Kitchen Counter Quotes & Sayings

Just wanted to let you know I got in all right. And also that my chest hurts as if I MAY BE DYING, because I accidentally left my heart on your kitchen counter. I hate when that happens. — Hannah Moskowitz

Besides, you're going to need all your strength tonight. I have many wicked plans for you."
"Good." Mac smiled up at her, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "Think we'll make it as far as the bedroom this time?"
"I was thinking the kitchen counter, but I'm flexible... — Courtney Hunt

You have to admit he's good looking," Bree pressed, leaning against my kitchen counter.
"Of course I admit it. I'm not blind," I said, busily opening cans. — Cate Tiernan

Sitting at the kitchen table, Assail could only stare at his cousins.
The pair of contract killers, drug dealers, and enforcers had not only washed up before the meal, they were now easing back in their seats and looking like they wanted to loosen their pants.
As Marisol's grandmother got to her feet again, Assail shook his head.
"Madam, you must enjoy this food on which you worked so diligently."
"I am enjoying." She headed back for the counter and cut more bread. "These boys, they need to eat more. Too thin, too thin."
At this rate, she was going to turn his backups into - what was the expression, sofa potatoes?
And what do you know, even though those two males were stuffed, they took another slice of her homemade bread, and dutifully layered on the sweet butter.
Unbelievable. — J.R. Ward

The 1st day, I stood in the kitchen leaning against the counter watching Annie feed the cats, and I knew I wanted to do that forever. — Nancy Garden

He'd been right the day before. Twenty-two years of her laughter, her smile, her body, her jewelry on his kitchen counter, he might have gotten used to it and moments like this would have been lost on him. Now he knew that he'd never miss these moments and he'd always feel that beautiful pain because he'd always understand how precious they were. — Kristen Ashley

I wonder if I am not turning into a contemplative ... But those roses . They were something else. I was having breakfast and looking at the bouquet on the kitchen counter. I don't believe I was thinking about anything. And that could be why I noticed the movement; maybe if I'd been preoccupied with something else, if the kitchen hadn't been quiet, if I hadn't been alone in there, I wouldn't have been attentive enough. But I was alone, and calm, and empty. So I was able to take it in ... In the split second while I saw the stem and the bud drop to the counter I intuited the essence of Beauty. — Muriel Barbery

A little while later Jack walked into the kitchen at the bar and saw Preacher scowl his greeting. Bravely, Jack walked up to the counter. "Hey, man," he said. "You were
right, I was wrong, and I'd like us to get back on the same team."
"You sure this team of mine isn't too much trouble for little you?" Preacher asked.
"Okay, you about done? Because this really hurts and I'm trying not to deck you right
now. — Robyn Carr

I've got an up-to-the-minute block of 60 seconds. It's on the kitchen counter thawing out at this very moment. — Jarod Kintz

Why did you choose to save me?"
"I could not let you die." He placed the plate and glass on the kitchen counter.
"But you have let goodness knows how many people die. Why me?"
"You made me ... " He leaned against the counter and looked at her. "You made me ... feel. — Elizabeth Morgan

On weekdays, as soon as she picked Bela from the bus stop and brought her home, she went straight into the kitchen, washing up the morning dishes she'd ignored, then getting dinner started. She measured out the nightly cup of rice, letting it soak in a pan on the counter. She peeled onions and potatoes and picked through lentils and prepared another night's dinner, then fed Bela. She was never able to understand why this relatively unchallenging set of chores felt so relentless. When she was finished, she did not understand why they had depleted her — Jhumpa Lahiri

Walking past the kitchen counter again, I reached into my left pocket and grabbed my chocolate supply. I stopped and grabbed the door to exit. As I did, I dipped my shoulder and dropped my laptop in the entrance. I stood for a long moment, looking at the computer bag. I released my grip on my right hand and dropped the chocolate bars beside it, locked the door, and left. — Scott Hildreth

