When your meal is overcooked, it just doesn’t taste the same. It looses its natural taste, its freshness and its color. Just like when you try to overdo things. You lose your audience, belief and your presence of mind. Like they say, too many cooks spoil the broth! Too many ideas, spoil your art.
Jo Scott
really tough meat is overcooked or a muffin that is just a little burnt on the top and dry inside. The chicken that you wanted to be so tender for Sunday lunch is dry and tasteless. It takes three glasses of water just to swallow one bite. I cannot stand it when that happens.
Lea Childress
I overcooked the steak. AND the zucchini. I really am not a very cook. This is because I am so fucking terrible at multi-tasking. Sometimes it makes me feel like there is something wrong with my brain. But who cares. Just pull out another piece of steak or zucchini, and try again. And then eat it. And feel good.
Ashley
Overcooked… There’s not much to write here about this topic, but I’ll try…
I set forth on this journey, hoping that one day I’d reach a place of shining waters and serene beaches, nay, I have reached a place of squelching sun and overripe fruits. It is here that I am left, overcooked by the broiling suns of others. It is here that I feel the burn of others’ stares as I walk among the seashells. I am over cooked by the light that shines in each and every other human as if it was their entire career to outshine me. But here I am still, hoping that in some way I will be able to understand and shine brighter than all others. This is my hope, I am no longer happy in this world where I am cooked beyond compare, yet, I want to cook others!
The meat was overcooked, the salad was limp, and to top it off, my stove wasn’t working. My guests were supposed to be here in a half hour, and I was already considering ordering take-out.
My girlfriend tried to tell me it was all going to be okay, that supreme pizza would suffice. But these were her parents and two brothers that we were talking about here. I had wanted to impress them and wound up instead with singed skirt steak.
Belinda Roddie
The turkey was overcooked, the macaroni and cheese was dropped on the floor and well, everything was a mess. I looked at Ev and thought this was the best Thanksgiving that I’ve ever had. Simply because he was home.
Michelle M
The food was overcooked. I worked on it all day Once, you came in I got distracted. I was overwhelmed by your charm. You ate my food anyway.
Everything went wrong. The guests were overcooked, the dinner wasn’t chilled right, and the wine was late. Even that last sentence didn’t work out right!
tonykeyesjapan
It’s really easy to overcook something. I was baking last time and I think I put too little egg in my cookies and they ended up really dry and basically, overcooked. It’s never good to overcook.
To be honest, I have no idea what to write about this word ahahaha but I’m trying, and that’s what counts, I guess :p This website is actually really cool though, I’ll do better on the next word.
Sunny
The overcooked cookies are on the baking pan.They were brown on the outside and on the
bottom.
” I thought you know how to bake?”
“I do”
” Then why are these burnt?”
“They are not burnt. They’re overcooked.”
” Don’t they mean the same thing?”
” Nope. But these are still grandma’s recipe..”
“We can still save them and make another
batch.”
“You’re a genius”
I lay face down into my big, fluffy pillow as I begin to nurse my overcooked brain. A night of endless people with a million questions; all annoying. “So what are you going to do now that…?” “Are you alright?” “Can I get this for you?” “Just leave me alone!” Is what I would’ve said, if I had a backbone. And don’t even get me started on statements like “Oh, you’ll bounce back eventually…” My gosh. Just for a second I wish to be around someone that’s not talking about my failed engagement, and doesn’t want anything from me. Right now, I’m the only one offering that.
Overcooked meat and vegetables boiled near the fire and I turned my nose up at the smell.
“You should eat something, ” Dana said, her voice cutting through the silence.
I shook my head.
He wasn’t the best with food, he sucked at cooking. You could smell the burn from a mile away and the neighbors would look glare at them when they walked out of the apartment the next morning. He would laugh it off and run down the street like a kid while they shouted their profanities but it was okay, all in all.
Hailey
I don’t know…sometimes I like things that are overcooked. So perhaps it has a negative connotation. And maybe it’s relative…
But people do say there are carcinogens in overcooked things…
And regarding ideas, if you overcook an idea and overthink it or let it stew for too long…it looses its flavor, its essence. You may not be able to use it.
