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Biscuits Quotes

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Biscuits Quotes

“His eyes light up upon seeing the cookies. “Did you make them?” “My sister did. They’re just the break-and-bake kind.” “Those are my favorite.” “No they’re not,” Victoria says. “Hey, how about you head upstairs and start getting ready for bed?” “It’s seven o’clock.” “How about you head upstairs and just … stay there?” They look at each other for a long moment and seem to be having some kind of nonverbal sibling communication. Finally Victoria sighs and steps away from the door. “I get half of those cookies.”

CookiesSiblingsBiscuitsFoolish Hearts
Book:Foolish Hearts
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“Even though we had ordered light, ordering light for a food reviewer meant ordering a roughly normal amount of food. We noshed first on flaky biscuits that melted in my mouth when slathered with a combination of sweet cream butter, smoky bacon butter, and a spicy drizzle of local honey infused with chiles. Then on a salad, crunchy chunks of iceberg and romaine bathed in a coconut-lime vinaigrette, studded with chunks of roasted squash, sunflower seeds, and crispy pork belly that melted into bacon fat on my tongue.”

SaladPorkReviewersSeasoningsBiscuitsAppetizersButters
Book:Best Served Hot
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“Laden with all these new possessions, I go and sit at a table. And don't ask me what the table was like because this was some time ago and I can't remember. It was probably round." [...] "So let me give you the layout. Me sitting at the table, on my left, the newspaper, on my right, the cup of coffee, in the middle of the table, the packet of biscuits." "I see it perfectly." "What you don't see," said Arthur, "because I haven't mentioned him yet, is the guy sitting at the table already. He is sitting there opposite me." "What's he like?" "Perfectly ordinary. Briefcase. Business suit. He didn't look," said Arthur, "as if he was about to do anything weird." "Ah. I know the type. What did he do?" "He did this. He leaned across the table, picked up the packet of biscuits, tore it open, took one out, and . . ." "What?" "Ate it." "What?" "He ate it." Fenchurch looked at him in astonishment. "What on earth did you do?" "Well, in the circumstances I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do. I was compelled," said Arthur, "to ignore it." "What? Why?" "Well, it's not the sort of thing you're trained for, is it? I searched my soul, and discovered that there was nothing anywhere in my upbringing, experience, or even primal instincts to tell me how to react to someone who has quite simply, calmly, sitting right there in front of me, stolen one of my biscuits." "Well, you could. . ." Fenchurch thought about it. "I must say I'm not sure what I would have done either. So what happened?" "I stared furiously at the crossword," said Arthur, "couldn't do a single clue, took a sip of coffee, it was too hot to drink, so there was nothing for it. I braced myself. I took a biscuit, trying very hard not to notice," he added, "that the packet was already mysteriously open. . ." "But you're fighting back, taking a tough line." "After my fashion, yes. I ate the biscuit. I ate it very deliberately and visibly, so that he would have no doubt as to what it was I was doing. When I eat a biscuit," said Arthur, "it stays eaten." "So what did he do?" "Took another one. Honestly," insisted Arthur, "this is exactly what happened. He took another biscuit, he ate it. Clear as daylight. Certain as we are sitting on the ground." Fenchurch stirred uncomfortably. "And the problem was," said Arthur, "that having not said anything the first time, it was somehow even more difficult to broach the subject the second time around. What do you say? 'Excuse me... I couldn't help noticing, er . . .' Doesn't work. No, I ignored it with, if anything, even more vigor than previously." "My man..." "Stared at the crossword again, still couldn't budge a bit of it, so showing some of the spirit that Henry V did on St. Crispin's Day . ." "What?" "I went into the breach again. I took," said Arthur, "another biscuit. And for an instant our eyes met." "Like this?" "Yes, well, no, not quite like that. But they met. Just for an instant. And we both looked away. But I am here to tell you," said Arthur, "that there was a little electricity in the air. There was a little tension building up over the table. At about this time." "I can imagine."” "We went through the whole packet like this. Him, me, him, me . . ." "The whole packet?" "Well, it was only eight biscuits, but it seemed like a lifetime of biscuits we were getting through at this point. Gladiators could hardly have had a tougher time." "Gladiators," said Fenchurch, "would have had to do it in the sun. More physically gruelling." "There is that. So. When the empty packet was lying dead between us the man at last got up, having done his worst, and left. I heaved a sigh of relief, of course. "As it happened, my train was announced a moment or two later, so I finished my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper . . ." "Yes?" "Were my biscuits." "What?" said Fenchurch. "What?" "True." "No!”