From my chair I had a clear view of Hobie's Noah's Ark: paired elephants, zebras, carven beasts marching two by two, clear down to tiny hen and rooster and the bunnies and mice bringing up the rear. And the memory was located there, beyond words, a coded message from that first afternoon: rain streaming down the skylights, the homely file of creatures lined on the kitchen counter waiting to be saved. Noah: the great conservator, the great caretaker. "And - " he'd gotten up to make some coffee - "I — Donna Tartt

Westley shrugged. "Welcome to the middle of nowhere. I'm more likely to come home to find someone's left a pie on my counter than to find my television's missing. Although - " He winced.
"What?" Jaylen looked ready to fight whatever threat had made its way into Westley's home.
"Last year the zucchini crop was really good and somebody left three bushels in my kitchen."
"Oh." Jaylen deflated. So there was an enemy he wasn't a match for.
"There's still zucchini bread in the freezer," Westley offered. "If you're hungry. — Ryan Loveless

Hey, sleepyhead," Mom said brightly when I walked into the kitchen.
I grunted. Tara handed me my coffee mug. I filled it quickly, added my milk and sugar, and took my first sip.
"Watching Ash drink coffee is kinda like watching a werewolf movie," Tara said. "You can see the transformation from man into beast."
"Except for me, it's beast into girl, I know," I said sourly and took another sip.
"Want some pancakes?" Mom asked.
"No, thanks." I leaned against the counter.
"They're really good," Josh said. He was watching me like he was hoping to see the transformation that Tara was talking about. — Rachel Hawthorne

Pike moved along the side of the house, looking into each window he passed, and checking for signs of tampering. The first room appeared to be a guest bedroom, and the next was the kitchen. The bedroom appeared undisturbed, but Pike's view was limited. He saw dirty dishes, three empty beer bottles, and a cutting board on the kitchen counter. Pike told himself the dishes indicated Wilson and Dru planned to return home, but the goat heads and flies hung over him like battlefield smoke. After — Robert Crais

The way I figured, I was just a kid, and if I could take it apart, they surely could put it back together. Then my mom would walk in the kitchen and see me standing on a chair at the counter, holding a screwdriver with disassembled components all over the place. 'What the heck's going on?' 'I'm intrigued how the blender works. — Tim Dorsey

Every time you use a coffeemaker for your morning cappuccino, you are benefiting from the fragility of the coffeemaking entrepreneur who failed. He failed in order to help put the superior merchandise on your kitchen counter. — Nassim Nicholas Taleb

Evan saw a man across the kitchen, butt leaning against the counter, muscular arms folded over his broad chest. His blond hair was cut very short, and his eyes were bright blue sparks. Evan's gaze locked with Paul's, and a sudden sense of vertigo swam through his head. The conversation in the other room, the back and forth between John and Alden, the startling brilliance of Bill's teeth
all of that faded away as Paul stared back at him. Evan found himself inside a strange bubble that blocked all outside stimuli. He had never experienced a connection this intense before, especially with an initial look, and even though it terrified him in a thrillingly sexual way, he didn't dare pull his gaze away from Paul's for fear of breaking the timeless moment between them. — Hank Edwards

She sashayed into the kitchen like she lived there, and grabbed two glasses from the counter, rinsed them in the sink, all very domestic.
His eyes strayed to her breasts. "You came to do dishes?"
"I came to come." She winked, smiling from ear to ear.
"Gotta appreciate a straight-talking woman. — Dana Marton

Lola's was not exactly a bar. It was a small beer-and-soda joint. There was a Coca-Cola box full of beer and soda and ice at the left of the door as you came in. A counter with tube-metal stools covered in yellow glazed leather ran down one side of the room as far as the jukebox. Tables were lined along the wall opposite the counter. The stools had long since lost the rubber caps for the legs and made horrible screeching noises when the maid pushed them around to sweep. There was a kitchen in back, where a slovenly cook fried everything in rancid fat. There was neither past nor future in Lola's. The place was a waiting room, where certain people checked in at certain times. — William S. Burroughs

