66 Square Feet (The Food)

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Walks and Classes

Photo: Vincent Mounier

Please visit 66 Square Feet to see seasonal forage walks.

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Text & photos © 2007 - 2024 Marie Viljoen. All rights reserved.

Go Wild!

This is me

Is That Fish Sustainable?

South African Sustainable Seafood Initiative
Fish Online (Europe)
Seafood Watch (USA)

The Forager's Voice

WNYC - Japanese knotweed
WNYC - maitake

Wild Food Recipes

All Recipes

Reasons to lick a page

...Versluis gazed at the brilliance of the tablecloth in the lamplight - with the bread board and the water jug, the salt and pepper, the oil and vinegar all laid out precisely upon it. The table spoke of neatness, sobriety and constant vigilance against indulgence and prodigality...

Karel Schoeman, Another Country.

Nancy Cardozo shares a house with her friend Aileen Ward in New Milford, Conn.; both are writers in their 90s. “We eat everything we like,” Ms. Cardozo said. “Any kinds of eggs, blini, any good red or beluga caviar with crème fraîche, cheesecake, chocolate soufflé with whipped cream, crème brûlée, filet mignon, pasta with pesto. Aileen drinks Lillet, and I’m vodka and tonic. We drink as much as we can.”

New York Times, February 28th, 2011

You are a lousy lover, a careless husband and a bad father and you can cook yourself an egg tomorrow night.

From a framed fax hanging in the ladies' room of The Duchess of Wisbeach, Cape Town.

Yes, there are meals that are eaten at the edge of the lips and the edge of the fork, with the little finger in the air, the spine erect, and with a somewhat dazed air. But that is not me.

Roger Verge, Entertaining in the French Style

...the way in which mealtimes are passed is most important to what happiness we find in life.

Brillat Savarin, The Physiology of Taste

...coffee, like tea for the Irish lady, should be strong enough to trot a mouse upon.

MFK Fisher, Coffee, Atlantic Monthly, 1945

It was a hot day but cool in the old building and the waiter asked, "Do you want gazpacho?" He was an old man and he filled their glasses again.
"Do you think the senorita would like it?"
"Try her," the waiter said gravely as though he were speaking of a mare.
It came in a large bowl with ice floating with the slices of crisp cucumber, tomato, garlic, bread, green and red peppers, and the coarsely peppered liquid tasted lightly of oil and vinegar.
"It's a salad soup, " Catherine said. "It's delicious."
"Es gazpacho," the waiter said.

Ernest Hemingway, The Garden of Eden.

On this morning there was brioche and red raspberry preserve and the eggs were boiled and there was a pat of butter that melted as they stirred them and salted them lightly and ground pepper over them in the cups. They were big eggs and fresh and the girl's were not cooked quite as long as the young man's. He remembered this easily and he was happy with his which he diced up with the spoon and ate only with the flow of butter to moisten them and the fresh early morning texture and the bite of the coarsely ground pepper grains and the hot coffee and the chickory-fragrant bowl of cafe au lait.

Ernest Hemingway, The Garden of Eden.

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