TrainBiscuitsCrossword
Book:So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish
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“Tell me the story," said Fenchurch firmly. "You arrived at the station." "I was about twenty minutes early. I'd got the time of the train wrong." "Get on with it." Fenchurch laughed. "So I bought a newspaper, to do the crossword, and went to the buffet to get a cup of coffee." "You do the crossword?" "Yes." "Which one?" "The Guardian usually." "I think it tries to be too cute. I prefer The Times. Did you solve it?" "What?" "The crossword in the Guardian." "I haven't had a chance to look at it yet," said Arthur, "I'm still trying to buy the coffee." "All right then. Buy the coffee." "I'm buying it. I am also," said Arthur, "buying some biscuits." "What sort?" "Rich Tea." "Good Choice." "I like them. Laden with all these new possessions, I go and sit at a table. And don't ask me what the table was like because this was some time ago and I can't remember. It was probably round." "All right." "So let me give you the layout. Me sitting at the table. On my left, the newspaper. On my right, the cup of coffee. In the middle of the table, the packet of biscuits." "I see it perfectly." "What you don't see," said Arthur, "because I haven't mentioned him yet, is the guy sitting at the table already. He is sitting there opposite me." "What's he look like?" "Perfectly ordinary. Briefcase. Business suit. He didn't look," said Arthur, "as if he was about to do anything weird." "Ah. I know the type. What did he do?" "He did this. He leaned across the table, picked up the packet of biscuits, tore it open, took one out, and..." "What?" "Ate it." "What?" "He ate it." Fenchurch looked at him in astonishment. "What on earth did you do?" "Well, in the circumstances I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do. I was compelled," said Arthur, "to ignore it." "What? Why?" "Well, it's not the sort of thing you're trained for is it? I searched my soul, and discovered that there was nothing anywhere in my upbringing, experience or even primal instincts to tell me how to react to someone who has quite simply, calmly, sitting right there in front of me, stolen one of my biscuits." "Well, you could..." Fenchurch thought about it. "I must say I'm not sure what I would have done either. So what happened?" "I stared furiously at the crossword," said Arthur. "Couldn't do a single clue, took a sip of coffee, it was too hot to drink, so there was nothing for it. I braced myself. I took a biscuit, trying very hard not to notice," he added, "that the packet was already mysteriously open..." "But you're fighting back, taking a tough line." "After my fashion, yes. I ate a biscuit. I ate it very deliberately and visibly, so that he would have no doubt as to what it was I was doing. When I eat a biscuit," Arthur said, "it stays eaten." "So what did he do?" "Took another one. Honestly," insisted Arthur, "this is exactly what happened. He took another biscuit, he ate it. Clear as daylight. Certain as we are sitting on the ground." Fenchurch stirred uncomfortably. "And the problem was," said Arthur, "that having not said anything the first time, it was somehow even more difficult to broach the subject a second time around. What do you say? "Excuse me...I couldn't help noticing, er..." Doesn't work. No, I ignored it with, if anything, even more vigor than previously." "My man..." "Stared at the crossword, again, still couldn't budge a bit of it, so showing some of the spirit that Henry V did on St. Crispin's Day..." "What?" "I went into the breach again. I took," said Arthur, "another biscuit. And for an instant our eyes met." "Like this?" "Yes, well, no, not quite like that. But they met. Just for an instant. And we both looked away. But I am here to tell you," said Arthur, "that there was a little electricity in the air. There was a little tension building up over the table. At about this time." "I can imagine.”

HumorFunnyLolBiscuitsDouglas Adams
Author:Douglas Adams
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“That went well," Christina murmured to him. "Pffaww," he agreed. "They're a pair! They don't like anything. They don't even like the dachshund. Who doesn't like dachshunds? They're little parcels of dog-shaped goodness. I've known Jalabite Hegemon ships give up conquest and start little farmsteads just so they can have happy dachshunds. Everyone likes dachshunds, everywhere in the universe. Well, except on Bithomorency. People there got into a war with a refugee column of evolutionarily advanced dachshund supersoldiers fleeing the destruction of their homeworld. The wire-haired marines took out an entire town - two hundred thousand dead. And it was a tragic misunderstanding. The dachshunds only stopped to ask for some biscuits, automated defence systems fired on them. There's a lesson: never give control of your space weapons to an unsupervised machine." He shrugged, and she found herself nodding: schoolboy error.”

