Oh, better no doubt is a dinner of herbs,
When season'd with love, which no rancour disturbs
And sweeten'd by all that is sweetest in life
Than turbot, bisque, ortolans, eaten in strife!
But if, out of humour, and hungry, alone
A man should sit down to dinner, each one
Of the dishes which the cook chooses to spoil
With a horrible mixture of garlic and oil,
The chances are ten against one, I must own,
He gets up as ill-tempered as when he sat down.
You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Heaven sends us good meat, but the devil sends us cooks.
Heaven sends us good meat, but the devil sends us cooks.
Great pity were it if this beneficence of Providence should be
marr'd in the ordering, so as to justly read more
Great pity were it if this beneficence of Providence should be
marr'd in the ordering, so as to justly merit the Reflection of
the old proverb, that though God sends us meat, yet the D------
does cooks.
If your slave commits a fault, do not smash his teeth with your
fists; give him some of the read more
If your slave commits a fault, do not smash his teeth with your
fists; give him some of the (hard) biscuit which famous Rhodes
has sent you.
Ever a glutton, at another's cost,
But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.
Ever a glutton, at another's cost,
But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.
Hallo! A great deal of steam! the pudding was out of the
copper. A smell like a washing-day! That read more
Hallo! A great deal of steam! the pudding was out of the
copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A
smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each
other, with a laundress's next door to that. That was the
pudding.
"Very well," cried I, "that's a good girl; I find you are
perfectly qualified for making converts, and so read more
"Very well," cried I, "that's a good girl; I find you are
perfectly qualified for making converts, and so go help your
mother to make the gooseberry bye."
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
read more
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
She is so hot because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold because you come not home;
You come not home because you have no stomach;
You have no stomach, having broke your fast;
But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray,
Are penitent for your default to-day.
And nearer as they came, a genial savour
Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus.
Things which read more
And nearer as they came, a genial savour
Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus.
Things which in hungry mortals' eyes find favour.
