Best 552 quotes in «dinner quotes» category

When I was a nurse my favourite assignment was the anorexic ward. I sometimes ate as many as seventeen dinners

When my girlfriend cooks dinner, I'm happy to do the dishes. Because I make her wash dishes when I take her to a restaurant.

When one is too old for love, one finds great comfort in good dinners.

When New Yorkers tell one about the dangers of their city, the muggings, the dinner parties to which no one turns up for fear of being attacked on the way, the traffic snarl-ups, the bland indifference of the city cops, they are unmistakably bragging.

When people come over to my house for dinner, I always have a vegetarian option. They can make do, or they can **** off!

When they told me I needed a mastectomy, I thought of the thousands of luncheons and dinners I had attended where they slapped a name tag on my left bosom. I always smiled and said, 'Now, what shall we name the other one?' That would no longer be a problem.

When the time comes that a man has had his dinner, then the true man comes to the surface

When we ever invited the beast to dinner he didn't come in and swipe the napkins and start taking notes on the tablecloth 'bout how to take over the whole house?

When you are invited to a dinner, you are either a guest or you are part of a menu

When you try on something, you have to ask yourself, 'How many ways could I wear this? Could I wear it to work? To dinner or drinks? Will it span the seasons' If you have to think too hard about those questions, then skip it.

Who bothers to cook TV dinners? I suck them frozen.

While Coach Hedge was having dinner on the foredeck, a wild pegasus appeared from nowhere,stampeded over the coach’s enchiladas, and flew off again, leaving cheesy hoof prints all across the deck. “What was that for?” the coach demanded.

Whether I'm on for a day or whether I'm on for a year, at the end of the day, I sing for my dinner.

Why should I refuse a good dinner simply because I don't understand the digestive processes involved?

With four-appetizer, four-entree menus, it's like, give me a break. That's not a restaurant, that's a dinner party.

You know I'll kiss you for my supper. Yeah, you know I'll kiss you for my dinner, baby.

Writers get exactly the right amount of fame: just enough to get a good table in a restaurant but not enough so that people are constantly interrupting you while you're eating dinner.

Zac Efron would make us feel guilty for eating big dinners. He'd say, 'Do you really want to eat those carbs?' It was like, 'Thanks a lot!'

You know that just before that first Thanksgiving dinner there was one wise, old Native American woman saying, Don't feed them. If you feed them, they'll never leave.

You mustn't stand about. Come home with me to dinner.’ ‘No.’ More shakes his head. ‘I would rather be blown around on the river and go home hungry. If I could trust you only to put food in my mouth – but you will put words into it.

You praise, in three hundred verses, Sabellus, the baths of Ponticus, who gives such excellent dinners. You wish to dine, Sabellus, not to bathe.

You know you've had too much to eat for Christmas dinner when you slump down onto a beanbag and realize... there is no beanbag.

Ah! good Sir! no Whores before Dinner, I beseech you." [Love's Last Shift]

A formal ten-course Chinese dinner was a deliberate courtship of the senses. The appetizers of cold plate meats gave way to steaming fish maw soup, cold and hot introductions to titillate and delight before the showcase of entrees: beef, pork, chicken, fish, seafood, vegetables. The ensuing textures, aromas, and flavors seduced, fulfilling the promises of the first courses. The inclusion of noodle and rice dishes provided a sense of comfort. The final dessert course of sesame balls stuffed with red-bean paste sealed the engagement on the sweetest of notes.

Are you guys really arguing over where to eat dinner?" "It's one of the more savage tools in the diplomatic arsenal.

and I pondered this curiously crazy life and the things I failed to grasp as a girl but thought I understood now as a softer, wiser woman I thought about life and death… I thought about tonight’s dinner menu too…

At least there's nothing traditional about an engagement dinner, so we'll be spared having to prepare a twelve-course wedding banquet loaded with meaning. There will be no roasted pig to symbolize purity. No bright red lobster for luck. No shark fin soup for wealth.

As for Headmistress Crouch, I pegged her as the type who wouldn't have a mate, either because of her exacting standards, or because she ate him for dinner.

Dinner is the most like jazz of all the meals, in that jazz is part form and part improvisation. You decide what you’re going to have, and then while you’re preparing it – because it’s the end of the day and you have the time – you have the room to consider things about it, to change things about it. You make it something new. ‘I think I’ll add a little chili powder.’” ~ Seth Asa, age 37 Dinnertimes: Stories of American Life, 1912 to 2012

Dinner for two; save a booth, lace your boots, fondue and fondles, smiles and smooches. We sailed at sunset; skin and snuggles, moon and moans. I've lost myself in you.

Best of stories are created at Airports, Dinner Tables and Showers!

But the sky was a pale lavender, soon to be swallowed by dark. They were expected home before this happened, home for a supper of fall vegetables and Mother's good yeast bread, and maybe some meat- squirrel most likely. And for dessert they could eat as many crunchy apples, the first of the fall season, as they wanted.

Dinner was served on mismatched plates with paper napkins and silverware that looked like it had been stolen from a school cafeteria. The spaghetti was from a box that was still poking out of the garbage pail, the sauce from a jar that was sitting beside the sink. I got the definite impression that he chose to make dinner because he couldn't afford to take me out.

