They eat the dainty food of famous chefs with the same pleasure with which they devour gross peasant dishes, mostly composed of garlic and tomatoes, or fisherman's octopus and shrimps, fried in heavily scented olive oil on a little deserted beach.
quote by Luigi Barzini
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They eat the dainty food of gamous chefs with the same pleasure with which they devour gross peasant dishes, mostly composed of garlic and tomatoes, or fisherman's octopus and shrimps, fried in heavily scented olive oil on a little deserted beach.
quote by Luigi Barzini
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dainty Davie
Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers;
And now comes in the happy hours,
To wander wi' my Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, Dainty Davie;
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear Dainty Davie.
The crystal waters round us fa',
The merry birds are lovers a',
The scented breezes round us blaw,
A wandering wi' my Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, Dainty Davie;
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear Dainty Davie.
As purple morning starts the hare,
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro' the dews I will repair,
To meet my faithfu' Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, Dainty Davie;
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear Dainty Davie.
When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o' Nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I loe' the best,
And that's my ain dear Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, Dainty Davie;
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear Dainty Davie.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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030810 I'm Alone It's Not Fair
i'm running cold water on my hands
playing with scented soap bubbles
let me wash this dishes instead
while i reminisce days you were here
you're standing on that corner by fridge
with yellow towel drying dishes and glasses
then out of the blue we ran outside
we watched balloons passed by
very colorful once, i wonder if they saw us
from up there with all that billowing noise
my neck got stiff, you went and sit
then somebody scream 'flooding'
yes, water running out of the kitchen
drain clog up with unfinished food
it took us the whole day cleaning
i was poof and you're still smiling
it's very comforting being there
now i'm alone it's not really fair
poem by Manonton Dalan
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Love's Menu: Pommes de Terre Frites
Fried potatoes is a dish
Good as any one could wish:
Cheap it is, and appetizing;
Turn a saint to gormandizing:
Good and cheap and tasty too,
Just the thing for Love's Menu.
Love is dainty, and his food,
Even though common, must be good:
Love hath little to disburse,
So his fare must fit his purse:
Love hath fickle appetite,
We his palate must invite:
Crisp and hot, the price a sou,
Fried Potatoes, Love's Menu.
poem by William Gay
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Pleasure Beach
(words & music by john oates)
Pleasure beach
You may look but never find
That neglected place in time
Like a dream just out of reach
Pleasure beach
Not a place you left behind
Or a place youll ever find
Its a dream just out of reach
Its a place called pleasure beach
There aint no waves in a swimming pool
There aint no fun til you break the rules
Were ever young but never free
I guess thats how it was meant to be
On the beach our thoughts were hot
But our hearts were cool
We fell in love
But we like to fool around with everyone we meet
Its you for you
And me for me
Pleasure beach
You make look but never find
That neglected place in time
Like a dream just out of reach
Pleasure beach
Not a place youll ever find
Its a dream just out of reach
Its a place called pleasure beach
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cross Purposes Fried Rice
Poet spoke of forty poems
plus written in a month
a moment
of reflection
amazement
Fried Rice
That’s Fried Rice
Very Nice
Cucumber And Egg
From Aceh
i would like
to try it again
she said
we are at
cross purposes
Cross Purposes
Fried Rice
Cucumber And Egg
still life images
even these share place
together in life’s poem
Simple Revelation
Curry Seasoning
Makes It Famous
Also Curry Noodles
Famous Also In Aceh
Seasoning Is The Spice Of Life!
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Chicken & chips
Chicken & chips
Often brought by fast food addicts
Who love the finger licking taste
Fried fatty food
Unhealthy but cheap
Eaten for hunger's sake
Shop owners
Laughing all the way to the bank
At the expense
Of junk food loving customers
Who just want to fill their belly
With a cheap box of fried chicken & chips.
poem by Sinclair Azubuike
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She Likes To Cook
She likes to cook.
Often, it seems.
Often, and perhaps too much.
Like all good cooks,
she must, sometimes,
be taken advantage of;
her culinary delights devoured,
carelessly,
to sate the hunger of some
as well sustained by Maccas.
But chefs so splendid,
so gifted and so generous as she is,
enjoy that giving of the pleasure,
in the way that she does.
Giving so patiently and carefully
and willingly and happily.
And exuberantly!
And, perhaps, too much.
Too much for what's returned.
She has fed me, too, her cakes,
and banquets of sweets and such delights
as leave me desperate to repay
with dishes that she might
enjoy as much.
poem by Red O'Mara
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A Happy Melody in The Kitchenette On My Day Off!
Hey! Darling what are you frying that smells fine?
Shrimps in hot garlic Tonight's menu!
Oh! That sounds very good
But don't be tired
Just a slice of bread
Dip in the last night's chicken gravy is more than enough
With a bottle of King Cobra Beer!
I am scared if the food is not sufficient
You may run to different restaurants for varities?
I understood the sorrowful music and changed the topic.
Darling! I am scared that we have to work here till we die?
Don't bother honey as I read in the paper the horoscope
End of this year Saturn moves somewhere
And bring prospects to Capricorns!