The practice is addictive, or, perhaps a better expression is "habit forming". Once you start practicing you will crave it and will practice everywhere you go, in your brother's terrace, an airborne plane (in the kitchen area until the kick you out), behind the airport counter or just all out in full display while waiting for the next plane out of Dubai. — Claudia Azula Altucher

Tracy pulled the pillow away from her face and stared up at the ceiling of her huge bedroom. Was that it, she wondered. Was Ross not satisfying his demanding wife in the one place where it really counted for a woman like her mother? In bed. Two weeks ago, in the middle of one of their pointless arguments Faye had shouted at Ross that he wasn't a man. They'd been in the kitchen and Tracy remembered how she'd frozen at the counter, hardly daring to breathe. Her Daddy's cheeks had turned white and then a furious shade of red. He'd taken a step toward Faye whose own face blanched as her eyes widened in fear. Even she had realized she'd gone too far. Ross had looked as if he was on the verge of punching his wife in the mouth but then, without another word, he'd turned and strode out of the house. It had been his turn to slam the door that time. He'd done it so hard Tracy could have sworn the whole house shook. — Katie Ayres

I had lost my dad. I had come here to this island from a house of tears and falsehood and I saw Gat, and I saw that rose in his hand, and in that one moment, with the sunlight from the window shining in on him, the apples on the kitchen counter, the smell of wood and ocean in the air, I did call it love. — E. Lockhart

When I was five, my mother and sister sat me up on the kitchen counter and explained the facts of life: the Easter Bunny didn't exist, Elijah was God's invisible friend, with any luck Nana would die soon and If I ever saw a unicorn, I should kill it or catch it for cash. — Sloane Crosley

This is terrific. What a gorgeous kitchen. You've decorated it so beautifully. Now you're going to have to clear all the counters. Vases. Books. Knickknacks. Get rid of all that stuff. I mean, it is just beautiful. Beautiful. I love what you've done with this house. Make sure you put it all away." ~Real estate agent (p.76) — Dominique Browning

When I was a child, I pretended that I had my own cooking show. I would stand at the kitchen counter with an empty bowl and spoon and talk in a silly voice, explaining the concoction I was creating. — Kimberly Schlapman

As tight as it had been in the kitchen before they'd left, there were three times as many people crammed in there now, most of them men. Beverly's mother was nowhere in sight and neither was the baby. Beverly was standing at the sink, a butcher's knife in her hand. She was slicing oranges from an enormous pile that was sliding across the counter while the two lawyers from the L.A. County District Attorney's Office, Dick Spencer and Albert Cousins - suit jackets off, ties off, and shirtsleeves rolled up high above the elbow - were twisting the halves of oranges on two metal juicers. Their foreheads were flushed and damp with sweat, their opened collars just beginning to darken, they worked as if the safety of their city relied on the making of orange juice. — Ann Patchett

My boyfriend likes to fuck my brains out on our kitchen island. Which tile would you recommend for that? — Alice Clayton

You called me 'Fluttershy.' As in the My Little Pony, 'Fluttershy?'"

"Oh." He looked a little taken aback for a second. "Yeah." He sucked in his lips, pinched them between his teeth, and then shrugged. "What can I say? You're just like her. You care more about animals than you do your own safety. I'm gonna have to kidnap a rabbit and threaten you with bunnicide unless you come quietly back to the castle with me."

"What?" Diana felt her eyes go wide.

"You heard me," he said before he took another long swig and swallowing hard. He lowered the bottle and leaned up against the kitchen counter. "And you know I'm right."

