Are you kidding? I'm a terrible cook, but John is a really great one. Literally, I never cook. The whole time we were dating, I prepared two officially romantic meals. Both of them were such disasters that he begs me never to go into the kitchen again.
quote by Rebecca Romijn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cook Of The House
Ground rice, sugar, vinegar, seco salt, macaroni too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
The salads in the bowl,
The rice is on the stove.
Green beans in the colander and where the res is heaven only knows.
Cinnamon, garlic, salt, pepper, corn-bread, curry powder, coffee too,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
No, matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best.
cause Im the cook of the house,
Cook of the house.
Where the rest is heaven only knows.
Matter where I serve my guests,
They seem to like the kitchen best cause Im the cook of the house.
Cook of the house,
Cook of the house,
Im the cook of the house.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Scoops Of Soup
Once it has been discovered,
Who's pot you've been dipping to get...
Those scoops of soup,
Served to your guests.
It is going to be very hard to convince anyone,
That cook you had fired from the kitchen...
Is not as qualified as you profess.
And you may not be aware of this...
But a great cook,
Seldom leaves recipes behind.
Not those originating from an inventive mind.
And a great cook...
Has no problems finding,
Those who are seeking something better...
They know will stay with them that is craved.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I don't cook - I can cook - but I'm not very good. I like being asked over for dinner, because she can't cook either. We would starve if it weren't for modern technology. I know how to work a microwave, but love home cooked meals.
quote by Mark Mothersbaugh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alankar (Decor) -30
Kitchen clash (Double Rondeau)
How difficult it is to cook
In hot summer how a wife to cook
'Take rest, shall buy food from outside'
He says with concern on her side
Wife is happy she need not cook
Happy so life runs like a brook
Variety food, pleased they look
Seasoned hot, they know kitchen's stride
How difficult
Time in hand changed is her outlook
Changed is also her old cook-look
Styleless to stylish in set glide
Makes her new with glow to her pride
She can speak on her strife to cook
How difficult
How difficult but back a cook?
Daughter visits with siren look
There, stirs in dad's heart a high tide
Sneaks'cooking has been set aside
These days mom does not at all cook'
Enough for her to word and hook
Daughter counsels mom back to cook
To be in shifty husband's stride
How difficult!
Luck is but a wheel in life-book
So such a wife can't overlook
And mom vows never to abide
Honeyed words but put them aside
Blamed wife telling herself 'to cook
How difficult! '
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Servent Cook
mother
Cook
with love...
father
Cook
With taste...
Brother
Cook...
With enjoy...
sister
Cook
Simply fine...
Servent
Cook
A boor...
A woor...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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If you didn't know that I am an actress, I don't think you could tell from my lifestyle. I cook and cook and cook. I like to be with my daughter. She's 16, so of course I bore her.
quote by Karen Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Enough Is Enough...
the time has come
to say, this is enough
we do not need anything
the room is full
there is nothing more
to cook
in the kitchen
we only watch time passing away
prepared for the
next eventuality
the vagabonds in us are waking
all feet are ready
not a bag shall be carried
the world comes around us
and we are carried...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cooked
What's the use?
Give it best;
Cut her loose;
Have a rest.
Hope is dead;
Gloom collects,
Nuff is said
Cook objects.
Moth and rust
Hither lurk;
All is bust,
Knock off work.
Nation's great
Architects,
Clean the slate;
Cook objects.
Oh the schemes
That we planned!
Dreaming dreams
For the land.
All in vain.
Hope neglects
To remain;
Cook objects.
Navy; what?
Army too?
Blessed rot;
All is blue.
It's all one
Who protects.
dropp your gun;
Cook objects.
Let her rip,
All is up.
Have to sip
Bitter cup.
Tear your hair
Woe connects
With despair,
Cook objects.
Fellow Aust
Ralians,
Trouble's crossed
All our plans.
Seek the tomb;
Fate selects
Us for doom.
Cook objects.
Death marks us
For his own.
(Grisly cuss.)
Our head-tone,
With a laugh,
He erects.
