Why should anyone raise an eyebrow because a latter-day Einstein’s wife expects her husband to put aside that lifeless theory of relativity and help her with the work that is supposed to be the essence of life itself: diaper the baby and don’t fo...
I remember at The Quilted Giraffe, when I was when working there to try out for the sous-chef position. I really wanted it, and the woman working the line next to me kept messing up and making me look bad. The last day of my kitchen trail, I just sai...
Modern man is full of platitudes about living life to its fullest, with catchy keychain phrases and little plaques for kitchen walls. But if you've never retreated to the solitude of a dark room and listened to Beethoven's Ninth from start to finish,...
There was a crash from the direction of the kitchen, although it really was more of a crashendo - the long drawn out clatter that begins when a pile of plates begins to slip, continues when someone tries to grab at them, develops a desperate counter-...
Katherine of Aragon was speaking out for the women of the country, for the good wives who should not be put aside just because their husbands had taken a fancy to another, for the women who walked the hard road between kitchen, bedroom, church and ch...
I flopped on the overstuffed kitchen couch and watched him go. I wondered what would happen to all his films and photographs in the upstairs closet - the documentaries on homelessness and drug addiction, the funny short subjects, the half-finished ro...
[the Bumpus hounds break in the house and raid the kitchen] Mr. Parker: Holy smokes, the turkey! [the old man arrives too late to see that the dogs already devoured the turkey] Mr. Parker: Oh, my... God! You sons of - ! [the dogs leave out the back d...
M. Gustave: I must say, I find that girl utterly delightful. Flat as a board, enormous birthmark the shape of Mexico over half her face, sweating for hours on end in that sweltering kitchen, while Mendl, genius though he is, looms over her like a hul...
Remy: [watching Linguini's clumsy attempt to repair the soup he spilled] What is he doing? No. No! No, this is terrible! He's ruining the soup! A-and nobody's noticing it? [to Gusteau] Remy: It's your restaurant. Do something! Gusteau: What can I do?...
Blanche: Who was that at the door earlier? Jane: Elvira. Blanche: Where is she now? In the kitchen? Jane: No, I gave her the day off. She has a pretty hard time considering. I told her to come back next week. Jane: [pauses] Oh, Blanche? You know we'v...
Wolverine: How long have you been here? Bobby: Couple of years, it's not so bad. Wolverine: What about your parents, they just shipped you off to mutant school? Bobby: Actually, my parents think this is a prep school. Wolverine: Well, I guess lots of...
Doc: You know what they say: People in glass houses sink sh-sh-ships. Rocco: Doc, I gotta buy you, like, a proverb book or something. This mix'n'match shit's gotta go. Doc: What? Connor: A penny saved is worth two in the bush, isn't it? Murphy: And d...
Blake took a small roll from the tray on the table, then put it back in favor of a larger one. And maybe a little butter. It certainly couldn't hurt. And jam...no, he drew the line at jam. She was a spy, after all.
I feel nothing.” Crouching down beside her, Bercelak took a cloth from off the table and placed it over the wound. “Nothing? You feel no pain?” “Oh. I feel pain. Lots of pain. But nothing else.
It is well to remember that the stomach governs the world," wrote Churchill when planning the feeding of his troops on the north-west Indian frontier at the tail-end of the nineteenth century.
Shouts of dismay rose as the red flesh splattered against the table. It was only a tomato, but one would think I was pulping a decaying heart by the noise the big, strong FIB officers were making.
The house was clean, scrubbed and immaculate, curtains washed, windows polished, but all as a man does it - the ironed curtains did not hang quite straight and there were streaks on the windows and a square showed on the table when a book was moved.
Honesty is not a virtue, it is a luxury. Most, who struggle to put bread on the table, face this question every day. And hunger wins this game almost every time, beta (son).
Author describes one monarch's impressive table but conveys a contemporary's observation, "the weightiest thing at dinner was the conversation".
Every touch ramped her desire higher and the carnal look in Chad's eyes was making swallowing difficult.By the time the waiter served their coffee, she was ready to throw him down on the table and ravish him in front of God and everybody.
We've only been sitting here forty minutes. I'm never at the morning table less than an hour and a half. I do some of my finest plotting over breakfast coffee and raisin brioche.
