Quotes About Food

If efficiency were the only value in this life, then we would be content to eat bland but nutritious food every day--and the same food at that. That would keep us alive, but it would make for very dull mealtimes.

Why not imagine a talk with a pumpkin? Why not imagine going off for a drive with a friendly pumpkin, a companion who would not, after all, answer back; who would agree with everything you said, and would at the end of the day appear on your plate as a final gesture of friendship?

A large bird, a buzzard perhaps, was circling on high on a current of air, a tiny, soaring point of black, looking for food, of course, as all of us did, in one way or another.

Admittedly, his dinners consisted only of two or three courses, and were prepared by an ex-soldier, but the champagne flowed like water.

Who even *heard* of gluten till a few years ago?

A young man who had watched her eating with her fingers offered a set of chopsticks- those sticks for eating that had become so popular. He looked at her suggestively. Instead of blushing, she accepted the chopsticks boldly and continued to walk on, using them to eat noodle and vegetable dishes.

She turned to find Alva standing just inside the swinging kitchen door, carrying two large paper plates loaded down with Laura Jo's golden fried chicken, steaming mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, and oversized buttermilk biscuits.

The more you eat, the more you poop.

You got to be in mighty bad shape in the head to eat greens and Jell-o.

up mimosas and croissants at Billy's. No, no. In the Lowcountry it's got gravy on it—the

different. Let's give up meat and dairy." "Except for bacon and yogurt.

drippings from the roasting pan into a Pyrex measuring cup, let the fat rise to the top, removed it as well as I could, and poured the goodies into the gravy, turning it from blond to the color of a pecan shell. Beautiful.

the standing crown roast of pork was done and the pies were ready to bake. Mashed potatoes were whipped into thick ribbons of creamy silk. The casserole of sausage dressing was steaming, the cranberry mold jiggled, peas and carrots were mixed together

Behind my carefully buttoned collar is my nakedness, the struggle to find clean clothes, food, meaning, and money. Behind sex is rage, behind anger is love, behind this moment is silence, years of silence.

It is not good for all our wishes to be filled; through sickness we recognize the value of health; through evil, the value of good; through hunger, the value of food; through exertion, the value of rest.

Molly was bending over the table where her masterpiece, the white and silver cake, towered above her lesser achievements in the shape of patties, canapes, rolls, sandwiches, cakes and biscuits. A current of goodwill flowed from Molly through the food to the people who ate it and back again the same way. Her good cooking made the connection; she seemed to need no other.

I know it's not cat food, but what exactly is it that they put inside of tinned ravioli?

Life expectancy would grow by leaps and bounds if green vegetables smelled as good as bacon.

He flipped the large pancake to its other side with a tan plastic spatula.

Reed and Hoyer both had the steak the major had raved about, while Allie had a Caesar salad.

In any case, the list of adaptations that allow wolverines to make an ally of winter is impressive. Yet until scientists started to focus on climate change, no one gave much thought to how creatures with built-in snowshoes, a super-cozy fur coat, smoldering metabolism, and food cached in nature's refrigerators are supposed to handle swimsuit weather in our ever-toastier age of Industrial Exhaust.

But even more egregious cases could be found. The worst, to local eyes, was that of people who had no right to be cooking the food they were cooking because their DNA was wrong. In 2017 there was the case of a couple who opened a food truck selling burritos. According to the new local rules, this couple were guilty of cultural appropriation – specifically of 'stealing' Mexican culture by selling burritos while not being Mexican.

Dear Mr. Gibbon. Sorry I was absent. Here is some salted food. Please grade it the way you would a jenti piece of beef jerky.

The issue is not the thing, but rather our approach to the thing. Same as with food. Our temptation is to objectify the problem, trying to locate sin in the stuff—in the tobacco, in the alcohol, in the gun, in the donut—instead of where sin is actually located, which is right under the breastbone.