My sisters like cooking at my place. It has a bit more room, and the food tastes a little bit better. A big pot of spaghetti and sauce, some warm French bread - works all the time. I think I've been eating pasta for 26 years.
Related quotes
For the most part this is a place to find down-to-earth advice on everyday cooking, eating, food shopping, cooking equipment, and nice things to put on your table.
quote by Arthur Schwartz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I'm crazy about westerns. I need to do a western once in a while. It's like you know, eating bread, eating pasta, drinking wine. It's in my blood. I need it.
quote by Franco Nero
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
MaMa's Cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
It's an assortment of goodie things
Chocolate, pies and banana pudding
Enough food and that's Mama's cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Apron in hand and lasting impression I didn't want to miss
Everything seem perfect from beginning to end
Enough food and that's Mama's Cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Smiling faces and a gentle speech of o.k.
Noone knows how much the void I can't fill
Enough food and that Mama's Cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Being polite and sincere would carry the weight
Seemingly enough she has the greater plan
Enough food and that Mama's Cooking ahead
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
The napkins, plates and never-ending why didn't it last
Noone knows how much the void I can't fill
Enough food and that's Mama's Cooking again
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Craving for the turkey and dressing pan
Not to admit, seemed a bit much
Enough Food and that's Mama's Cooking again
So nowadays, I look for the needle in the haystack
Wishing on the times, she would come back
It's been 10 years, since I said thoughs word's
Enough food and that Mama's blessing for us
Missing mom everyday becomes second-nature for me
Enough food, Enough love and One day she'll see
For know I'll take her spirits with me and others will speak
Enough food, Enough love and One day she'll see
poem by Natasha McGee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Killing The Fear....
the non-sensitized justifies his non-writing
to lack of vocabulary, another one blames it to lack of time,
and the third one hints about the non-mastery of the technique
as if this is cooking spaghetti and
as though there is a labyrinthine procedure to be followed concerning the
art of mixing tomato sauce with cheese and the pasta
as though the onions have to be cut like the old art of paper cutting
in some old chine town
one gets desensitized at procrastination and the feeling is half dead
it is screaming like a painting aboard a boat and the shadow is there haunting
on top of the ocean behind that erupting volcano somewhere in the
Netherlands
takes courage to really write
there is much cowardice consumed in this literary surrender
opting to trust in the silence of the letters
the dignity of words
the detachment from the world
self decanted
to see
what purity is there left to the caprices of our little minds
what holiness burns
us, who are
no longer afraid.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Culinary choice
He was a lover of meat
and she was a lover of veg'
so between them it was a treat
to dine on spaghetti instead.
They'd suck and they'd slurp
and they'd dribble,
spaghetti was so hard to nibble
but low and behold
the sauce made a glow
all over their chins
and the table.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Overweight with Food
Are you just a tub of lard and
Vastly overweight?
Do you think that when you die you'll
Need a piano crate
To act as coffin for your frame? -
Chosen as you die in shame, with
Only you to take the blame
For years of eating much the same:
A daily calorific fest
Gourmands of your ilk digest!
Is your heart in final fling and
Nearly set to burst?
Are your arteries bunged and clogged and
Feeling now the worst
For wear? - your aneurysm fit to blow
While blood as thick as rising dough
Cries 'Halt! ' to any hope of flow:
A dreadful state to put on show
In front of any nurse!
Best you hail a hearse.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rainbow Spaghetti
One day mother said to me,
'What do you want to eat? '
I answered back to her,
'Rainbow spaghetti'
So my mother waited for the rain
And went outside with her boots
She grabbed the rainbow in a puddle
And walked back inside
She cooked some spaghetti
And told me to stir the rainbow
So I put the rainbow in a bowl
And stirred it with a spoon
Mother took the rainbow
And poured it over the spaghetti
She gave it to me to eat
With a fork and a spoon
I ate it
And chewed it
And slurped it
And swallowed it
'How does it taste? '
Mother asked me
I answered back to her
'It tastes like spaghetti'
poem by Tessa Marshall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Eating Disorder?
eating disorder, or is it?
it's eat or be eaten, you can't miss it,
that's the order of the disorder, border to border,
you're hooked to a food chain, hooked on a food train.
you come into this world, cut from a chord,
made from food, your overlord,
As decades roll by, food becomes you,
because you got to refuel to do what you do.
so you keep eating till you die,
(you just couldn't stay away from that last french fry,)
But don't you worry about who, what and why,
it's the cosmic menu, so don't cry.
poem by Richard Jarboe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hard To Swallow
We eat to live
We eat to grow
We eat to endulge ourselves,
In the greatness of food
We eat to provide comfort
We eat to be accepted
We eat as it is part,
Of our lives
Food comes in all different forms,
Shapes and sizes
It can be a bean as small as a nail
Or a christmas turkey the size of a horse
Food is a necessity
Food is a way of life
Food is enjoyed
Food is loved
But for some,
Food is despised
Eating brings pain
Eating brings weight
Eating brings illness
Eating brings hate
Eating means endless pain
A pain that wont stop,
Until the food inside,
Is forced out
Eating means weight gain and hurt
So,
It's best not to eat at all
The aching pain of hunger drifts away,
With several ibuprofein.