Michael Yang
She had overcooked it. Again. Her mother’s old recipe called for exactly the timing she had done, what was missing? Growing frustrated, she yelled out and sank onto the tiled floor. She knew her mother would be watching her, shaking her head in disapproval at her daughter giving up so easily.
Anonymous
She got the phone call at a bad time, and long after she hung up she was just sitting there by the phone, dazed. It felt like time was deliberately taunting her, eager to see how long she was to live through this. And there they were, her burnt brownies, another fruit of her failure.
of course, it was burnt. she was a rubbish cook, who barely had time to boil pasta, but just this once she thought she could make a simple omelette.
of course not; her mind was elsewhere, on her, always on her.
her beautiful eyes, her red hair, that smile that lit up the room.
it was almost worth the smell of burnt eggs just to see that face as her mind drifted.
food was left in the oven for to long, or the oven is different from what the baker is used to and the baker did not adjust to the faster baking temperature of the oven, the food looks burned and no one will eat it, since it doe
story shaw
The meat was tough, overcooked. His teeth had trouble tearing into it. Blood leaked into his mouth as he gnawed and gnashed, all to no avail.
“Oh, shit!” I shriek as I rush back into the kitchen. Black smoke is pouring from the oven, and I inhale a lungful accidentally as I open it. Coughing and choking, I shove my oven-mitted hand into the chaos and pull out the baking tin. The cake is crumpled beyond repair, looking like a crusty piece of volcanic earth rather than something that could be served to impress the in-laws. And they’ll be here in just five minutes.
It wasn’t like baking for hours, it was only a few minutes but still the pink has turned to a light brown and you can tell it’s a bit crispy. Oh beach, I wish I knew how to refrain from being overcooked every time I get near you! But I can’t stay away
Jesse tossed what was left of the rabbit to the side and wiped a hand across her mouth.
“Not good?” Parker asked.
“Overcooked,” she stated flatly.
“Overcooked or not, it might be the last food we see for several days,” Parked sighed, “You might want to think about that before you leave it for the ants.”
He stared at the overcooked turkey sitting on the dinner table.
“there’s no way I’m eating that,” he said. “no way in hell.” Myra frowns dramatically. it’s true she’s not the best cook but… she at least hoped he would try her turkey. I
samy
bland, but its not as though we had an idea of what he should taste like. Maybe gamey like elk, that iron blood taste, the aroma was too much like pork, too much like a clean kill
cliff
The turkey was overcooked which meant that instead of soft succulent meat we had dry unappetizing fare. This was potentially a ruined Thanksgiving dinner but the ever resourceful domestic goddess found a way to rectify this. She simply sliced the offending bird into strips and soaked them in a most delicious gravy. Everyone enjoyed it tremendously.
The beef was overcooked. I picked at that black, burnt edges with my fork. She nervously glanced at me, noticing my sparse consumption of the food. I smiled in an attempt to appease her.
“Do…you like it? The…food? Ah fuck — I — I burned it…” she, muttered, berating herself.
“The food doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we are together,” I cooed to alleviate her fear. With the softest expression I could muster, I directly looked into her eyes, trying to radiate a warmth that would make her content enough just to enjoy the moment.
I saw the way the sun had baked the landscape
sizzling, almost spitting with disdain
the fire swept over everything
ate everything with a name
fz
People in general are overcooked; they overcook their feeling when they suppress them so they come out all gooey or scorched or something like that. maybe if we let them out at the right time, the world would suck less.
Racha Masara
As hard as she tried she just couldn’t get that recipe right. She always overcooked the salmon every time.
