Il faut manger pour vivre, et non pas vivre pour manger.
They say you are what you eat, but I don't remember eating a jaded, anxious human being.
— All right... What's the trick?
— Trick?
— Where is the food? Can't all be in your stomach.
— Actually, I don't know. The fact is, I always loved eating. More than anything. Go into a restaurant, want to order everything on the menu. But, I was always frustrated, by the small capacity of my stomach. Well, 17 years ago, I made a wish... And amazingly enough it came true. Now I have, what you might call,
a black hole in my belly. Onely I have to keep eating like this, six or seven times a day. Gets expensive. So, I travel a lot, and take
advantage of guys like you to pay for it.
— That's a good one.
— Excuse me, mister. I've got to know one thing. Do you still love eating?
— No... now it's a drag.
I ordered raisin bran because I didn't want there to be any mistaking this for a date.
— Want some bacon?
— No, man, I don't eat pork.
— Are you Jewish?
— I ain't Jewish; I just don't dig on swine, that's all.
— Why not?
— Pigs are filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals.
— Yeah, but bacon tastes good. Pork chops taste good.
— Sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know… 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfuckers. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I ain't eatin' nothin' ain't got sense enough to disregard its own feces.
— What do you call an irish seven-course meal?
— A six-pack and a potato.
— Do you ever stop eating?
— What? I'm hungry.
— M-m-m. This is good. This is really good. What is this?
— Uh, weed rat. Rotisserie style.
— No kidding. Well, this is delicious.
— Well, they're also great in stews. Now, I don't mean to brag, but I make a mean weed rat stew.
— I guess I'll be dining a little differently tomorrow night.
— Maybe you can come visit me in the swamp sometime. I'll cook all kinds of stuff for you. Swamp toad soup, fish eye tartare — you name it.
— I'd like that.
— And you know what they call a... a... a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
— They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?
— No man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.
— Then what do they call it?
— They call it a Royale with cheese.
— A Royale with cheese. What do they call a Big Mac?
— Well, a Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it le Big-Mac.