"About kidnapping a bunny?" She felt bewildered. — Heather Killough-Walden

...She froze in the doorway of her kitchen.
And nearly swallowed her tongue.
Ivan leaned against the counter, wearing nothing but dark jogging pants and holding a cup of coffee. His blond hair was spiked adorably, as if he hadn't combed it yet. the sculpted muscles of his chest and shoulders stood out as he raised the cup to his mouth, a bright tattoo of intricate artwork wrapping around one shoulder and over one pec.
What she'd imagined he might look like was nothing compared to the reality of the Viking god in her kitchen. Her gaze trained on that ridiculously muscular chest and it was like she'd lost the ability to speak. Or breathe. Or, you know, think. — Katie Reus

[The kitchen] was also messy
delightfully so, thought Jane
and it didn't look as though lots of cooking went on there. There was a laptop computer on the counter with duck stickers on it, the spice cabinet was full of Ben's toy trucks, and Jane couldn't spot a cookbook anywhere. This is the kitchen of a Thinker, she decided, and promised herself that she'd never bother with cooking, either. — Jeanne Birdsall

Has a girl ever faked an orgasm with you?" I blurt out. It's eight o'clock on Monday morning, and I nervously tap my fingers on the kitchen counter as I look at my roommate.

Dean, who was on his way to the fridge, stops in his tracks so abruptly that if he'd been on skates, I would be wiping ice shavings off my face right now.

"I'm sorry, didn't hear you. What was that? — Elle Kennedy

What rhymes with insensitive?" I tap my pen on the kitchen table, beyond frustrated with my current task. Who knew rhyming was so fucking difficult?

Garrett, who's dicing onions at the counter, glances over. "Sensitive," he says helpfully.

"Yes, G, I'll be sure to rhyme insensitive with sensitive. Gold star for you. — Elle Kennedy

The first day, I stood in the kitchen leaning against the counter watching Annie feed the cats, and I knew I wanted to be able to do that forever: stand in kitchens watching Annie feed cats. Our kitchens. Our cats. — Nancy Garden

Liam grabbed a pen out of the cup Jonah had sitting on the counter and tore off an edge of one of the paper grocery sacks. As he scribbled down his number, Jonah remembered that Stephanie had often asked him why on earth he kept a cup of pens on his kitchen counter.
"So hot guys can give me their numbers when they deliver my groceries". He snickered to himself. — M. Jules Aedin

There was a crash from the direction of the kitchen, although it really was more of a crashendo - the long drawn out clatter that begins when a pile of plates begins to slip, continues when someone tries to grab at them, develops a desperate counter-theme when the person realises they don't have three hands, and ends with the roinroinroin of the one miraculously intact plate spinning round and round on the floor. — Terry Pratchett

It was foolish to feel like a girl getting ready for a date. Gennie told herself that as she unlocked the door to the cottage.She'd told herself the same thing as she'd driven away from town...as she'd turned down the quiet lane.
It was a spur of the moment cookout-two adults,a steak,and a bottle of burgundy that may or may not have been worth the price. A person would have to look hard to find any romance in charcoal, lighter fluid and some freshly picked greens from a patch in the backyard. Not for the first time, Gennie thought it a pity her imagination was so expansive.
It had undoubtedly been imagination that had brought on that rush of feeling in the churhcyard. A little unexpected tenderness, a soft breeze and she heard bells. Silly.
Gennie set the bags on the kitchen counter and wished she'd bought candles. Candlelight would make even that tidy,practical little kitchen seem romantic.And if she had a radio, there could be music... — Nora Roberts

You missed breakfast," Jason announced as Trevor stepped into the large busy kitchen filled with Bradfords and food.
"That's fine. I'm not really hungry," he said, barely aware or caring that all activity in the busy kitchen suddenly stopped as every Bradford in the room, even one year old Cole stopped trying to climb onto the counter to get at the large platter of cookies his mother made to stare at him in disbelief. — R.L. Mathewson

