Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Grated. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Grated Quotes And Sayings by 95 Authors including Anonymous,Robin Mckinley,Keller Yeats,Richie Benaud,Suzanne Collins for you to enjoy and share.
mashed into a casserole of wreckage that still smoked and burned.
I feel like a potato that's recently been mashed,she said.
Rotten like fish eyes in a barrel.
'Mullygrubber' is an Australian term which means something that creeps along the ground; it's like a little grub.
dripping-wet Gloss
Drop-dead freshly fucked gorgeous.
Plain as a pike-staff.
His popcorn exploded with truffle oil and shaved Parmesan, or chopped pretzels and chewy flecks of caramel. Today's batch smelled like curry and toasted almonds.
It's clear, it's fresh, like a mint candy.
Water trotted is as good as oates.
Skins tanned to the consistency of well-traveled alligator suitcases.
I was sand, I was snow - written on, rewritten, smoothed over.
Amazingly flaverly? Or flavored with amazin?
-Francis Vallejo
It scored right away with me by being the smooth, fine-grained sort, not the coarse flaky, dry-on-the-outside rubbish full of chunds of gut and gristle to testify to its authenticity.
Is it nice, my preciousss? Is it juicy? Is it scrumptiously crunchable?
A crier of green sauce.
It's hard to beat the rough texture of steel-cut oats, with their slight resistance against the teeth.
Appleblossom can't believe the taste of the dark square. Is tehre a way to describe this morsel of goodness? It is so sweet adn smooth. It makes a green snail seem like an old pinecone seed, and every possum knows that a green snail is fantastic eating.
It looked like pieces of bread pudding that had been soaked in raspberry syrup.
Will it be salt or late light that it melts like?
piece of Turkey carpet
I put my hand in my pocket and squeeze my rocks and wonder if there is a word for the marks you get on your palm when you squeeze something so hard that the skin is on the verge of ripping.
Fading light buttered the ridges until shadows licked them clean and they were lost to nightfall.
Her ruddy brown skin had the texture of pebbled linoleum.
Only this shimmeriness is the real living. The shape is a dead crust. The shimmer is inside really.
fine, dark grey strands. Like plague-flavoured candy floss, Justineau thinks.
The metallic silver coating found on fast-food game cards.
Today the man looked a bit . . . chewed. No, humans wouldn't say "chewed." Frazzled. Was that the human equivalent?
I am all that I grok.
...bleached by darkness
Stereotypical vegetarian food looks gray and brown.
Don't tell me you're going to eat a mashed-potato sandwich
Are you green and growing or ripe and rotting?
muted tones of puce--the color of tongue and bologna
Gravy isn't a food group." "Say what?
Ground, impaled on the trunk of a tree that has been shaved down to the point of
The purest white seems stained.
the wrinkled sleeve of the head
Like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when a' was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife.
Gilly Gilleshpee
Anders looked up and saw Rik's chocolate eyes. Even though they were brown, a closer look revealed a blue corona around the dark, almost mahogany brown irises. He'd seen a piece of agate like that once on a dig; a perfect marriage of brown and blue in the depths of a broken stone.
Where did you get that candy again?" Leven asked, worried.
"The pile said 'flavored'," Clover answered back, his face a chocolatey mess.
"Flavored?" Leven said exasperated. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Clover argued. "F-l-a-w-e-d
flavored.
coltish-looking,
Let China's earth, enrich'd with colour'd stains,
Pencil'd with gold, and streak'd with azure veins,
The grateful flavour of the Indian leaf,
Or Mocho's sunburnt berry glad receive.'
MRS. BARBAULD.
It's called Seflish, which is fitting
We can call it Isratine.
A face that looked like it had been whittled out of driftwood.
Salt. Wound. Together at last.
You make me wanna staple bagels to my face, then remove them with a pitchfork.
The thick plottens.
Troubles cured you salty as a country ham, smoky to the taste, thick-skinned and tender inside.