BiscuitsThe DoctorDachshundsThe Tenth DoctorLady Christina De SouzaBritish Spelling Of DefenseDachshund SupersoldiersMisunderstanding About BiscuitsPffawwSchoolboy ErrorSpace Weapons
Book:Doctor Who: Keeping Up with the Joneses
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“Rosy’s mummy hands Franny a clear plastic bag full of reject biscuits, then Rosy holds her cheek out for Franny’s wet kiss. Rosy wipes the slime from her face and Franny cackles, then shows them both into the lounge. There on Franny’s coffee table is a biscuit tin with a Christmas picture on the lid. Proper shop-bought biscuits, not factory rejects. “Please, may I have a biscuit?” Rosy says. “Oh, there are no biscuits in that my darling,” Franny says, and pulls the tin from Rosy’s prying fingers. Franny holds open the bag of crumb-speckled chocolate digestives. “Help yourself, my wee hen.” Rosy settles for a reject. Franny puts the Christmas tin up high, way up high, way out of reach.”

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Book:Screw Friendship
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“Language, Sweet," said Magnus's mother, arriving with a plate full of homemade biscuits. She didn't scold him too harshly about his talk these days. Magnus suspected this was because Mama shared Uncle Sweet's opinion about the Nazis. Yet despite the shortages and rationing, she had managed to turn out the most delicious biscuits Magnus had ever tasted. They were redolent of butter, which Mrs. Gundersen up the hill traded for apples from the family orchard. Uncle Sweet made a great show of fanning himself and swooning as he ate a biscuit. "Language," he said, "is nothing but a bunch of words, and there are no words to express how wonderful this cookie is. I swear, if you were not already married, I would have you locked in a workroom like Rumpelstiltskin's daughter, forced to bake for me all day." He stole another biscuit from the platter and headed for the basement, lighting his way with an oil lamp. No one ever asked where his photographic chemicals came from- no one wanted to hold the answer like a piece of stolen fruit.”

BiscuitsRationing1940Magnus JohansenUncle Sweet
Book:The Apple Orchard
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“Used to be when a bird flew into a window, Milly and Twiss got a visit. Milly would put a kettle on and set out whatever culinary adventure she'd gone on that day. For morning arrivals, she offered her famous vanilla drop biscuits and raspberry jam. Twiss would get the medicine bag from the hall closet and sterilize the tools she needed, depending on the seriousness of the injury. A wounded limb was one thing. A wounded crop was another. People used to come from as far away as Reedsburg and Wilton. Milly would sit with them while Twiss patched up the 'poor old robin' or the 'sweet little meadowlark.' Over the years, the number of visitors had dwindled. Now that the grocery store sold ready-bake biscuits and jelly in all the colors of the rainbow, people didn't bother as much about birds.”

JellyBiscuitsHealersTwissMillyBird Sisters
Book:The Bird Sisters
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“Well, I was up bright and early, and while everybody else went to church or whatever they do on Sunday morning, I was chopping turkey and ham and mushrooms for the casserole and mixing chopped pickled peaches and pecans with cream cheese for the salad that had to congeal in the fridge at least two hours. I also decided to go ahead and mix all the dry ingredients and shortening for the biscuits so all I'd have to do would be to add buttermilk at the last minute, cut 'em out, and bake 'em. That left only the cheese grits, which I knew could be boiled in advance, then mixed with butter and sour cream and eggs and cheddar and a little garlic and seasonings, scraped into a big baking dish, and stuck in the oven with the casserole to get nice and golden by the time everybody arrived.”

IngredientsSaladBiscuitsSouthern CookingGritsCasserole
Book:Hungry for Happiness
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“For our first course, we have a play on biscuits and gravy, a classic Southern dish that's also popular in the Midwest." Chef Laurent picked up his fork and cutter into the biscuit. "Here, we have a miniature biscuit topped a boudin blanc sawmill gravy and a poached quail egg." Chef Martinet poked at the quail egg until the yolk burst. Probably looking for egg flaws. Rosie decided to just keep talking. If she kept talking, she wouldn't be thinking about what they were eating. "I first had biscuits and gravy at the restaurant where my mom works." "Your mother, she is a chef?" Chef Laurent asked. He was going back in for another bite. That had to be a good sign. "No. She, um, manages the store... at the restaurant... where she works." No matter how much time Chef Laurent may have spent in Ohio, Rosie was pretty sure he hadn't experienced a Cracker Barrel. But he nodded like a combined restaurant and gift store was nothing out of the ordinary. "I put my own spin on sawmill gravy by using boudin blanc instead of breakfast sausage to incorporate some of the flavors I've discovered living here, and I kept the biscuit small and used a quail egg to keep the portion appropriate for a first course." "The biscuit is excellent," Chef Laurent said. "Fluffy, light, buttery- it is everything a biscuit should be. I should tell Marcus that this exactly the kind of appetizer he should serve." He must have meant Marcus Samuelsson. Rosie felt her hopes start to rise. "For our next course, we have a burger topped with Gruyère and caramelized onions on a brioche bun.”