The battle with food is a constant struggle
To overcome the eating disorder
To take one bite,
And Swallow!
poem by Chris jones
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Maybe It Is Just Like That.....
as you trim the bushes
outside the fence
i am eating cold spaghetti
with sour bread and i get no
hot coffee
it is a bright day
and the sun is slowly rising from a gray horizon
gone were the days when we cannot eat
if we are not together
maybe it is just like that.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Rockin L & H
Nothing tastes nearly as good
As it does on the outside grill
Camping out in my childhood
I have sweet memories still
Beans slow cooked and smoky
Bacon and bar-b-q sauce within
Biscuits light and fluffy as well
Sharing food with friends and kin
Corn so sweet and delicious
Yet crunchy against your teeth
The smell of the smoke in the air
Of wonderful smoky pork or beef
There’s a place that you’ll truly enjoy
Where you’ll never want to eat in haste
Because the food is so delicious
It is called the Rockin L & H!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Food For Thought
She hid it
but it became clear to her
even as a child
she was obsessed with food-
all the world and her relationships in it-
became things to be tasted;
consumed.
In her twenties she did not date men
she tasted them
and became bored
with them as one becomes
bored with the routine
of every day the same meal;
food was orgasmic to her
in its variety
but too,
this was something she had to hide
because being that way also
had its guilty side;
all day long
she thought about what she would eat
that night
and the next day
or even reliving
a last meal
re-tasting it in her mouth
it all seemed natural to her
because it seemed to her
others seemed to share as well
foods power.
It was a need to take
the outside in
to feel it in her mouth
swallow it down
tongue on texture
then a final act
of it resting inside her
as she digested it,
sometimes bulimically
to assuage guilt
it being hidden heavings
in bathrooms, hers and those
of her friends
but always returning
to the need to fill up the Empty
to feel full
filled
to make it through some nights
eating
to assuage grief
sometimes to celebrate
often late at night secret eating
munching, ingesting
taking in
gorging on
cake and ice cream
chocolate
and potato chips
even beer
or liqueur
with exotic
items like mangos
and papayas
all carefully laid out before her
because she liked the ritual of it
the handing
the smells
the preparations and the cooking;
fork and spoon lifting high
to the altar of her mouth
to her wide lips
resting briefly upon her fiery tongue
to the savoring
the plunging onward
into the alimentary canal
to its final
warm resting place
inside.
And then the guilt
always the guilt
about what she had done
then on to the next day obsession about her weight
the battle of the bulge
of the unwanted thickening sure to come
of the terrifying knowledge
her eating at night
it would show up
decorating her waist line
her hips,
her thighs
crime and punishment come alive
visible for all to see.
She reveled in her pregnancy
eating herself
to 51 additional pounds
and not losing all of them back
despite furious exercise;
ultimately welcoming mother hood
because cooking for her kids kept her in touch
with food
and after all
no mother
was expected to be thin;
and then escalator down
she gradually gave up
food had won
and she knew
that with advancing age
she could not lose back the years.
In despair, kids and husband now gone
she decided that it was not the food she'd been carving
all those years
rather it was a feeling of being filled up
being loved
food was just a poor substitute
And dear reader you ask what then?
She fell in love with a younger man
half her age
and he reciprocated.
the excitement of his loving her
made her feel for the first time in years
love
and gradually over a year
she lost the need for food
as a crutch.
More and more it became
for her a thing past.
Oh she did not suddenly become a size two
but she did become a better her
more energy
and she needed that energy
becoming more and more thrilled
with whom she then was.
And yes, the two did last;
food not so much exiled
as becoming for her
only a once over-indulged
repast
from her past.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Place Called the Matador
They started cooking food
A very long time ago
Creating a recipe because
They loved the Chile relleno so
Perfection the objective
Ingredients fresh and fine
To bring forth a creation
That nowhere they could find
So the spent many hours
Of every single day
Cooking the best product
In their very special way
Chili’s are most important
Ingredient of this food
Dough was mixed as well
Oh, it was extremely good
The Matador still remains
The food still as delicious
Devotion to the craft
That has become infamous
I had a chance to see for myself
Cooks who know the score
A product like no other
A place called the Matador!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mother (My Point of View)
Sewing machine:
Jean patches,
Superman capes,
Dress hems 10pm,
Night before the concert.
