Two passages to share.
On cookbooks: "I would study their notation, their confident sorcery, their useful busyness. They were the opposite of poetry, except if, like me you seldom cooked, and then they were the same."
They are still the same.
And then there's this, with which I absolutely don't agree, but also do:
"A baby destroyed a life and thereby became the very best thing in it. Though to sit gloriously and triumphantly in ruins may not be such a big trick."
The novel is actually very sad and soft-hearted about children, despite flinty and sometimes discordantly flip observations.
We're having a taco party tonight that includes only people who are not related to us by blood. Do you know how rare this is? Rick Bayless calls a taco party a taquisa, which is a swell word.
I just wish Mexican desserts were more enticing.