Epitaph
'Cook objects.'
dropp a tear;
Heave a sigh;
End is near;
Say goodbye.
Sell up home
And effects.
(Dismal pome)
Cook objects.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Bitter Meals
cannot eat meals prepared by all hands
meals prepared of some hands cannot eat
taste of souls who prepared these meals
some prepared in love others anger swift deceit
taste of some meals sickens burns bitter not sweet
poem by Terence George Craddock
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I like to cook good meals, especially when I have a lot of time.
quote by Ekaterina Gordeeva
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Greedy poem Gannet
I stuff my face with poems here
The meals served up in reams
I indulge in wordy gluttony
I'm bursting at the seams
But still you serve me more and more
Just like a pushing Aunt
I eat and eat all that I can
But finish? I just can't
You cook and bake and fry and grill
The most delicious food
I want to at least try it all
So you don't think me rude
Even 'back of cupboard' tins
Will not go out if date
And if you all stopped cooking
All the meals would still taste great
There so much here to be consumed
Enough to feed the planet
I savour all I can
As I'm a greedy poem gannet
I've started cooking recently
To add into the mix
I have a mind of recipes
Do try the meals I fix!
poem by Stevie Taite
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My Chinee Cook
They who say the bush is dull are not so very far astray,
For this eucalyptic cloisterdom is anything but gay;
But its uneventful dulness I contentedly could brook,
If I only could get back my lost, lamented Chinee cook.
We had tried them without number—cooks, to wit—my wife and I;
One a week, then three a fortnight, as my wife can testify;
But at last we got the right one; I may say 'twas by a fluke,
For he dropped in miscellaneous-like, that handy Chinee cook,
He found the kitchen empty, laid his swag down, and commenced;
My wife, surprised, found nothing to say anything against;
But she asked him for how much a year the work he undertook—
“Me workee for me ration,” said that noble Chinee cook.
Then right off from next to nothing such a dinner he prepared,
That the Governor I'm certain less luxuriously fared;
And he waited, too, in spotless white, with such respectful look,
And bowed his head when grace was said, that pious Chinee cook.
He did the work of man and maid—made beds and swept out rooms;
Nor cooled he in his zeal, as is the manner of new brooms:
Oh, he shed celestial brightness on the most sequestered nook,
For his mop and pail were everywhere—my cleanly Chinee cook.
We got fat upon his cooking; we were happy in those days,
For he tickled up our palates in a thousand pleasant ways.
Oh his dinners! Oh his dinners! they were fit for any duke!
Oh delectable Mongolian! Oh celestial Chinee cook!
There was nothing in creation that he didn't put to use,
And the less he got to cook with, all the more he could produce,
All nature was his kitchen range, likewise his cook'ry book—
Neither Soyer nor Meg Dod could teach that knowing Chinee cook.
And day by day upon my wife and me the mystery grew,
How his virtues were so many and his earnings were so few;
And we laid our heads together to find out by hook or crook,
The secret of the cheapness of that priceless Chinee cook.
And still the sense of mystery grew on us day by day,
Till it came to be a trouble, and we wished him well away;
But we could not find a fault in one so far above rebuke—
Ah, we didn't know the value of that valuable cook.
But one day when I was out he brought my wife a lot of things,
Turquoise earrings, opal bracelets, ruby brooches, diamond rings,
And he ran their various prices o'er as glibly as a book,
And dirt cheap, too, were the jewels of that jewel of a cook.
I returned, and just in time to stop the purchase of the lot,
And to ask him where on earth those costly jewels he had got,
And when I looked him in the face, good gracious how he shook!
And he says, says he, “Me bought him”—did that trembling Chinee cook.
And I a justice of the peace! O Fortune! how unkind!
For a certain Sydney robbery came rushing to my mind
“You bought them! Ah, I fear me, John, you paid them with a hook!
I am bound to apprehend you, oh unhappy Chinee cook!”
So the mystery was solved at length; the secret now we saw;
John had used us as a refuge from the clutches of the law;
And, now, alas, too late would I his frailty overlook!
