i pre ordered boars head oven-roasted turkey slices online,
so i wouldn’t have to wait in an inpatient line.
i could just stroll on by,
pick up my freshly sliced deli meat and carry on.
when i got home,
i prepared the stuffing mix.
i placed the stuffing in a neatly packed line
on one end of slice
i rolled up the turkey
until it rested on it’s end.
in the oven, it was placed
three hundred and fifty degrees fahrenheit,
for fifteen to twenty minutes
… or until golden brown.
Im an pretty awesome cook dang it but soon as an oven gets involved its downhill from there, i don’t know what it is about oven but whenever i have to cook with it or bake it turns out horrible EVERY. SINGLE. TIME
Anima
It’s the first thing you notice at the corner cafe. Something shiny and warm-smelling. A little piece of the at-home that Starbucks doesn’t have. It coughs forth chocolate chip macadamia, vanilla bean swirl, and a plethora of other sweet flavors. You can smell the sugar from the corner on main, it makes you crave coffee. And so you meander in from the rain, and drink.
I’d rather not bake in your presence. I like to bask instead… I always apply a cold demeanor before taking you on, letting you approach me. Then I can extend myself, my hands unable to help themselves, I can extend my fingers and my words can wind out toward you like a snake. Cold demeanor, loose tongue, sensitive to heat. Not a great combination. So it makes it very easy for me to bake and then burn… but I imagine I say “I’d rather not” instead of simply taking precautions and preventing high temperatures and high intensity exchanges because I like the flakey crust it gives me; another shield, and I am a flake after all.
Zoe
It was time she conquered her fears; it was time she baked a cake. A quizzical glance and a slight electrical buzz later, the oven was preheated to 400.
I opened the oven door. I popped in the muffins and set the timer on. With five minutes to go, I got the food coloring and the butter milk and blended them together. As the cake cooled down I smothered the icing on it, and put on some sprinkles as well.
Rose
It’s time to cook dinner. My husband will be getting off of work shortly. So i gotta start thinking about some healthy ideas to make him for dinner that wont affect his diet negatively. If i can do that and still make the food good then i can eat too lol dieting sucks hardcore.
The winds shrieked and moaned as if mourning for a lost loved one
The air trembled with heat, as if inside an oven
The Sahara was alive and dead with the everlasting sands
Golden shards of crushed stone that spread out in all directions, nearly swallowing the majestic blue sky above
Far ahead, was the crocodilian guise of an oasis, shivering distantly as the heat radiated from the sun, rose from the ground, everywhere and nowhere
The sun’s rays seemed to grow legs, running around, racing and playing tag upon the sands, scorching the plants and bleaching the bones of unfortunate animals to a pure white
The plants hunkered down in the soil, grasping for drops of water, while the stillness soaked the air with peace and loneliness
The Sahara was alive and dead with the everlasting sands
Ein Ofen ist ein Gerät, das in so gut wie jeder Küche steht. Manche erinnern sich an die Gasherde, die immer mit einem Ofen verbunden waren, so wie heute auhc noch. In einem Ofen kann man Tiefkühlgerichte aufbacken. Wie Zum Beispiel Pizza und so weiter.
Melina
out of the frying pan so they say. But..I was not without my resources. I reached for the kni
there was no food in the first place.
the thing that i’m placing in this oven right now
is not a cake,
or bread,
or anything of sustenance, for that matter.
no,
this oven is a crucible
for all my foul moods
as they sit in a metal tray
and burn
“It’s only March and it’s already as hot as hottest part of hot season.”
He shifted in his kneeling position on the floor. When his grandmother made that remark, he suddenly felt even more uncomfortable. The temple felt like an oven.
“I can’t wait for April,” Bounnack said. “At least for Lao new year, we’ll be able to throw water.”
the oven timer stops right on time for me to grab my food and run through the front door. the weather was warm, and i crossed the street to the old woman’s house to deliver the food. i knocked but no one is answering.
