Don't give me no rotten tomato, 'cause all I ever wanted was your sweet potato.
This root [the potato], no matter how much you prepare it, is tasteless and floury. It cannot pass for an agreeable food, but it supplies a food sufficiently abundant and sufficiently healthy for men who ask only to sustain themselves. The potato is criticized with reason for being windy, but what matters windiness for the vigorous organisms of peasants and laborers?
For me, a plain baked potato is the most delicious one....It is soothing and enough.
Few people sufficiently appreciate the colossal task of feeding a world of billions of omnivores who demand meat with their potatoes.
The condition for a miracle is difficulty, however the condition for a great miracle is not difficulty, but impossibility.
Two generations ago only a few unfortunate children ever saw anyone hit over the head with a brick, shot, rammed by a car, blown up, immolated, raped or tortured. Now all children, along with their elders, see such images every day of their lives and are expected to enjoy them. ... The seven-year-old who hides his eyes in the family cops-and-robbers drama is desensitized four years later to a point where he crunches potato chips through the latest video nasty.
My most memorable meal is every Thanksgiving. I love the food: The turkey and stuffing; the sweet potatoes and rice, which come from my mother's Southern heritage; the mashed potatoes, which come from my wife's Midwestern roots; the Campbell's green bean casserole; and of course, pumpkin pie.
When I was younger, I ate nothing but fried food. Everything was fried, from oysters to chicken to potatoes to vegetables. When you die in New Orleans, they deep fry you before they put you in the coffin. When we baptize children in New Orleans, we baptize them with a bordelaise sauce; we don't use water.
I'm a lager drinker. I'm quite a stupid lager drinker. I do like my lager and mashed potatoes.
Comedy just pokes at problems, rarely confronts them squarely. Drama is like a plate of meat and potatoes, comedy is rather the dessert, a bit like meringue.
Both sides of my family had come from Ireland in the 19th century for the same reason: There was nothing to eat over there. Since then, I've tried to make up for the potato famine by making the potato the only vegetable that passes these lips.
We should go boldly where man has not gone before. Fly by the comets, visit asteroids, visit the moon of Mars. There's a monolith there. A very unusual structure on this potato shaped object that goes around Mars once in seven hours. When people find out about that they're going to say 'Who put that there? Who put that there?' The universe put it there. If you choose, God put it there.
Add one little bit on the end... Think of 'potato,' how's it spelled? You're right phonetically, but what else...? There ya go...alright!
I appreciate the potato only as a protection against famine, except for that, I know of nothing more eminently tasteless.
Winter blues are cured every time with a potato gratin paired with a roast chicken.
It is easy to think of potatoes, and fortunately for men who have not much money it is easy to think of them with a certain safety. Potatoes are one of the last things to disappear, in times of war, which is probably why they should not be forgotten in times of peace.
Rather than munching on a bag of potato chips, stick to fresh fruit and veggies.
In all the good Greek of Plato I lack my roastbeef and potato. A better man was Aristotle, Pulling steady on the bottle.
Whether it's a potato or a nut, it's a foodage!
There is a lot of interesting product coming to market already. Bags and bottles and cups and such made of potato starch and other fully biodegradable materials. In some sense, plastic is more chemically complex. We ought to be able to simplify.
I love food: hamburgers, pizza, gnocci, mashed potatoes, and especially chocolate. I enjoy eating for the sake of eating. Sometimes I feel sad for the models who don't eat. When you love food, you love life. When you love life, you love to love.
Being a king, emperor, or president is mighty small potatoes compared to being a mother.
What a business is this of a portrait painter! You bring him a potato and expect he will paint you a peach.
Nothing is more American than stuffing your face with loaded potato skins while drinking loaded mudslides.
Smell brings to mind... a family dinner of pot roast and sweet potatoes during a myrtle-mad August in a Midwestern town. Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines hidden under the weedy mass of years.
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