Cooking for six people every day is like having a cafe.
quote by Linda McCartney
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
I don't like gourmet cooking or ""this"" cooking or ""that"" cooking. I like good cooking.
quote by James Beard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I want to go to culinary school because I love cooking. One day I'd love to open up a restaurant or cafe.
quote by Mary-Kate Olsen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Just over 800 people were gathered around the cooking stage, all eager to learn about my five-minute flavor cooking. The demonstration had to be done right then and there, in front of everyone.
quote by Rocco DiSpirito
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I sometimes think the chef end of cooking is not the real end of cooking. Cooking is all about homes and gardens, it doesn't happen in restaurants.
quote by Delia Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I like cooking, but I like other people cooking more.
quote by David Wenham
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!
The Greedy Cat at the Cafe.
He sits at the corner table
with not a fur out of place,
delicately he eats with a well-manicured claw,
then, overwhelmed by the delicious smell - and taste,
shovels mouthful after mouthful in with his paw.
He greedy comes to the Cafe everyday
for breakfast, lunch and afternoon tea,
Gets served by Chris and Morgan,
two lovely people who, to please their customers
go out of their way.
The Cafe but had no name,
a catchy title none could think of,
But then the cat with the appetite so greedy,
said 'why not name it after me? '
'I always come here everyday,
and the freshest food you go out of the way to serve,
It would do me the greatest honour
if you named it The Greedy Cat Cafe'
So the cafe at last had a name,
'The Greedy Cat' it's now called,
Still everyday there go's that greedy cat,
Because of the food -
and Chris and Morgan's service with a smile -
he could never get bored.
02/01/06.
Cafe Of Dreams
welcome to the cafe
the cafe of dreams
the cattle stand dry
dry of mouth parched
awaiting their slaughter
so that a tired worker
may enjoy a good steak
meat pie or sausages
ground meat salt herbs spices
fried lovingly in your frying pan
not young mince meat dying
politic rhetoric in Afghanistan
slaugherhouse cafe is open
not only for teenagers who
dine 'Café des Abbatoirs'
die daily like passing cattle
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Parrot
The Parrot.
The café in our village has shut. The couple who ran it left
when their parrot died. They had kept the place open for it,
since it was a genial bird. The parrot called everyone who
entered idiots; people laughed no one took offence, or so
we all thought. But someone must have taken umbrage, it
was shot through the window when the café was empty.
Feather everywhere the village was shocked, who could do
such a shameful deed? The culprit, was a farmer, who had
drunk his coffee at the café for twenty odd years, and had
enough of being called an idiot. The moral of this sad tale,
if there is any: if you call a man an idiot long enough he will
end up being one.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Envy
The Envy
They do not pay me well, in this café, where
I work, so I take a little food home and drink
a little wine, when I can, because all the chefs
I read about make much more money than me.
When a big shot, in the world of finance, gets
paid a million in bonus, he takes it but grumble
for in his circle, he knows no one who are paid
less then this, but many who are paid more
When I get my pension after cooking food for
fifty years, it will not be much and I know of
no one who get less than me, but plenty who
receive much more and that makes me bitter.
But it’s sweet to know that those who make
more money than me are rancorous too ‘cause
they know of many very rich people who have
much more money than they have.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cooking
I want her
To be
Blemish free
So I don't
Want her
To learn
Cooking…
For the fear
Of getting
Burned or scalded.
But I have to
Teach her
Cooking…
So that she
Becomes
Self-reliant and
Society doesn't
Disdain her for
Poor cooking…
She is able to
Lead a life
Blemish free.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Banda Aceh
I flown the above cloud
swooping from height
from blue sky
blue sea
where I see the
people brighten up
as long as evening
in the walke
in the cafe-cafe
with full of peace
forget the conflict
in the past
awaken the flank hoe
dig the gold farm
so that we can harvest the fruit
of peace.
poem by Prasetya Utama
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Blue Cafe
My world is miles of endless roads
That leaves a trail of broken dreams
Where have you been
I hear you say?
I will meet you at the Blue Cafe
Because, this is wear the one who knows
Meets the one that does not care
The cards of fate
The older shows
To the younger one, who dares to tale
The chance of no return
Where have you been?
Where are you going to?
I want to know what is new
I want to go with you
What have you seen?
What do you know that is new?
Where are you going to?