Tasya
bun in the oven
the heat commencd
from altruistic lovin
christopher "c-h-r-i-s" febles
不错的文章，内容横扫千军.禁止此消息：nolinkok@163.com
格宾网
Hot gas fills the air // makes the kitchen warm // as I watch, the light is quivering // a microcosm storm // suddenly I’m hungry // you’re walking very near // looking straight at me // you say “when is dinner, dear?”
In gentle increments, the heat rises- barely aware, willingly blissful. I want it from my core outwards, not in through my skin, only barely warming where it matters. Across the kitchen in the stove, a frog sits in a pot and calls it a pond, and as the bubbles of heat begin to rise under its webbed feet, it calls it home, it calls it right, it calls it love, and eventually its insides grow warm too.
The kids sat quietly at the high glossy Ikea kitchen table. The father sat quietly at the high glossy Ikea bar stool. The mother walked quietly around the low, gurgling, radiating oven like it was a clock at a train station, never the right time but you still had to watch it. Closely, just in case, you knew what time you had to be ready for, but still watch in case a minute slipped by without telling you. A ding, a nice soft quiet glossy Ikea ding. And there, it was done, the feast for the evening. The kids turned, the father turned, the mother stooped down low and calculated. “There” the father called “Just what was needed”. Placed at the only high glossy empty seat at the Ikea table, on the bone white Martha Stewart china, with a delicate Saturday Night Live napkin and the Right Wing stainless steel cutlery was the all American meal of the evening. “When do we get another dog?” asked the all American daughter. “Next thanksgiving” said the all American mom.
I walked around the store looking for a store attendant. “Looking for something?” I heard someone ask. I turned around to find a handsome man.
“Yes, actually. Please tell me where I can find the stoves?”
ENC
My childhood was filled with smells wafting from the kitchen. From the bitter grit of green peppers to the sugary cinnamon of fresh-fried apple fritters. Sometimes, on the coldest of winter days, I’d read a book at the kitchen table, intermittently placing the spine face-down so I could warm my hands on the smooth surface of the oven before returning to whatever wonderland held me captive. I used to love to watch my father bake.
Glowing embers seemed to have replaces it’s usually cold and empty eyes. I had no idea what happened. The intensity was growing and growing. The colors shone through the barrier and the heat had become almost unbearable. It’s friends up north seemed distant and unappreciative, and especially cold. They were silent as I looked on with confusing eyes. Suddenly, footsteps erupted as a wailing siren went off. Thousands of thoughts crossed my mind as I fell towards the ground edging my way from the metal monster. I closed my eyes expecting the worst, but nothing but silence accompanied my fear. Out of respect for myself I opened my eyes to see nothing but my sister taking her food out of our conventional oven. The world righted itself, and the once hideous monster transformed into nothing but a mechanical device used to satisfy her needs. That’s when I heard the screaming.
hot, humid air from their mouths in the dark. skin gliding on skin. wide white eyes, alarmed. this is not what they had been promised
Emma Pascal
Today I want to make a pizza for lunch. and the first thing I do is preheat the oven to 425, then I make the pizza I put cheese pepperoni and some bacon bites on it then i put it in the oven.
Three cheesy rolls all warming in the oven. Three cheesy rolls for a mother and her kids. One cup of wine for the mother in her easy chair. One cup of wine that her children try to steal. Mother then reminds them, “You can’t drink this!” Mother says it’s mother’s milk for mothers, not for tots. Cheesy rolls eroding in the stomachs of the hungry. Cheesy rolls requiring lactose breakdown in the gut. Wine and cheese both roiling in the cauldron of the damned.
i pre ordered boars head oven-roasted turkey slices online,
so i wouldn’t have to wait in an inpatient line.
i could just stroll on by,
pick up my freshly sliced deli meat and carry on.
when i got home,
i prepared the stuffing mix.
i placed the stuffing in a neatly packed line
on one end of slice
i rolled up the turkey
until it rested on it’s end.
in the oven, it was placed
three hundred and fifty degrees fahrenheit,
for fifteen to twenty minutes
… or until golden brown.