Just genetics
spread it, draw
Draw of dreams, draw in awe,
then applaud, see just me, as the law
Scheme, now dream, of everything of the
deepest sting and traveling, and in DNA of the bluest string
of comet tails floating streamingly, of disruption, deletion, and discretion
And about lightning scars and elbow flaws, about family ends with no amends,
Help me fix that manmade ice, build a city, not just paradise, have some problems, then come with me, Step into my most dangerous dreams, I’m the killer you have not yet seen,
we all sat in stunned silence, pretending that it was the polite thing to do. Mom, sensing our reaction, knowing why, began to whimper almost inaudibly. The turkey steamed on the platter. It would be kind to call it browned…
She swore she would never volunteer take another test again.
She stared at the sines and cosines swimming on the page before her, but was unable to think. Her brain was absolutely overcooked. It was like the soggy vegetables that collect at the bottom of the stewpot: absolutely useless.
How was she supposed to finish this quiz?
Tootles.
“Hey, do you smell something?” She looked away from the monitor to stare at her lover. “It smells like something is burning.”
“Yeah, but what could possibly be burning? We’ve been playing nothing but Mariokart for the past fo—THE KRAFT DINNER.” The two of them turned to face the microwave, only to see a large puff of gray smoke clouding their vision.
The chicken really was not good. It was burnt on the bottom, and I could feel the crunchiness and taste the singed meat when I put it in my mouth. I wanted to stop eating, but I didn’t want to insult anyone. Besides that, I was desperately hungry. So what could I do? I tried to sneakily scrape the burnt parts off but to no avail.
Rebekah
“Oh my freaking God, Angela!”
“What?!”
“The turkey’s completely overcooked!”
“To the grocery store, quick!”
“The car has no gas!”
Sarah
My mother loves overcooked meals. You’d hear that and stop for a minute to wonder why. Really, it’s that she doesn’t like undercooked meals. Chicken, red meat, fish (especially fish)
Emily
overcooked? All i can think of is meat and im not even hungry. i would rather overcooked than undercooked. Trent likes his undercooked though. yuck.
i have always been overcooked but not in the way you perceive it..not in the least. overcooked in the oven of your love. oh my god i’m so cheesy/ and lame haha
When your meal is overcooked, it just doesn’t taste the same. It looses its natural taste, its freshness and its color. Just like when you try to overdo things. You lose your audience, belief and your presence of mind. Like they say, too many cooks spoil the broth! Too many ideas, spoil your art.
really tough meat is overcooked or a muffin that is just a little burnt on the top and dry inside. The chicken that you wanted to be so tender for Sunday lunch is dry and tasteless. It takes three glasses of water just to swallow one bite. I cannot stand it when that happens.
I overcooked the steak. AND the zucchini. I really am not a very cook. This is because I am so fucking terrible at multi-tasking. Sometimes it makes me feel like there is something wrong with my brain. But who cares. Just pull out another piece of steak or zucchini, and try again. And then eat it. And feel good.
Overcooked… There’s not much to write here about this topic, but I’ll try…
I set forth on this journey, hoping that one day I’d reach a place of shining waters and serene beaches, nay, I have reached a place of squelching sun and overripe fruits. It is here that I am left, overcooked by the broiling suns of others. It is here that I feel the burn of others’ stares as I walk among the seashells. I am over cooked by the light that shines in each and every other human as if it was their entire career to outshine me. But here I am still, hoping that in some way I will be able to understand and shine brighter than all others. This is my hope, I am no longer happy in this world where I am cooked beyond compare, yet, I want to cook others!
The meat was overcooked, the salad was limp, and to top it off, my stove wasn’t working. My guests were supposed to be here in a half hour, and I was already considering ordering take-out.
My girlfriend tried to tell me it was all going to be okay, that supreme pizza would suffice. But these were her parents and two brothers that we were talking about here. I had wanted to impress them and wound up instead with singed skirt steak.
The turkey was overcooked, the macaroni and cheese was dropped on the floor and well, everything was a mess. I looked at Ev and thought this was the best Thanksgiving that I’ve ever had. Simply because he was home.
The food was overcooked. I worked on it all day Once, you came in I got distracted. I was overwhelmed by your charm. You ate my food anyway.
Everything went wrong. The guests were overcooked, the dinner wasn’t chilled right, and the wine was late. Even that last sentence didn’t work out right!
