“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!”

“Some June, for instance, when the rigors of the academic year are over, I would like to invite the women's studies scholars I know to a banquet where we would cook and serve things like Emily Dickinson's bread and Elizabeth Cady Stanton's pudding (the kind she was always asking Susan B. Anthony to cook for her so that she had time to write a speech).”

“How did you learn to cock so well?” I sputtered, “I mean cook!”She rolled her eyes and shook her head. I gave her a grin and a wink. “You do both so well, baby, my cock and the cooking part.-Ethan”

“please don't cook me, kind sirs! I am a good cook myself, and cook better than I cook, if you see what I mean.”

“He said we were all cooked but we were all right as long as we did not know it. We were all cooked. The thing was not to recognize it. The last country to realize they were cooked would win the war.”

“The cook was a good cook, as cooks go; and as cooks go, she went.”