Im an pretty awesome cook dang it but soon as an oven gets involved its downhill from there, i don’t know what it is about oven but whenever i have to cook with it or bake it turns out horrible EVERY. SINGLE. TIME
It’s the first thing you notice at the corner cafe. Something shiny and warm-smelling. A little piece of the at-home that Starbucks doesn’t have. It coughs forth chocolate chip macadamia, vanilla bean swirl, and a plethora of other sweet flavors. You can smell the sugar from the corner on main, it makes you crave coffee. And so you meander in from the rain, and drink.
I’d rather not bake in your presence. I like to bask instead… I always apply a cold demeanor before taking you on, letting you approach me. Then I can extend myself, my hands unable to help themselves, I can extend my fingers and my words can wind out toward you like a snake. Cold demeanor, loose tongue, sensitive to heat. Not a great combination. So it makes it very easy for me to bake and then burn… but I imagine I say “I’d rather not” instead of simply taking precautions and preventing high temperatures and high intensity exchanges because I like the flakey crust it gives me; another shield, and I am a flake after all.
It was time she conquered her fears; it was time she baked a cake. A quizzical glance and a slight electrical buzz later, the oven was preheated to 400.
I opened the oven door. I popped in the muffins and set the timer on. With five minutes to go, I got the food coloring and the butter milk and blended them together. As the cake cooled down I smothered the icing on it, and put on some sprinkles as well.
It’s time to cook dinner. My husband will be getting off of work shortly. So i gotta start thinking about some healthy ideas to make him for dinner that wont affect his diet negatively. If i can do that and still make the food good then i can eat too lol dieting sucks hardcore.
The winds shrieked and moaned as if mourning for a lost loved one
The air trembled with heat, as if inside an oven
The Sahara was alive and dead with the everlasting sands
Golden shards of crushed stone that spread out in all directions, nearly swallowing the majestic blue sky above
Far ahead, was the crocodilian guise of an oasis, shivering distantly as the heat radiated from the sun, rose from the ground, everywhere and nowhere
The sun’s rays seemed to grow legs, running around, racing and playing tag upon the sands, scorching the plants and bleaching the bones of unfortunate animals to a pure white
The plants hunkered down in the soil, grasping for drops of water, while the stillness soaked the air with peace and loneliness
The Sahara was alive and dead with the everlasting sands
well put me in the oven and call my stupid ass a turkey
roast me good
baste me
stuff me with random shit
serve me with golden brown dinner rolls
The smell of cinnamon filled the kitchen, she wiped the flour onto her overalls, and jumped down from the chair.
“Grandma,” she said, tugging at the leg of her Grandmother’s pants.
“Yes, darling”
“how long until we take them out of the oven?”
Her eyes sparkled at the thought of biting into one of her family’s famous cinnamon buns…
It’s days like this she needs to remember…
Ein Ofen ist ein Gerät, das in so gut wie jeder Küche steht. Manche erinnern sich an die Gasherde, die immer mit einem Ofen verbunden waren, so wie heute auhc noch. In einem Ofen kann man Tiefkühlgerichte aufbacken. Wie Zum Beispiel Pizza und so weiter.
out of the frying pan so they say. But..I was not without my resources. I reached for the kni
there was no food in the first place.
the thing that i’m placing in this oven right now
is not a cake,
or bread,
or anything of sustenance, for that matter.
no,
this oven is a crucible
for all my foul moods
as they sit in a metal tray
and burn
“It’s only March and it’s already as hot as hottest part of hot season.”
He shifted in his kneeling position on the floor. When his grandmother made that remark, he suddenly felt even more uncomfortable. The temple felt like an oven.