It’s really easy to overcook something. I was baking last time and I think I put too little egg in my cookies and they ended up really dry and basically, overcooked. It’s never good to overcook.
To be honest, I have no idea what to write about this word ahahaha but I’m trying, and that’s what counts, I guess :p This website is actually really cool though, I’ll do better on the next word.
The overcooked cookies are on the baking pan.They were brown on the outside and on the
bottom.
” I thought you know how to bake?”
“I do”
” Then why are these burnt?”
“They are not burnt. They’re overcooked.”
” Don’t they mean the same thing?”
” Nope. But these are still grandma’s recipe..”
“We can still save them and make another
batch.”
“You’re a genius”
I lay face down into my big, fluffy pillow as I begin to nurse my overcooked brain. A night of endless people with a million questions; all annoying. “So what are you going to do now that…?” “Are you alright?” “Can I get this for you?” “Just leave me alone!” Is what I would’ve said, if I had a backbone. And don’t even get me started on statements like “Oh, you’ll bounce back eventually…” My gosh. Just for a second I wish to be around someone that’s not talking about my failed engagement, and doesn’t want anything from me. Right now, I’m the only one offering that.
Overcooked meat and vegetables boiled near the fire and I turned my nose up at the smell.
“You should eat something, ” Dana said, her voice cutting through the silence.
I shook my head.
He wasn’t the best with food, he sucked at cooking. You could smell the burn from a mile away and the neighbors would look glare at them when they walked out of the apartment the next morning. He would laugh it off and run down the street like a kid while they shouted their profanities but it was okay, all in all.
I don’t know…sometimes I like things that are overcooked. So perhaps it has a negative connotation. And maybe it’s relative…
But people do say there are carcinogens in overcooked things…
And regarding ideas, if you overcook an idea and overthink it or let it stew for too long…it looses its flavor, its essence. You may not be able to use it.
She had overcooked it. Again. Her mother’s old recipe called for exactly the timing she had done, what was missing? Growing frustrated, she yelled out and sank onto the tiled floor. She knew her mother would be watching her, shaking her head in disapproval at her daughter giving up so easily.
She got the phone call at a bad time, and long after she hung up she was just sitting there by the phone, dazed. It felt like time was deliberately taunting her, eager to see how long she was to live through this. And there they were, her burnt brownies, another fruit of her failure.
of course, it was burnt. she was a rubbish cook, who barely had time to boil pasta, but just this once she thought she could make a simple omelette.
of course not; her mind was elsewhere, on her, always on her.
her beautiful eyes, her red hair, that smile that lit up the room.
it was almost worth the smell of burnt eggs just to see that face as her mind drifted.
My life is overcooked.
I left my hopes in the oven too long.
I spent too much time boiling the pleasures in my life.
I couldn’t find the sweet spot. The spot that cooked them perfectly. I always chose too much.
Too much. Until it was overcooked.
The chocolate chip cookie’s bottom and edges looked dark and crispy. Not the usual golden brown glowing color, but a thin piece of darkness.
food was left in the oven for to long, or the oven is different from what the baker is used to and the baker did not adjust to the faster baking temperature of the oven, the food looks burned and no one will eat it, since it doe
The meat was tough, overcooked. His teeth had trouble tearing into it. Blood leaked into his mouth as he gnawed and gnashed, all to no avail.
“Oh, shit!” I shriek as I rush back into the kitchen. Black smoke is pouring from the oven, and I inhale a lungful accidentally as I open it. Coughing and choking, I shove my oven-mitted hand into the chaos and pull out the baking tin. The cake is crumpled beyond repair, looking like a crusty piece of volcanic earth rather than something that could be served to impress the in-laws. And they’ll be here in just five minutes.
It wasn’t like baking for hours, it was only a few minutes but still the pink has turned to a light brown and you can tell it’s a bit crispy. Oh beach, I wish I knew how to refrain from being overcooked every time I get near you! But I can’t stay away
Jesse tossed what was left of the rabbit to the side and wiped a hand across her mouth.