French toast? Frittata?
Definitely frittata.
Leaving the table again, she transferred a small packet from freezer to fridge. It was salmon, home-smoked on the island and more delicious than any she had ever found elsewhere. Smoked salmon wasn't Cecily's doing, but the dried basil and thyme she took from the herb rack were. Taking a vacuum-sealed package of sun-dried tomatoes from the cupboard, she set it on the counter beside the herbs. Frittata, hot biscuits, and fruit salad. With mimosas. And coffee. That sounded right. Eaten out on the deck maybe?
No, not on the deck, unless the prevailing winds turned suddenly warm.
They would eat here in the kitchen, with whatever flowers the morning produced. Surely more lavender. A woman could never have enough lavender- or daylilies or astilbe, neither of which should bloom this early, but both of which had looked further along than the lavender, yesterday morning, so you never knew. — Barbara Delinsky

I HAVE ANNA all to myself for seven days. Seven days of living by what I start to call the holy trinity of "S" sex, sleep, and sustenance. It's all we really need. My bed is base camp, though we've made forays onto the couch, the kitchen counter, and that one time on my weight bench, though I can't recall how we even got there. I can, however, recall with perfect clarity the way Anna came, how her inner walls clutched me as she cried out. Which makes me horny all over again as I hobble out to the kitchen for more sustenance. — Kristen Callihan

He was dead again when I got home that day. His corpse was in the kitchen, near the counter, where it appeared he'd been chopping vegetables when the urge to stab himself through the wrist had struck. I slipped on the blood coming in, which annoyed me because that meant it was all over the kitchen floor. — N.K. Jemisin

My mother never stopped cooking. She never stopped nourishing me. On Sundays, her face would disappear into steam from simmering carrots, celery, and onions, as she prepped our soup for the week. Her food processor held a prominent spot on the kitchen counter, mixing homemade sauces. The kitchen always smelled of tahini. She showed me, leading by example, that real food is the right food. It is the only food. — Kristen Beddard

From Time for College - Mr. Chiardi & Other Stories

It was time for Junior to go to college. He'd sprouted pubic hair and was eyeing all the girls.
"I want to go to college," he said.
"Yes," I replied, "It's time."
His mother, my wife, was resigned to the fact that it was time for Junior to leave the nest. She sat on a stool at the granite kitchen counter, spiked coffee beside her, reading The New York Times. She looked almost real. — Rita Buckley Aka Charles Maxwell

The children were overwhelmingly morbid. Not a single adult asked me where butterflies go when they die, but this question was more popular than pixie sticks with the under-four-foot set. I cursed parents for not preparing their children. When I was five, my mother and sister sat me up on the kitchen counter and explained the facts of life: the Easter Bunny didn't exist, Elijah was God's invisible friend, with any luck Nana would die soon, and if I ever saw a unicorn, I should kill it or catch it for cash. I turned out okay. — Sloane Crosley

I would like to be able to eat food out of this kitchen again," Seth commented. "And actually use the counter to prepare food." "Shut up," Alex growled. "As if you know how to cook food." Seth smirked as he swaggered forward, picking up the forgotten bowl. "I am quite the chef, among other things." Passing a pointed look at Aiden, he leaned against the counter. "Unlike some. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

My mom was sitting at the kitchen table. She'd set her coffee down, making a noise that made me look her way. I'd begun to notice her less and less often, like her colors were fading and blending in with walls. She was shrinking. Or maybe her sphere of influence in the family was shrinking. My dad glanced at her, too, and then wrote something on a napkin.
He slid it across the counter to me - Don't worry. Come home in one piece. Have fun and act like a sixteen-year-old for a change. — Laura Anderson Kurk

I like to stand in my kitchen with the script on a counter that's about chest high. Usually I do something else at the same time - make a chicken or slice vegetables - and all day long I just read it over and over and over. — Christopher Walken

Standing behind a kitchen counter telling people about what ingredients to put in a pot didn't feel right. — Trisha Yearwood

You got anything more to eat?"
He walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a cube of butter. Before I could stop him he took a bite. He worked the butter around inn his mouth, then swallowed. "Bit odd," he said, setting the rest of the cube onto the counter. — Suzanne Selfors

