Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Leftover. 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 Leftover Quotes And Sayings by 95 Authors including Jeanette Winterson,Kate Dicamillo,Laura Wiess,Christopher Nicole,Michael Pollan for you to enjoy and share.
The point about food is that a lot of it used to be left-overs and recycling.
It is all gone, though Peter. All of it is gone! And there is no way to get it back.
'Eat,' said Leo Matienne again, very gently.
Peter looked the truth of what he had lost full in the face.
And then he ate.
I tore the crusts off my grilled cheese sandwich and set them aside to throw out for the birds. Their motives were pure
hunger, thirst, shelter
and they didn't mind leftovers.
Chicken butt fried in grease want a piece
Leave something on your plate ... 'Better to go to waste than to waist
A watched supper dish never fills!
We should have made do at home. We threw away so much food."
Ricky says, "We ran out of ketchup," and the rest of them concur. No ketchup, no dinner.
You've been working hard, a sandwich isn't enough. I'll make you dinner. From the
freezer she took out a TV meal and threw it in the microwave.
On Saturday, he ate through one piece of chocolate cake, one ice-cream cone, one pickle, one slice of Swiss cheese, one slice of salami, one lollipop, one piece of cherry pie, one sausage, one cupcake, and one slice of watermelon That night he had a stomach ache.
We're still eating the leftovers of World War II.
I have a truly manic commitment to leftovers. I'll eat the same thing eight meals in a row, just so it doesn't go to waste.
the best choice we have on the menu tonight.
Not hungry,' Case managed. His brain was deep-fried. No, he decided, it had been thrown into hot fat and left there, and the fat had cooled, a thick dull grease congealing on the wrinkled lobes, shot through with greenish-purple flashes of pain. 'You
There's nothing left ... but to get drunk.
When you wake up the next morning and see a bag filled with stale pieces of bread, a candle, a wooden spoon, and a feather, you may be wondering what you did last night and weather anyone got hurt [Note: This is some strange Jewish custom].
It was pizza. Someone had stir-fried a pizza.
[T]ea, that uniquely English meal, that unnecessary collation at which no stimulants
neither alcohol nor meat
are served, that comforting repast of which to partake is as good as second childhood.
sampled the tasty food until, appetites sated,
Left me here to cry alone with a bottle of juice and pork chop bone.
There is excellent provision made of dainty new bread, crusty twists, cool fresh butter, thin slices of ham, tongue, and German sausage, and delicate little rows of anchovies nestling in parsley, not to mention new-laid eggs, to be brought up warm in a napkin, and hot buttered toast. For
Funny, that no one had ever asked what had happened to the dishes, the scraps, the crumbs in the photographs, on the poster.
rectangular slab of mincemeat that everyone, including the servers, referred to as baked turd.
All the white meat is gone. There's nothin' but necks on the platter.
Vegetables ... a waste of good plate space
For the second time today, someone had made him his favorite. But only one woman had gotten it right. Chicken-fried steak had been his favorite years ago. His tastes had changed.
Chicken or shellfish gumbo, usually a side. ("Sopa de" means
What does a beautiful woman who's lost everything in a fire and who's currently asleep in my bed want as a snack?
Can I have that last chicken sandwich?
I do have some leftover chicken and pasta. (Grace)
And wine? ... That's acceptable (Julian)
Look, buster, I'm not your cooking wench. Mess with me and I'll feed you Alpo. (Grace)
Give me yesterday's bread, this day's flesh, and last year's cider
What is left of a woman once her last five pounds are gone?
Trash can!
Pritkin cursed and grabbed one, just about the time everything I'd eaten that night paid a repeat visit. Whiskey, pizza, milk shake, beer-and a lone, half-dissolved gummy bear, which was a surprise, since I couldn't actually recall having eaten any. Fun times.
Dinner was meat - not hunks of meat, as in Australia, but pathetic scraps of meat, as in Britain - which the girls upstairs transformed into edible dishes by heating it in secret ways and adding bits of stuff to it.
You made plenty, Abby. We just wanted to tide ourselves over until next year ... unless you'd like to do this all over again at Christmas. You're a Maddox, now. I expect you at every holiday, and not to cook.
Food in the trash is like the tossed-and-found.
The food was good solid stuff for a cold morning, all calories and fat and protein and maybe a vitamin crying softly because it was all alone.
pickled in formaldehyde and painted like a whore, / Shrimp-pink incorruptible, not lost or gone before.
Grab your pig's feet, bread, and gin, there's plenty in the kitchen. I wonder what the poor people are eating tonight?
My meal arrived. It was a bowl of tepid, green curried water with two spinach leaves floating in it. The waiter called it 'vegetable soup'. I called it inedible slop.
pushing away his breakfast plate of mushrooms and moss sauce.
chicken on the grill
Where's my little half-pint of sweet cider half drunk up?
A nasty surprise in a sandwich
Exposed like butt cheeks at a strip club; chicken breasts, fleshy and sallow in the butcher's case; tequila bottle soldiers lined up across the bar's back wall.