“Not good?” Parker asked.
“Overcooked,” she stated flatly.
“Overcooked or not, it might be the last food we see for several days,” Parked sighed, “You might want to think about that before you leave it for the ants.”
He stared at the overcooked turkey sitting on the dinner table.
“there’s no way I’m eating that,” he said. “no way in hell.” Myra frowns dramatically. it’s true she’s not the best cook but… she at least hoped he would try her turkey. I
bland, but its not as though we had an idea of what he should taste like. Maybe gamey like elk, that iron blood taste, the aroma was too much like pork, too much like a clean kill
The turkey was overcooked which meant that instead of soft succulent meat we had dry unappetizing fare. This was potentially a ruined Thanksgiving dinner but the ever resourceful domestic goddess found a way to rectify this. She simply sliced the offending bird into strips and soaked them in a most delicious gravy. Everyone enjoyed it tremendously.
The beef was overcooked. I picked at that black, burnt edges with my fork. She nervously glanced at me, noticing my sparse consumption of the food. I smiled in an attempt to appease her.
“Do…you like it? The…food? Ah fuck — I — I burned it…” she, muttered, berating herself.
“The food doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we are together,” I cooed to alleviate her fear. With the softest expression I could muster, I directly looked into her eyes, trying to radiate a warmth that would make her content enough just to enjoy the moment.
I saw the way the sun had baked the landscape
sizzling, almost spitting with disdain
the fire swept over everything
ate everything with a name
People in general are overcooked; they overcook their feeling when they suppress them so they come out all gooey or scorched or something like that. maybe if we let them out at the right time, the world would suck less.
As hard as she tried she just couldn’t get that recipe right. She always overcooked the salmon every time.
yesterday’s: genetics //
Just genetics
spread it, draw
Draw of dreams, draw in awe,
then applaud, see just me, as the law
Scheme, now dream, of everything of the
deepest sting and traveling, and in DNA of the bluest string
of comet tails floating streamingly, of disruption, deletion, and discretion
And about lightning scars and elbow flaws, about family ends with no amends,
Help me fix that manmade ice, build a city, not just paradise, have some problems, then come with me, Step into my most dangerous dreams, I’m the killer you have not yet seen,
This is me, it’s nothing, something, everything.
we all sat in stunned silence, pretending that it was the polite thing to do. Mom, sensing our reaction, knowing why, began to whimper almost inaudibly. The turkey steamed on the platter. It would be kind to call it browned…
She swore she would never volunteer take another test again.
She stared at the sines and cosines swimming on the page before her, but was unable to think. Her brain was absolutely overcooked. It was like the soggy vegetables that collect at the bottom of the stewpot: absolutely useless.
How was she supposed to finish this quiz?
“Hey, do you smell something?” She looked away from the monitor to stare at her lover. “It smells like something is burning.”
“Yeah, but what could possibly be burning? We’ve been playing nothing but Mariokart for the past fo—THE KRAFT DINNER.” The two of them turned to face the microwave, only to see a large puff of gray smoke clouding their vision.
Oops.
The chicken really was not good. It was burnt on the bottom, and I could feel the crunchiness and taste the singed meat when I put it in my mouth. I wanted to stop eating, but I didn’t want to insult anyone. Besides that, I was desperately hungry. So what could I do? I tried to sneakily scrape the burnt parts off but to no avail.
“Oh my freaking God, Angela!”
“What?!”
“The turkey’s completely overcooked!”
“To the grocery store, quick!”
“The car has no gas!”
My mother loves overcooked meals. You’d hear that and stop for a minute to wonder why. Really, it’s that she doesn’t like undercooked meals. Chicken, red meat, fish (especially fish)
overcooked? All i can think of is meat and im not even hungry. i would rather overcooked than undercooked. Trent likes his undercooked though. yuck.
i have always been overcooked but not in the way you perceive it..not in the least. overcooked in the oven of your love. oh my god i’m so cheesy/ and lame haha