While Person A might believe the kitchen counter provides a reasonable surface on which to place one's balled-up sweatsocks post-gym, Person B - about to cut up some vegetables on that same counter, perhaps for a meal intended to be shared with Person A - can only read the sockball as a message that says, 'Hi! I have contempt for you!' — Lynn Coady

Oh baby, he whispers. Steps back. Out of the doorway. His face ashen. He walks slowly back to the kitchen. Leans over the counter. Puts his head in his hands. His hair falls over his fingers.
The bathroom door clicks shut.
She stays there for a long time.
He's pulling his hair out. — Lisa McMann

I swallow a gasp. Oh man. Are these boys pulling twin switches on Sawyer's girlfriend? That's ballsy. And twisted. I pour my own bowl of cereal and lean against the counter to eat it. A few minutes later, Sebastian walks into the kitchen. As he passes the table, Sawyer murmurs, "Thanks, bro," to his twin. — Erin Watt

It is a scientific fact that the crack between the stove and the kitchen counter serves as a kind of voracious black hole, sucking in all falling objects within a meter radius. — Jared Gulian

THE BOUNTY
In her kitchen, she saw many things she would like to eat. On the counter, there was a bunch of new bananas, yellow as a Van Gogh chair, and two apples, pristine. The cabinet was open and she saw a box of crackers, a new box of cereal, a tube of curved chips. She felt overwhelmed, seeing all of the food there, that it was all hers. And there was more in the refrigerator! There were juices, half a melon, a dozen bagels, salmon, a steak, yogurt in a dozen colors. It would take her a week to eat all of this food. She does not deserve this, she thought. It really isn't fair, she thought. You're correct, God said, and then struck dead 65,000 Malaysians. — Dave Eggers

When I got home, a spicy scent lured me into the kitchen. My stomach grumbled and I might've started drooling the moment I spotted the cheesy enchiladas cooling on the counter.
They were drenched in homemade queso.
My favorite.
Dropping my bag on the floor, I skipped over to where Rosa was placing the plates on the table. I wrapped my arms around her from behind and squeezed.
Rosa laughed as she turned. "It's the queso, isn't it?"
Nodding, I dropped my arms and stepped back. — Jennifer L. Armentrout

The sounds of people entering the kitchen snap me out of my thoughts. Before I can react, creepy moaning noises and breathless giggles erupt from the other side of my counter."Oh, Grant," a familiar voice sighs.I pop up suddenly, unable to believe my ears. Guess what I see? Jane, locked in the embrace of a balding middle aged man whom I'm pretty sure is married."Jane!" I gasp.They both scream a little and break apart, wide-eyed.
"Violet!" Jane gasps, holding a hand against her heart."I thought you were a lesbian," I blurt out.
"It's not what it - what? Why would you think I'm a lesbian?""Oh ... " I shrug. "Never mind. I should go. — Nicole Christie

To look at them, leaning against the counter in the tiny kitchen, is to understand the connection between farming, itself an act of blind faith, and religion. If you can believe in a year's worth or corn or beans, it seems, you can believe in anything. — Nick Reding

Do not throw that at me!" Kane's voice suddenly shouted.

Keela cackled. "It's just a tub of butter, you big baby."

"It's a frozen tub of butter, so you might as well throw a brick at my head!"

"That can be arranged, big man."

"You're an evil little person, I hope you know that."

"I do."

I laughed at their conversation and sunk back into my sofa, tugging my blanket farther up my body.

"Leave him alone, Keela."

I heard something being set down on either the kitchen counter or table. It dropped with a thud. "You're lucky she wants you alive and unharmed."

"And you're lucky she wants you here often, otherwise I'd ban you from ever entering this building."

Keela seethed. "You've gone mad with power."

I smiled. — L.A. Casey

Megan almost pouted at the reappearance of the black T-shirt covering his body, but a chuckle bubbled out at the sight of two bowls, two spoons, and four half gallons of ice cream lined up on the kitchen counter. "What do you want for breakfast?" she deadpanned.
His brow furrowed. He looked from her to the ice cream and back. "I thought ... "
She patted his arm. All solid muscle. "Just teasing. Dig in. — Laura Kaye

My first morning back, and I'm in such a terrific mood that I start the day off right by blasting Nappy Roots in the kitchen while I scarf down some cereal. The loud strains of "Good Day" draw the others from their bedrooms, and Garrett is the first to appear, clad in boxers and rubbing his eyes.

