I wish there was a Cesare Casella pill I could take whenever I was feeling down. The herb-pocketed chef always seems to be having a good time. No one can harsh his mellow. And even if he were about to die, which, of course, he doesn’t like to think about — being a glass-half-full kind of guy — all it would take to make him happy is a really good salami sandwich. He could launch a self-help empire — I just know it.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on May 8, 2007