We both are Capricorns and do not forget that?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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An Ode to Paul
A soothe- saying invertebrate
Takes the world stage by storm
By accurately predicting winners
And by deduction the losers too
The ecstatic winners are thrilled
To offer him goodies and publish
Eulogies about his stunning feat
In accurately predicting their wins
The losers of course have their guns
Trained on the poor psychic octopus
Some onlookers observe the scene
With a quiet sense of amusement
As the creature hogs the headlines
“Preserve him, give him 24/7 security”
Shout the soccer tournament winners
“Get your pans ready for fried octopus
Hopefully Paul will make a tasty dish”
Shout the more distraught losers
The muse in me, sits back and wonders
“What is the world coming to - if our
Future lies in the tentacles of an octopus! ! ”
poem by Sandra Martyres
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Home Grown Tomatoes
There aint nothin in the world that I like better than bacon n lettuce n
Home grown tomatoes up in the mornin, out in the garden
Get you a ripe one, dont pick a hard un plant em in the spring, eat em in
The summer all winter without em is a culinary bummer I forget all about the
Sweatinand the digginevery time I go out and pick me a big un home grown
Tomatoes, home grown tomatoes what would life be like without home grown
Tomatoes only two things that money cant buy
Thats true love and home grown tomatoes you can go out to eat an thats for
Sure but theres nothina home grown tomatoe wont cure put em in a salad, put
em in a stew
You can make your own tomatoe juice
You can eat em with eggs, eat em with gravy you can eat em with beans, pinto
Or navy put em on the side, put em in the middle home grown tomatoes on a hot
Cake griddle home grown tomatoes, home grown tomatoes what would life be like
Without home grown tomatoes only two things that money cant buy
Thats true love and home grown tomatoes if is to change this life I lead
You could call me johnny tomatoe seed
cause I know what this country needs
Home grown tomatoes in every yard you see when I die dont bury me
In a box in a cold dark cemetery
Out in the garden would be much better
cause I could be pushin up a home grown tomatoe home grown tomatoes, home
Grown tomatoes what would life be like without home grown tomatoes only two
Things that money cant buy
Thats true love and home grown tomatoes
Words and music by guy clark
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Homely is lovely
To rave royal ladies is to taste banquet
Dishes
To devour ladies next door is to taste
homely food.
Any thing homely is more agreeable.
29.12.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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There Is Nothing Much To Go Deeper Into Life...
everything has a synonym
life has
a synonym for good food,
sushi,
uni, atami
a platter of jasmine rice,
beside a
hot chocolate
sardines with lots of
tomatoes
fried
in fact the synonyms have
become substitutes
for our definition of something
good and beautiful
less the garnishing of truth
to make
a synonym of a perfect day
just a pinch of sunlight
in my forehead
and then a bigger shade of
the penumbra of trees and
horizons
less the butterflies
that flit and then gone....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Food is My Friend
Food is my friend,
I eat it everyday.
When I'm all done,
I throw the trash away!
Food is really good;
I like chicken and pizza and fries.
I think that without it,
I just would not survive!
Food can be gross, too;
It stinks when it's gone bad.
But when it doesn't stink,
It actually tastes rad!
Food is the best;
I'm sad when it ends.
But all in all,
FOOD IS MY FRIEND! !
this was written by me and my brother
poem by Rebecca Ryan
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Famous Fable
The famous fable,
The famous table,
The famous stable,
The famous cable,
The famous babble,
The famous gable,
The famous parable,
The famous variable
The famous sable;
But, able to crown your love with my muse!
For, you are all that i need.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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My life right now is, I wouldn't say reduced to food, but my duties in life are that I wake up, cook breakfast, clean the dishes, prepare lunch, clean those dishes, go to the market, get fresh produce, cook dinner, clean those dishes and then sleep if I can. And I love it. I actually adore it.
quote by Heath Ledger
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To Be or Not to Be?
To be or not to be on diet?
That is the question!
I think I won’t.
I better prefer an entrecote.
I certainly love to eat,
My favorite dishes are so sweet.
I never ignore a cake.
How delicious is a juicy steak.
Sandwiches with caviar,
Spaghetti and meatballs,
Pilaf and goulash,
Cucumbers and fish …..
Why should I lose weight?
To eat is never late.
Why shouldn’t I eat?
I can stand on my feet.
Why should I care of my waist?
I so much enjoy the food’s taste.
I will not listen to anyone.
It’s the greatest fun
To eat fried mushrooms with sour cream.
Food is so good cooked on a steam.
Chickens in the oven I’ll bake,
Pancakes on the stove I’ll make.
Then I will drink wine
And my eyes will shine.
Someone will be surprised,
But some will be just enticed.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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The Birth Of Food
The birth of a biscuit combines my mind with my body,
Hardening the soul, hardening the mighty heart;
May hearts collide in innocent gestures,
Love has been tasted by the birth of an ingredient of love.
Mighty remembrance has been loved and liked,
Gestures of a table combine with the mighty arms and legs.
The biscuits and dishes and fishes work on their own,
Finding a concept of philosophy and knowledge.
This is the birth of food and cookery,
That chefs may discover in their youth.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Strangely enough, the first character in Fried Green Tomatoes was the cafe, and the town. I think a place can be as much a character in a novel as the people.
quote by Fannie Flagg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Honestly Speaking My Dear
you have a sharp knife with you
so i will keep a little distance
poor innocent onions, lousy green tomatoes,
foul garlic chopped into microscopic
pieces, and a frying pan overheated like a bull
fuming with smoke from the oil
what is that temperature honey?
oh, you are angry again to the world
of work, you are bored to the law
of routine, you are at it again in your
atlantic ocean of sighs and mysterious
turbulent ways, surge and upsurge.
I do not ask for reasons.
I let you boil up like water inside
that kettle that sings the songs
of madness, a warning that all
must shut up or be stabbed with
your unexplainable silence.
nothing sunny side up, everything
hard boiled with the black soot of
sulfur settling at the bottom of the egg.
honestly speaking, i do not mind at all.
it is at the time when you are so angry
that you become so silent,
and i like it that way. I can think some more.
Deeper and probing. Perhaps, i shall
soon find the answer in the hot oil overheated
inside that frying pan.
No one wants to be fried alive,
you know that well enough.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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