This is, and forever will be, one of my favourite movie scenes ever.
Motherfucker do you comprehend the intensity of that scene? Do you?
They pictured the feeling of tasting something that takes you way fucking back in time and makes you remember a certain moment of your life, a taste so comforting that makes you remember how happy you were back then.
MOTHER FUCKING PIXAR.
AND THE THING IS
OUT OF ALL OF THE THINGS THAT COULD HAVE IMPRESSED EGO
IT WAS A SIMPLE DISH THAT WAS CONSIDERED A ‘PEASANT’ DISH.
FUCKING PIXAR YO.
“In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet
enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to
our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and
to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the
grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more
meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times
when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and
defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new
creations. The new needs friends. Last night, I experienced something
new, an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say
that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about
fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core.
In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau’s
famous motto: “Anyone can cook.” But I realize, only now do I truly
understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a
great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more
humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau’s, who
is, in this critic’s opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in
France. I will be returning to Gusteau’s soon, hungry for more.“
One of the finest pieces of prose ever written about the nature of critique, of experience, of aspiration in art.