Quotessence
Home / Topics / Meals Quotes

Meals Quotes

Browse 1214 quotes about Meals.

Related topics

Meals Quotes

“Many a death was precipitated by the food, the job, or the medication whose main function was to postpone it.”

“A truly compassionate man gives a poor woman a portion of his meal before he eats, not after he has eaten.”

“For breakfast to be called ‘in bed’ instead of ‘on top of a bed,’ the house in which it is about to be eaten has to have at least two rooms (excluding the kitchen); (at least) three, if it has a bathroom.”

“Would it really be so bad if you slowed your life down even a teensy bit? If you took charge of the ingredients of your food instead of letting corporations stuff you and your family, like baby birds, full of sugar, corn products, chemicals, and meat from really, really unhappy animals?”

“Bowls and dishes have to be ferried to and from the table, plates filled and passed, sauce boats replenished. extra bread brought, dishes explained, recipes summarized -- not to mention arguments adjudicated, reminiscences patiently listened to, glances exchanged, eyebrows raised. . . all the choreography of a social event that no menu can possibly reflect. Every meal is a world of its own, from which we emerge, however subtly, changed.”

“I spend a lot of time thinking about hunger. Too much time really. I’m from a family who starts planning their next meal while they are sitting down to their first meal. I have read books on hunger. How to feel full. How to know when you are hungry or just bored or maybe sad. But hunger is also something else isn’t it? It’s not just the physical need to eat, but sometimes it is the want to be made satisfied, to feel, for once, like we have enough. I love watching children push away a plate when they’ve discovered fullness. It is a gift to be full and to know it. But me? I’m greedy with food. I love it. I over order from restaurants, and cook too much food at home. I want to feel not just full but fixed in some way. As if each meal will be my last and I must take it in, like the world, all at once.”

“At the dinner table... CALVIN, looking like an x-ray version of himself: Bombarded by high energy photons, Calvin is transformed into a living x-ray. CALVIN: Although this condition will facilitate future medical diagnoses, it does make Calvin's presence at the dinner table a disgusting ordeal. CALVIN: Everyone can see Calvin's food being ground into mushy pulp and swallowed! At this moment, Calvin chews up a large spoonful of creamed corn! CALVIN'S DAD, leaning in at the dinner table: For gosh sakes, close your mouth when you chew!! You think we want to SEE that? CALVIN, physically back to normal, except that his mouth is open amazingly wide, with full view of his current mouthful: MKGHH! SMACK! BLAGHKH!”

“When I was young, my friends and I always tested the PIs level of patience. For example, when synthesizing the specialties of old-days, the one-time risk of eating those dishes was calculated for minutes. Of course, in the end, we always wolfed down the unique meals they declared inedible. For example, the so-called hamburger we wanted to eat forced the PIs to assess the scale of risks while we were slurping up a half a deciliter of synthesized fat.”

“I realized that afternoon that for nearly a year, while my mother, brothers and I had constantly carried food up to my father, we had rarely eaten with him. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to me that he missed sharing a table or aplate, passing a spice or a spoon. But he did. Just as he missed seeing certain faces and places and hearing certain voices that neither his friends nor family nor the television could successfully transport to his room”

“The shared meal is no small thing. It is a foundation of family life, the place where our children learn the art of conversation and acquire the habits of civilization: sharing, listening, taking turns, navigating differences, arguing without offending. What have been called the “cultural contradictions of capitalism”—its tendency to undermine the stabilizing social forms it depends on—are on vivid display today at the modern American dinner table, along with all the brightly colored packages that the food industry has managed to plant there.”

“His meals were always punctual. Whether she cooked well or badly he did not know; it was a matter of total indifference to him. During his meals, which he ate at his writing desk, he was busy with important considerations. As a rule he would not have been able to say what precisely he had in his mouth. He reserved consciousness for real thoughts; they depend upon it; without consciousness, thoughts are unthinkable. Chewing and digestion happen of themselves.”

“The economy of your country shall never determine the size of your three square meals if you know you can rise against and above all limitations! The climatic emergencies in the weather shall never determine your survival rates if you know you are above their standards!”

“The world is wide, wide, wide, and I am young, young, young, and we’re all going to live forever!' We were very hungry but we didn’t want to leave, so we ate there. We had chicken sandwiches; boy, the chicken of the century. Dry, wry, and tender, the dryness sort of rubbing against your tongue on soft, bouncy white bread with slivers of juicy wet pickles. Then we had some very salty potato chips and some olives stuffed with pimentos and some Indian nuts and some tiny pearl onions and some more popcorn. Then we washed the whole thing down with iced martinis and finished up with large cups of strong black coffee and cigarettes. One of my really great meals.”

“I don't know how long I spent wandering about the supermarket creating meals in my mind. Hot roast chicken and mayonnaise sandwiches. Pizzas on crispy bases. Big, heaving bowls of spaghetti Bolognese. Crunchy, cheesy nachos with sour cream. I did a full circle and ended back in the fruit and veg section. Next to the peaches were boxes filled with tomatoes still clinging to their vines. The ripe tomato smell was almost sexual. It filled my nostrils as I lifted the box. There were some slightly rotten ones near the bottom of the box, but the rest were just perfect, thick with the perfume of their green vines, fat and red.”

“Think of other foods, other meals. The most complicated menu planning I can think of, my truly desperate resort. The imaginary dinner party I've always wanted to throw, the seven-course "Continental Cuisine" menu, with a dish for each continent. One, the amuse-bouche, ceviche of scallops and shrimp, with the leche de tigre served alongside in a tall shot glass, to wake the appetite. Two, a Moroccan soup, lentils, rich with cardamom and cumin and pepper. Three, the fish course, miso-glazed cod. Four, a white, barely lemon-tinted sorbet, representing Antarctica, because who cooks penguin? Five, Australian lamb, from Paula Wolfert's seven-hour-lamb recipe, so tender it melts in the mouth like butter instead of meat. Six, a small triangle of classically American apple pie, the crust enriched with white cheddar from Vermont. Seven, three European cheeses: tangy Manchego with membrillo, creamy asked Morbier with red pepper honey, sweet Gorgonzola Dolce on-”

“Truffles, foie gras, seafood, and caviar for forty-five people exceeded the restaurant's resources in both finances and prep time. The food at family meal was intended to be simple but tasty. We cooks took turns organizing and cooking for the restaurant staff before the first seating of the evening. In the early years, hand-stretched pizza had made regular appearances, as did roasted chicken, spaghetti and meatballs, and vats of chicken noodle soup. Recently, though, some newer recruits in the kitchen had turned family meal into more of a family feud. Eager to show Alain their individual style and prowess, the newbies had whipped up ten square feet of vegetarian lasagna with made-from-scratch ribbons of pasta, individual Beef Wellingtons with flaky pastry crusts, pillowy gnocchi dunked in decadent Bleu d'Auvergne with a finish of nutmeg grated tableside. Irritatingly good but, in my opinion, completely missing the point.”

“When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender, of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.”