Gone. Vanished. Nothing left. Nothing said.
grilled out, Sam Adams in hand, in the
I am someone who puts their takeout or leftovers into the Tupperware and stores it in the refrigerator overnight.
the lagers are warm and the takeaway's cold
Keg in the closet pizza on the floor left over from the night before, where we were going we didn't really care. We had all we ever wanted in that keg in the closet.
What happens to the hole when the cheese is gone?
A strangely prolonged lunch involving lobster, that infernally overrated food ...
Normally the only decoration in there was on Sham Harga's vest and the food was good solid stuff for a cold morning, all calories and fat and protein and maybe a vitamin crying softly because it was all alone. Now
What had been left of the eighty-nine people aboard hadn't looked much different from a Hamburger Helper casserole.
A stain. It's all that's left of us when we're gone.
Everything before you passed and went to waste.
It's some chopped liver. That's Jewish soul food.
piece of Turkey carpet
Barbarian that I am, I had eaten all of it. It had tasted quite nice too. Still, I took note of this fact and resigned myself to throw away half of a perfectly good cheese if it was set in front of me. Such is the price of civilization.
It was dog food. Beef livers with onions in a can. You open it up and it looks like vomit.
The wold was full of us, the leftovers and the leavers, the bereaved and the broken.
I checked the burger. It had everything on it but cheese. Just the way I liked it.
I ate 'umble pie with an appetite.
When we'd finished our ice creams Mum produced two cheese salad rolls, two packets of salt-and-vinegar crisps, two mini chocolate rolls, two apples, two bananas and two cartons of orange juice.
I don't cook, so my favorite dish to prepare is something on the takeout menu.
Dust balls lined the steps. A half-eaten sandwich sat atop the landing where someone had felt too sad to finish it.
He also ate every scrap of the cold meat she had cooked for him, and good gods, it was pretty awful. Somehow she had managed to wreck the simple task of browning chicken in a skillet. The outside was charred black, and the inside oozed juice that was still pink.
My mother's menu consisted of two choices: Take it or leave it.
roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup and, for some strange reason, mint humbugs. The
gone, you see, yet finding
The last dregs of winter spoiling the taste of everything.
[Lunch] was composed of one of the fish she had caught, evidently rescued from Mogget. This had been grilled with ginger, pepper, and some spice she didn't know, set atop a salad of grains and greenleaf, accompanied by a lightly sparkling clear wine she had to admit was delicious and refreshing.
Tasting a dish should be memorable If nothing remains in the memory of a single guest, then I have made a mistake.
It's been a slice!Slice-- Jon D'amore
What is home without Plumtree's Potted Meat? Incomplete.
A two-pound turkey and a fifty-pound cranberry-that's Thanksgiving dinner at Three Mile Island.
Green eggs and ham...
Only cooked time tastes well
rashers of bacon.
Unleavened Bread, all
topped with whipped cream, chopped nuts
--spring lamb roasted, with a mint jelly made from Constance's garden mint. Spring potatoes, new peas, a salad, again from Constance's garden. I remember it perfectly, madam. It is still one of my favorite meals.
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
She was downstairs now in the living room watching TV' with a mug of hot chocolate and a fried egg and pineappel
pineappel?
yes pineappel- sandwich.
Desserts. I ordered banoffee pie.
Michael lifted a menu from a stack on the counter and opened it. 'What's meatloaf?' I get the meat part, but a loaf of it?
The whole enchilada, kid.
Some oysters which Griselda had ordered, and which would seem to be beyond the reach of incompetence, we were, unfortunately, not able to sample as we had nothing in the house to open them with - an omission which was discovered only when the moment for eating them arrived.
It was a sh*t sandwich.
Obinze's burger was served in four pieces, arranged in a large martini glass. When Georgina's order arrived, a pile of red raw beef, an egg sunnily splayed on top of it, Obinze tried not to look at it as he ate, otherwise he might be tempted to vomit.
Nobody will buy a half-cooked food!
Imaginative cook, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back. "Steak and potatoes," I answered, and he looked relieved. He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered
There was still chicken on the bone but sometimes you just have to push the plate away.
My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows have been stripped of the stuff, leaving me like a plucked bird, ready for roasting.
Just a plate of negligence with a side of hope for dessert.
Travelling to make television programmes means I have some unusual food memories. In Pasto, Colombia, I was taken to a restaurant where I chose my meat for the evening from a cage of white rats. It tasted perfectly good - like rabbit.
Thinking about lunch. Smoked salmon with pedigreed lettuce and razor-sharp slices of onion that have been soaked in ice water, brushed with horseradish and mustard, served on French butter rolls baked in the hot ovens of Kinokuniya. A sandwich made in heaven
meals such as soups and casseroles we store
You gonna eat that?
No more turkey, but I'd like some more of the bread it ate.
What meals I had in silence and embarrassment, always feeling that there were a knife and fork too many, and that mine; an appetite too many, and that mine; a plate and chair too many, and those mine; a somebody too many, and that I!