He is gone, and I am left without my skilful Chinee cook.
Oh, could I taste again of those delicious luscious things,
I could pardon him the robbery of other people's rings;
I exaggerated principle, my duty I mistook,
When I handed over to the law my peerless Chinee cook.
What would I give just now for one of his superb ragouts,
His entrements, his entrées, his incomparable stews?
Oh, art and taste and piquancy my happy board forsook,
When I came the J.P. over my lamented Chinee cook.
Take away the hated letters. 'Twas my “justice” robbed my “peace”;
Take my name from the commission, and my matchless cook release.
But I fear my Johnny's dead, for I am haunted by a spook,
With oblique eyes and a pigtail, like my lost, my Chinee cook.
poem by James Brunton Stephens
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The Kitchen
The bosom of her virginity is all about this story,
And of a woman portrayed upon the walls of hope;
But like the horsemen riding upon their horses,
The kitchen is where you do cook your food.
I am not an African woman and,
I am not your African wife!
But the kitchen is there for you to cook,
So do not wrap up your nakedness in the wings of my mind.
Blow the ram's horn to understand this poem,
And take a walk along the coast of love to understand my mind;
For i am in the deep steep of love with a pupil of sin,
And she is not an African woman.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Returning food
(This is a fictional poem)
You keep sending your food back because you aren't satisfied.
If you send it back just once more, we are going to step outside.
You say that my food stinks but you don't realize that I'm a great chef.
My meals have caused food poisoning but they've caused no deaths.
You said that your bacon was burned and your eggs were runny.
I'm going to kick you in the crotch and you won't think it's funny.
You keep complaining about your meals, nobody likes a whiner.
You say that I cook worse than that chef who owned Mel's diner.
I'm getting pissed because of the meals that you return.
I hold the worlds record for food that causes heartburn.
poem by Randy Johnson
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Sharp With Added Spice
'Over seasoned! '
This came to spill,
From whispered lips.
Yet to those unacquainted...
The presentation and taste,
Was more than appreciated.
And in their eyes the show of this,
Did not hesitate to express it.
They did not mention an absence of skill.
They were too busy enjoying the delicious cake.
To pick crumbs from plates.
Until the cook appeared unexplained,
From the kitchen to gain attention.
Sharp with added spice,
Comes a lashing from an unexpected tongue.
It seems someone has said,
Whoever is doing the cooking with minimal flair...
Should learn more about baking,
To become more aware of what's required instead!
And serious was the cook who took all hostage!
With an eyebrow raised and quivering lips.
And outraged was the cook's posture...
No one dared to dismiss.
~Out with it!
WHO said 'over seasoned'?
I heard every word.
And it did not please.
WHO was it?
Who dared to say I over season?
When I sweated to perfect...
A guarantee your taste buds would be teased.
Out with it or no one leaves.
You ungrateful banana eating chimpanzees.
How dare you mock my expertise.
I'm not kidding.
Out with it or no one leaves! ~
And throats slowly swallowed.
People froze as they sat.
Wishing they remembered when,
Those comments were made in jest!
'I said that but I was just joking.'
~You provoked me with a whispered joke?
Do you know how close I came to choking a few throats?
I...
Am,
A CHEF.
And serious to the end of my very breath.
With...
And I must admit this,
With a flair for dramatics.
Please...
There is no need for applause.
I accept,
Only business references! ~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I like to cook, but mostly Greek. When I am confused or tired, I think about what I can cook. It takes you away from everything, as you are thinking only of your dish.
quote by Nana Mouskouri
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't know how to cook and there's so much work involved you have to buy the groceries and prepare them. I like it when people cook for me, or I'll just order some take-out.
quote by Famke Janssen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The secret is to cook the aubergines the day before and let them dry of all the oil they drank in cooking. When you cook aubergine, they eat a lot of oil. It can be very heavy.
quote by Nana Mouskouri
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A lot of people who want to cook with less fat are surprised by that. You can cook vegetables in a little water in a covered pan and then throw the fat into the residual liquid to coat them.
quote by Sally Schneider
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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