BiscuitsGravyRosieEggBurgerMarcus Samuelsson
Book:Love à la Mode
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“Her kitchen was full of memories. This was where she demonstrated the god-given talent and craft that had made Sugar a success when she’d founded it at the age of twenty. This was where she had perfected her techniques and recipes---the dense Detroit pound cake, the light-as-air pastries, her signature champagne torte, and the bestselling kolaches had all been developed here in the homey old-fashioned kitchen. Biscuits, she often said, were the purest test of a baker’s skill. The ingredients were simple and technique was everything. Use flour from winter wheat and sift it twice. Keep a cube of butter in the freezer and shred it with the box grater. Wet your fingertips with buttermilk and handle the dough as if it were as fragile as a soap bubble.”

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Book:Sugar and Salt
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“It was a classic southern spread. Shrimp and grits, red rice, biscuits, mac and cheese, pulled pork, and a ton of other sides. It smelled delicious. I made myself a little pulled pork sandwich with Carolina BBQ sauce on a Hawaiian roll. It was even better than it smelled. I made a note of the caterer. Hamby. Of course. Hamby Cateringwas the caterer; they did all the best events in Charleston. We both wolfed down the delicious chicken salad sandwiches, huge helpings of mac and cheese, and two biscuits that were lighter than clouds--- not as good as Maggie's, but pretty good.”

BiscuitsSouthern FoodSandwich MakingSpreads
Book:The Violet Hour
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“But when that smoking chowder came in, the mystery was delightfully explained. Oh! sweet friends, hearken to me. It was made of small juicy clams, scarcely bigger than hazel nuts, mixed with pounded ship biscuits and salted pork cut up into little flakes! the whole enriched with butter, and plentifully seasoned with pepper and salt... we dispatched it with great expedition.”

LittlesMadeWholeCuttingMysteryFoodSweetBiggerCookingShipsSmokingCulinaryNutsSaltPorkPeppersExpeditionsBiscuitsJuicyFlakesClamsSweet Friend
Book:MOBY-DICK (WITH NOTES)(BIOGRAPHY)(ILLUSTRATED): OR, THE WHALE
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“I don't mind most religious people, I talk to them. I listen to them, you know, banging on. "I prayed very hard and then the fairy came." "Did he? Good. Have a biscuit." I only get annoyed when they try and make me see the fairy. "You have to let the fairy into your heart." Look, I wouldn't let him into my garden, okay? I'd shoot him on sight, if he existed, which he doesn't. Now have another biccie and be quiet, will you please?”

PeopleIfsKnowsTryingMindLooksHeartHardReligiousPleaseQuietGardenSightFairyAnnoyedBangingBiscuits
Author:Dylan Moran
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“There are a couple of different types of food I eat a lot. I was raised in the South, in Tennessee, so I’m going to go with comfort food, soul food. I would probably start with collard greens and candied baby carrots and then have some biscuits and white gravy - and for dessert, probably blackberry cobbler.”

DifferentSoulWhiteBabyTypeCoupleComfortSouthRaisedDessertCarrotsTennesseeBiscuitsBlackberriesGravyComfort FoodFood For The SoulCobblersRaised In The South
Author:Megan Fox
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“The reason we'd stopped was that the buffet car was on fire, that was the reason we stopped. One of the giant biscuits spontaneously combusted out of boredom. Whoever was charged with making the announcement momentarily lost all sense of procedure and we got this tantalizing glimpse into the chaos on the trains, and all we could hear was (bangs on microphone) "Gary, it's burning, what we gonna do?!" And everyone on the carriage just cheered, "Hooray! We're rubbish!"”

ReasonHumorFunnyLostFireCarTrainChaosBurningGiantsBoredomGlimpseBangsProceduresRubbishMicrophonesBuffetsGaryCarriagesAnnouncementsBiscuitsTantalizing
Author:Bill Bailey
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“There is one day that is ours. Thanksgiving Day is the one day that is purely American.”

One DayThanksgivingThanksgiving DayBiscuitsThanksgiving And GratitudeThanksgiving ThanksThanksgiving GratitudeThanksgiving HolidayInspirational ThanksgivingHappy ThanksgivingFunny ThanksgivingThanksgiving InspirationalThanksgiving FunnyLove ThanksgivingThanksgiving GreetingsFunny Happy ThanksgivingGood ThanksgivingThanksgiving LoveFamily ThanksgivingThanksgiving WishesThanksgiving And FamilyThanksgiving And LoveThanksgiving FamilyFunny Thanksgiving DayChristian ThanksgivingHappy Thanksgiving WishesThanksgiving ChristianGreat ThanksgivingHappy Thanksgiving LoveNice ThanksgivingThanksgiving Card
Author:O. Henry
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