26 Quotes by Sasha Martin

In those days food was never just sustenance; the very act of cooking knit our disparate lives together.

There’s no such thing as half family.

The contortions of the gargoyles were the only therapy we had.

My first encounter with a baguette, torn still warm from its paper sheathing, shattered and sighed on contact. The sound stopped me in my tracks, the way a crackling branch gives deer pause; that’s what good crust does. Once I began to chew, the flavor unfolded, deep with yeast and salt, the warm humidity of the tender crumb almost breathing against my lips.

Most people who have had a rough background will admit there’s something unsettling about finding happiness after difficulty – that even after we unwrap this gift, we don’t know how to stop searching, rummaging, pilfering for something else. We walk haltingly through life, ready for the other shoe to drop. The question is not if, but when.

Everything depends on the moment the spice hits the pan: whether it sizzles with mouthwatering fragrance or turns to ash. Once, I thought happiness was the sizzle in the pan. But it’s not. Happiness is the spice – that fragile speck, beholden to the heat, always and forever tempered by our environment.

It’s true: A slice of pound cake does wonders to thaw the coldest of days.

The easy truth is as much a lie as any.

I don’t think the homesickness of a perpetual wanderer can ever be quenched.