Vegetables when not sufficiently cooked are know to be so exceedingly unwholesome and indigestible, that the custom of serving them 'crisp' should be altogether disregarded when health is considered of more importance than fashion.
A refined sort of butcher, a woman is.
She is not refined. She is not unrefined. She keeps a parrot
All is not gold that glisters.
A potato is a poor thing, poorly treated. More often than not it is cooked in so unthinking and ignorant a manner as to make one feel that it has never before been encountered in the kitchen ...
Smoothly and lightly the golden seed by the furrow is covered.
When he spoke, his words seared through the air like so many knives, clipped as topiary, crisp as biscuits.
prepackaged slices or the Supermarket swiss (which has the texture but no where near the flavor, of rubber gloves)
Washed clean like a porcelain, with housewifely care ...
Too great refinement is false delicacy, and true delicacy is solid refinement.
The quail was tender, the potatoes smothered in butter, and the beans roasted in garlic.
She tore off a piece of baguette; it was both crusty and soft, still warm in the centre. It was amazing how something so simple, so basic could be this delicious.
Gold wrapped old crap.
I brushed it until it shone and looked somewhat like it used to look,
only far thinner, and less glorious.
What happens to the hole when the cheese is gone?
his hair gelled into badass spikes.
Thou art god, I am god. All that groks is god.
No crust so tough as the grudged bread of dependence.
A cut scarred where a caress faded away.
A pasty costly-made, Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay, Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks Imbedded and injellied.
Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of rotting squash.
I'd like a glass of cold gravy with a hair in it, please.
Safe word is Pickle
The normal food of man is vegetable.
Smeagol won't grub for roots and carrotses and - taters. What's taters,precious, eh, what's taters?"
"Po-ta-toes!" said Sam.
marked more by the way the grass
rectangular slab of mincemeat that everyone, including the servers, referred to as baked turd.
Is not this lily pure? What fuller can procure A white so perfect, spotless clear As in this flower doth appear?
This toast feels raw. Is it safe to eat raw toast?
To be, or not to be ... a potato
With all the sweetness of a chocolate-coated razor-blade.
Raw. Dirty. Scandalous and oh so delicious.
Mark Grotjahn's large new paintings abound with torrents of ropy impasto, laid down in thickets, cascading waves, and bundles that swell, braid around, or overlap one another.
Shucked and boiled in water, sweet corn is edible and nutritious; roasted in the husk in the hottest possible oven for forty minutes, shucked at the table, and buttered and salted, nothing else, it is ambrosia. No chef's ingenuity and imagination have ever created a finer dish.
It came out sparkling like liquid sky.
Gourmet: Usually little more than a glutton festooned with credit cards.
Sorry about the
squishy in your shoe. Must've
been something I ate.
Hunger was shred into atomics in every farthing porringer of husky chips of potato, fried with some reluctant drops of oil.
I come from a home where gravy is a beverage.
When a couch potato is sliced up and then deep fried that is couch french fries.
Julian presented the food. A fillet of sea bass with perfect griddle marks and a scattering of fennel picked from a nearby hedgerow. There were caramelized carrots, baby la ratte potatoes and a garnish of roasted tomatoes that had made a brief appearance in a painting that afternoon.
Lois looked edible, and you know it was tender all the way through, a kind of mystic combination of filet mignon and a Georgia peach aching for the tongue and ready to bleed gold.
with a seeping glitter of dark blood,
pickled in formaldehyde and painted like a whore, / Shrimp-pink incorruptible, not lost or gone before.
Caught between the tongue and the taste.
Better gray than garishness.
One word, in this place, respecting asparagus. The young shoots of this plant, boiled, are the most unexceptionable form of greens with which I am acquainted.
is the answer none of the above
crouched in a hole like a mud-streaked fugitive
everyday a different version of
pouring it away like a water through a sieve
By lunchtime the valley was lightly coated, like a cake with confectioner's sugar ... there was white fur on the antlers of the iron deer and on the melancholy boughs of the Norway spruce.