Because I want to go with you
So meet me down at the Blue Cafe
The cost is great, the price is high
Take all you know, and say goodbye
Your innocence, inexperience
Mean nothing now
Because, this is where the one who knows
Meets the one that does not care
Where have you been?
I hear you say
I'll meet you at the Blue Cafe
So meet me at the Blue Cafe
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Electric Cafe
Musique rythmique
Son electronique
L'art politique
A l'age atomique
Electric Cafe
Culture physique
Cuisine dietetique
L'art dynamique
A l'age atomique
Electric Cafe
Musica electronica
Figura ritmica
Arte politica
De la era atomica
Electric Cafe
Images synthetique
Forme estetique
L'art poetique
A l'age atomique
Electric Cafe
Musique rythmique
Son electronique
L'art politique
A l'age atomique
song performed by by Kraftwerk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Surprise in Japan - Mosquitos in the Oil
not so oily to the ears
mosquitos and other insects
in the used cooking oil
cooking oil for reuse
mosquitos, and insects
at bottom of the can
restaurant special recipe
adding to the taste
used oil with mosquitos
Most books I read tell us about Japanese being very clean people but the chef of this this restaurant in Nishi Funabashi I found put his used cooking oil in a can and under the choppng table in the kitchen. It was meant for reuse. I found mosquitos, ants, and other insects at the bottom of the can. It was really a surprise.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cafe Prague.
Cream coloured coffee
And hot buttered toast
August sunshine
A packet of cigarettes
Talks on love and life
Friends and strangers all together
Days of summer
Seated on outside chairs
Tears and laughter
Mixed in the air
Of the perfect day just us and them
Cafe pavements
The world at view
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Used coffee cups
And ashtrays too
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Trendy young girls
And the wannabe author
Auster, Adams and Mr. Salinger
Days of dreaming
The perfect film
In view for all to see
Hello, hello
So good to see you
Was it twelve?
Or maybe it was two
I’ll sit and wait
And think of you
Cafe pavements
For me and you
Pairs, Rome and cafe Prague
Dirty spoons and knives
And glasses too
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Teacups and Earl grey
And ice cream sundaes
Black and white life
In full technicolour
Light my cigarette
And I’ll listen all day
Sunshine days
Storm clouds - away
The table over there
Just a smiling man
For today - all alone
Waiting his time
Cafe pavements
The world today
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Beautiful Ladies
And business gents
Paris, Rome and Cafe Prague
Student cameras
And picture painting
Hollywood lifestyle
In the common street
Brando, Dean and Al Pacino
Next to you and me
See you later
Maybe tomorrow
Give me a ring
And we’ll make a date
I’ll sit and think
And wait for you
Cafe pavements
For meetings and lunch
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Perfect tables
And used up chairs
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
poem by Patrick Sant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Cook: A Tribute To Bibhu Padhi
The cook knows
that his shadow
burns in the fire.
Turmeric fragrance drives
hungry crocodiles away
from the greenroom.
While cooking himself
the cook discovers
that each fire has its own inscription.
You know how profound
the fire is, how much
it demands from life.
Cooking is self-cooking,
discovery of fire-roses
getting wiser in the soul of a bird.
poem by Rudra Kinshuk
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I like health-conscious cooking, but growing up in the South, I do love southern cooking; southern France, southern Italy, southern Spain. I love southern cooking.
quote by Clarence Clemons
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Sad Cafe
You sit inside the Sad Cafe,
eyes tinged crimson red.
A shattered fearful heart today,
every dream has fled.
Broken tokens, love not spoken,
marred and scarred your soul.
Pause to make life's cause reopen,
then regain control.
Cafe of torn and broken hearts,
victims of deceit.
Their healing dreams now grown apart,
wrapped inside conceit.
Confusion is their constant song,
background music sung.
The caring Sad Cafe belongs,
brightly shines it's sun.
Fear is in the tears now falling
from their drowning eyes.
Now the healer hears them calling,
through the Cafe's cries.
Mystical Cafe is reaching,
to the healing muse.
Muses share their fearsome teaching,
on the tools to use.
So thank the stars for Sad Cafes,
all around the world.
The Sad Cafes may take away,
hatred gnarled and burled.
© S.E.S
poem by Sara Stowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I get quite lazy about cooking because when I come back from work it is the last thing I want to do, really is spend loads of time cooking.
quote by Prince William
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!