Domenico, my pen pal and the master of ceremonies, emerges from the kitchen in a cobalt suit bearing a plate of bite-sized snacks: ricotta caramel, smoked hake, baby artichoke with shaved bottarga. The first course lands on the table with a wink from Domenico: raw shrimp, raw sheep, and a shower of wild herbs and flowers- an edible landscape of the island. I raise my fork tentatively, expecting the intensity of a mountain flock, but the sheep is amazingly delicate- somehow lighter than the tiny shrimp beside it. The intensity arrives with the next dish, the calf's liver we bought at the market, transformed from a dense purple lobe into an orb of pâté, coated in crushed hazelnuts, surrounded by fruit from the market this morning. The boneless sea anemones come cloaked in crispy semolina and bobbing atop a sticky potato-parsley puree. Bread is fundamental to the island, and S'Apposentu's frequent carb deliveries prove the point: a hulking basket overflowing with half a dozen housemade varieties from thin, crispy breadsticks to a dense sourdough loaf encased in a dark, gently bitter crust. The last savory course, one of Roberto's signature dishes, is the most stunning of all: ravioli stuffed with suckling pig and bathed in a pecorino fondue. This is modernist cooking at its most magnificent: two fundamental flavors of the island (spit-roasted pig and sheep's-milk cheese) cooked down and refined into a few explosive bites. The kind of dish you build a career on.

Dinner was a comedy of diplomacy.

Fussing over food was important. It gave a shape to the day: breakfast, lunch, dinner; beginning, middle, end.

Each course was more delectable than the last. Phoebe would have thought nothing could have surpassed the efforts of the French cook at Heron's Point, but this was some of the most delicious fare she'd ever had. Her bread plate was frequently replenished with piping-hot milk rolls and doughy slivers of stottie cake, served with thick curls of salted butter. The footmen brought out perfectly broiled game hens, the skin crisp and delicately heat-blistered... fried veal cutlets puddled in cognac sauce... slices of vegetable terrine studded with tiny boiled quail eggs. Brilliantly colorful salads were topped with dried flakes of smoked ham or paper-thin slices of pungent black truffle. Roasted joints of beef and lamb were presented and carved beside the table, the tender meat sliced thinly and served with drippings thickened into gravy.

Ela olhou os miolos esbranquiçados destacando-se no arroz. Por aquele labirinto tinham corrido, um por um, todos os pensamentos do boi, alguns ainda deviam ter ficado perdidos por ali, os últimos: pensamentos da hora da morte, quando sentira o cheiro do sangue dos companheiros sacrificados lá na frente. Afastou o prato, repugnada. Era sinistro mastigar pensamentos, poderiam ressuscitar e ela ficaria conhecendo o boi. Pior do que isto, ficaria o próprio boi!

Face your true self. Your reaction when facing any animal is much more likely to be 'Ahh, cute!' than 'Yum, dinner!

Had a cold hummus with pita bread, Under a delicious food, yellow or red. Might just have the appetite to cook Urgent dinner by hook or crook. So that's just a humus humor spread.

Greenie had brought together ingredients for cherry bread. It was a variation on Irish soda bread, baked in a cast-iron skillet with dried cherries and pepitas instead of raisins and caraway seeds. At lunch, she would serve it with a spinach gorgonzola salad (the dressing sweet, to appease Ray) and a veal roast studded, porcupine fashion, with long, thin slivers of garlic, ginger, and chili pepper.

His attempt at polite discussion having been rebuffed, Cam sat back as the soup was removed and the second course was brought out. Sweetbreads in béchamel sauce, partridges nestled in herb beds, pigeon pies, roast snipe, and vegetable soufflé laced the air with a cacophony of rich scents.

Hey, my spaghetti’s moving!” cried Mr. Twit, poking around in it with his fork. “It’s a new kind,” Mrs. Twit said, taking a mouthful from her own plate which of course had no worms. “It’s called Squiggly Spaghetti. It’s delicious. Eat it up while it’s nice and hot.

His gaze didn’t stray from my face. “You’re a smart woman, Ella.” “Are you intimidated by a woman with a big vocabulary?” “Hell, yes. Any woman with an IQ higher than room temperature, and I’m gone. Unless she’s paying for dinner.” “I could play dumb and you could pay for dinner,” I offered. “Too late. You already used a five-syllable word.” -Jack & Ella

Hunger gives flavour to the food.

I'm eating' it quick... but I'll remember it a long time.

I cannot say your worships have delivered the matter well when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables [...] our very priests must become mockers if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your beards, and your beards deserve not so honorable a grave as to stuff a botcher's cushion or to be entombed in an ass's packsaddle [...] more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave with you.

I did not wait to hear the end of my father's story, for I had been with him myself after mass when we had met M. Legrandin; instead, I went downstairs to the kitchen to ask about the menu for our dinner, which was of fresh interest to me daily, like the news in a paper, and excited me as might the programme of a coming festivity.

If the food that one ate the night before were somehow able to be seen and identified through one’s clothes throughout the day, millions of employees would each fast ten or so days before their payday.

I hacked an old Crock-Pot and turned it into a sous vide machine, and did a turkey breast, and then seared the skin on the stovetop, so it is totally crispy, but the meat is BEYOND juicy. And the stuffing is a combination of homemade corn bread, homemade buttermilk biscuits, and brioche, with sage and thyme and celery and onion and shallot. And I tried the Robuchon Pommes Puree, and thought that there was no way to put THAT much butter into that much potato, but holy moley is it amazeballs! And I did a butternut squash soup with fried ginger and almond cake with apple compote." All the bustle has roused Volnay, who wanders over to greet Benji, and receives a dog biscuit for her trouble from Eloise. "Honey, breathe a little," I say, laughing. "It's just... I... I mean... THANKSGIVING!" he says, which cracks us all up.