“Will you stay to dinner?" Adam asked."I will not be responsible for the murder of more chickens," said Samuel."Lee's got a pot roast.""Well, in that case--”

“America, it has been observed, is not really a melting pot. It is actually a huge potluck dinner, in which platters of roasted chicken beckon beside casseroles of pasta, mounds of tortillas, stew pots of gumbo, and skillets filled with pilafs of every imaginable color.”

“At one point, as Samuel urges Adam to raise his boys well regardless of the blood that might be in them, Adam tells him, "You can't make a race horse of a pig." Samuel replies, "No, but you can make a very fast pig.”

“I was not so comfortable with my new authority that I could say 'We eat the chicken now!' but the magus had seen that I was considering it..."My purse is full enough," said the magus, "to keep you supplied with roast chickens.""So, so, so," I said. "We know who the power behind the throne is," and the magus laughed."You eat more than Gen did after prison," he said."I have more sympathy with him all the time. Are you going to finish that drumstick?" I asked."I am. Stop staring at it.”

“The last time I had PMS a roast chicken popped out of the oven and danced the Macarena.Krebs had walked in just as the chicken started dancing. By then he was pretty much used to anything and only asked if the chicken shouldn’t be doing the Chicken Dance instead.”

“She gave Samuel a stern look. "Now, I don't know what's going on between you and my daughter and Adam Hauptman—”“Neither do we,” I muttered.Samuel grinned. “We have it pretty well worked out as far as the sex goes—Adam gets it—someday—and I don’t. But the rest is still up for negotiation.”“Samuel Cornick,” I sputtered in disbelief. “That is my mother.”