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I still, at hotel rooms, I do this one sort of not-so-cool thing: continually shoving my room service tray in front of someone else's door. Because I don't want the remnants. I don't want to be caught, like, being like the pig that I was at two in the morning.

You've got to be in your kitchens, or it all falls apart.

It's a combination of science, maintenance, and general housekeeping. And then, occasionally, robotics activities or a spacewalk you might get to do.

Housekeeping is incredibly difficult with three kids. I'm trying to be more relaxed. You'll go insane if you try to have a picture-book house.

The only advantage of not being too good a housekeeper is that your guests are so pleased to feel how very much better they are.

I'd find it demeaning to be cleaning toilets.

While we women dilly-dally, making decisions, leaving jobs half done, forgetting where we've put the house keys while we water the Hoover and leave the laundry in the dishwasher, men, like blinkered horses, look straight ahead, oblivious to peripheral vision, where a discarded pile of wet towels might have caught their eye.

I am a marvelous housekeeper. Every time I leave a man I keep his house.

I'm a chef, I own restaurants, and there's a behavior in the kitchen you have to have.