' to pie. No matter what, wherever you are, diet-wise or whatever, you know what? You can always have a small piece of pie, and I like pie. I don't know anybody who doesn't like pie. If somebody doesn't like pie, I don't trust them. I'll bet you Vladimir Putin doesn't like pie.
Take the case of the infinite ocean. There is no limit to its water. Suppose a pot is immersed in it: there is water both inside and outside the pot. The jnani sees that both inside and outside there is nothing but Paramatman. Then what is this pot? It is 'I-consciousness'. Because of the pot the water appears to be divided into two parts; because of the pot you seem to perceive an inside and an outside. One feels that way as long as this pot of 'I' exists. When the 'I' disappears, what is remains. That cannot be described in words.
How many women have the courage to start properly with a cold, cold bath early in the morning? I jump in, throw the water, cold as ice, and after the first plunge I am happy.
When you have that deep kind of hunger that is part longing, what's better to eat than the best apple pie? Or the best potato salad and guacamole? Or the best deviled eggs and crab cakes and white chocolate raspberry pie?
At last the anchor was up, the sails were set, and off we glided. It was a sharp, cold Christmas; and as the short northern day merged into night, we found ourselves almost broad upon the wintry ocean, whose freezing spray cased us in ice, as in polished armor.
I love pie. Definitely apple pie, but sweet potato pie - really any pie.
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