“I can’t wait for April,” Bounnack said. “At least for Lao new year, we’ll be able to throw water.”
the oven timer stops right on time for me to grab my food and run through the front door. the weather was warm, and i crossed the street to the old woman’s house to deliver the food. i knocked but no one is answering.
bun in the oven
the heat commencd
from altruistic lovin
不错的文章，内容横扫千军.禁止此消息：nolinkok@163.com
Hot gas fills the air // makes the kitchen warm // as I watch, the light is quivering // a microcosm storm // suddenly I’m hungry // you’re walking very near // looking straight at me // you say “when is dinner, dear?”
In gentle increments, the heat rises- barely aware, willingly blissful. I want it from my core outwards, not in through my skin, only barely warming where it matters. Across the kitchen in the stove, a frog sits in a pot and calls it a pond, and as the bubbles of heat begin to rise under its webbed feet, it calls it home, it calls it right, it calls it love, and eventually its insides grow warm too.
The kids sat quietly at the high glossy Ikea kitchen table. The father sat quietly at the high glossy Ikea bar stool. The mother walked quietly around the low, gurgling, radiating oven like it was a clock at a train station, never the right time but you still had to watch it. Closely, just in case, you knew what time you had to be ready for, but still watch in case a minute slipped by without telling you. A ding, a nice soft quiet glossy Ikea ding. And there, it was done, the feast for the evening. The kids turned, the father turned, the mother stooped down low and calculated. “There” the father called “Just what was needed”. Placed at the only high glossy empty seat at the Ikea table, on the bone white Martha Stewart china, with a delicate Saturday Night Live napkin and the Right Wing stainless steel cutlery was the all American meal of the evening. “When do we get another dog?” asked the all American daughter. “Next thanksgiving” said the all American mom.
I walked around the store looking for a store attendant. “Looking for something?” I heard someone ask. I turned around to find a handsome man.
“Yes, actually. Please tell me where I can find the stoves?”
My childhood was filled with smells wafting from the kitchen. From the bitter grit of green peppers to the sugary cinnamon of fresh-fried apple fritters. Sometimes, on the coldest of winter days, I’d read a book at the kitchen table, intermittently placing the spine face-down so I could warm my hands on the smooth surface of the oven before returning to whatever wonderland held me captive. I used to love to watch my father bake.
The oven was open, the heat on to 475 degrees. Carefully, she slipped the silver mix into the oven. Once cooked, this mix would bring her great power.
It’s very hot! It was in the oven!
Glowing embers seemed to have replaces it’s usually cold and empty eyes. I had no idea what happened. The intensity was growing and growing. The colors shone through the barrier and the heat had become almost unbearable. It’s friends up north seemed distant and unappreciative, and especially cold. They were silent as I looked on with confusing eyes. Suddenly, footsteps erupted as a wailing siren went off. Thousands of thoughts crossed my mind as I fell towards the ground edging my way from the metal monster. I closed my eyes expecting the worst, but nothing but silence accompanied my fear. Out of respect for myself I opened my eyes to see nothing but my sister taking her food out of our conventional oven. The world righted itself, and the once hideous monster transformed into nothing but a mechanical device used to satisfy her needs. That’s when I heard the screaming.
hot, humid air from their mouths in the dark. skin gliding on skin. wide white eyes, alarmed. this is not what they had been promised
Today I want to make a pizza for lunch. and the first thing I do is preheat the oven to 425, then I make the pizza I put cheese pepperoni and some bacon bites on it then i put it in the oven.
the oven, when it turns warm,
it makes wonder, when itll go cold,
when the nocturne will control,
whether or not, temperature rises or drops!
It makes me wonder, why i ever iced your lips,
why i ever, put warmth in a cold microwave,
that radiates when spoken to.
Three cheesy rolls all warming in the oven. Three cheesy rolls for a mother and her kids. One cup of wine for the mother in her easy chair. One cup of wine that her children try to steal. Mother then reminds them, “You can’t drink this!” Mother says it’s mother’s milk for mothers, not for tots. Cheesy rolls eroding in the stomachs of the hungry. Cheesy rolls requiring lactose breakdown in the gut. Wine and cheese both roiling in the cauldron of the damned.