Kitchen sink:
Baking-powder biscuits,
Crock pot beef stew,
Chicken with carrots and potatoes.
Not college food.
Minivan:
Shuttle the boys from school,
Aftercare, soccer, track,
Basketball, haircut, orthodontist's.
Buy printer ink, daddy bread,
Poster board for Elias's project due Tuesday.
College mail box:
Socks I forgot over Christmas,
Picture of the boys and I
With our gingerbread house.
Dad's pumpkin bread,
Waterproof gloves,
Cutting board.
Mother:
Band-aid, bathroom cleanser,
Dry clothes, spaghetti sauce.
Emergency contact.
Porch light on late nights.
poem by Gina Prettybrowneyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Gourmet vs the Usual
a good food and a good drink
seven days a week
I wouldn't ask for more
I'll just eat with love and won't get bored
I tried cooking my own food
following mom’s recipe
but it didn’t taste exactly as
when mom’s the one cooking
Oh, I realized
I couldn't buy in the store
an ingredient mom has when cooking a food
I couldn't buy love and patience
in the fresh market or in any grocery
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I love pasta with the homemade marinara sauce I had as a kid.
quote by Bernadette Peters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Little Something Refreashing
Yeah
Im hungry
Im starving
I want some food for my tummy
I want some
Pizza coke and ice cream
Popcorn cotton candy
Marshmallows milkshake and peanuts
Would be so great
Pies chips candy apples
Twinkies frosted flakes
Donuts french fries
And some chocolate cake with mustard
Cookies avocados pancakes
Pineapple juice
Whipped cream on some raw meat
Thats not all I could eat
Im hungry
Im starving
I want some food for my tum...
I want some
Honey roasted walnuts
Pepperoni slices
Pasta and burritos
Different kinds of rices
Cherries dipped in chocolate
Cottage cheese and jelly
Colonel sanders chicken
Still wont fill my belly
Broccoli sticky syrup
Churros dipped in sauce
Drippy sloppy joes
Then Im full at last
Ahhh ahhh
Im full at last
Burp.
song performed by by No Doubt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Little Something Refreshing
Yeah
Im hungry
Im starving
I want some food for my tummy
I want some
Pizza coke and ice cream
Popcorn cotton candy
Marshmallows milkshake and peanuts
Would be so great
Pies chips candy apples
Twinkies frosted flakes
Donuts french fries
And some chocolate cake with mustard
Cookies avocados pancakes
Pineapple juice
Whipped cream on some raw meat
Thats not all I could eat
Im hungry
Im starving
I want some food for my tum...
I want some
Honey roasted walnuts
Pepperoni slices
Pasta and burritos
Different kinds of rices
Cherries dipped in chocolate
Cottage cheese and jelly
Colonel sanders chicken
Still wont fill my belly
Broccoli sticky syrup
Churros dipped in sauce
Drippy sloppy joes
Then Im full at last
Ahhh ahhh
Im full at last
Burp.
song performed by by Gwen Stefani
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Facing The Door (Life Poem)
Here is life and love, pain and pleasure,
Ten years traversing those steps,
Tired waitress, twelve hours hell,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s.
Too-jolly Australians on a budget,
Eating soup and dessert, are missing,
The pasta, the best part, it seems,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s.
Miscreant male constantly corralled,
By his Austrian authoritarian aunt,
Filling her face with a pasta mountain,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s.
New lovers lost in each other’s eyes,
Carpaccio di salmon slices sharp cold,
Their Gaja Barbaresco lust blood red,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s.
Old lovers holding hands in silence,
Pasta warm feelings of Taglioni Fratelli,
This Chianti Classico two will soon be one,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s.
Married couple, on different planes,
Broadcast to their neighbours the plans,
Of loveless friends in lifelong bondage,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s.
Meal memories of two and more,
Of friends and family, work and play,
Life and love and unforgettable moments,
I am facing the door in Fratelli’s
poem by Ian Beckett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
something_hells the Rock and Roll Mothercutters
I have a barber in Kingsley Course
Where Ageing Rockers Go
By Sweeny Tod he was trained
To cut hair as white as snow
He trims hair with a flick Knife
not scissors any more
And bills are always paid on time
Or ears end on the floor
Throats are just the thing to trim
if he dont like your discourse
So Mods and Punks you'll despair
If you enter Kingsley Course
For this is the place where Rock and Roll lives
And DA'S are a matter of Course
Where Egg and bacon, the food of spives
Is eaten with Chocolate sauce
p.s I hate chocolate sauce; of course
this place really exists why not google it or even better gothere yourself!
poem by James Roberts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!