"Morning, Sunshine," he mumbles. "Please tell me you made some coffee."

I point to the counter. "Go nuts."

He pours himself a cup and plops down on one of the stools. "Did cartoon chipmunks dress you this morning?" he grumbles. "You're scarily chipper."

"And you're scarily grumpy. Smile, dude. It's our favorite day of the year, remember? — Elle Kennedy

Percy wakes me (fourteen)

Percy wakes me and I am not ready.
He has slept all night under the covers.
Now he's eager for action: a walk, then breakfast.
So I hasten up. He is sitting on the kitchen counter
Where he is not supposed to be.
How wonderful you are, I say. How clever, if you
Needed me,
To wake me.
He thought he would a lecture and deeply
His eyes begin to shine.
He tumbles onto the couch for more compliments.
He squirms and squeals: he has done something
That he needed
And now he hears that it is okay.
I scratch his ears. I turn him over
And touch him everywhere. He is
Wild with the okayness of it. Then we walk, then
He has breakfast, and he is happy.
This is a poem about Percy.
This is a poem about more than Percy.
Think about it. — Mary Oliver

The criticisms that are often presented to us by some in the conservative Jewish community about our Palestinian version are: first, that the U.S. is not in conflict with "Palestine" (quotes are theirs) and second, that Conflict Kitchen should counter the Palestinian viewpoints it presents with pro-Israeli viewpoints, otherwise we are spreading dangerous propaganda. — Jon Rubin

44. [...] later that afternoon, a therapist will say to me, "If he hadn't lied to you, he would have been a different person than he is." She is trying to get me to see that although I thought I loved this man very completely for exactly who he was, I was in fact blind to the man he actually was, or is.
45. This pains me enormously. She presses me to say why; I can't answer. Instead I say something about how clinical psychology forces everything we call love into the pathological or the delusional or the biologically explicable, that if what I was feeling wasn't love then I am forced to admit that I don't know what love is, or, more simply, that I loved a bad man. How all of these formulations drain the blue right out of love and leave an ugly, pigmentless fish flapping on a cutting board on a kitchen counter. — Maggie Nelson

My home kitchen is airy, with a gas stove, a stainless-steel island table in the center and granite countertops. It's very modest but there's tons of counter space, so you can slap down three or four cutting boards. — Grant Achatz

By the 1920s if you wanted to work behind a lunch counter you needed to know that 'Noah's boy' was a slice of ham (since Ham was one of Noah's sons) and that 'burn one' or 'grease spot' designated a hamburger. 'He'll take a chance' or 'clean the kitchen' meant an order of hash, 'Adam and Eve on a raft' was two poached eggs on toast, 'cats' eyes' was tapioca pudding, 'bird seed' was cereal, 'whistleberries' were baked beans, and 'dough well done with cow to cover' was the somewhat labored way of calling for an order of toast and butter. Food that had been waiting too long was said to be 'growing a beard'. Many of these shorthand terms have since entered the mainstream, notably BLT for a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, 'over easy' and 'sunny side up' in respect of eggs, and 'hold' as in 'hold the mayo'. — Bill Bryson

I want you to take a sleeve of Thin Mints and line them up on the edge of the kitchen counter and when I'm hungry I can just bend over and sweep a cookie into my mouth like I'm scoring a goal in hockey. — Jack Gantos

She looked up and smiled. "I'm glad you found some books that interest you. Would you like a glass of lemonade?"
Though I was hoping to thank her for the books and be on my way, I didn't want to seem rude. I nodded and set the stack of books on the counter. While Miz Goodpepper pulled a pitcher from the refrigerator, I asked, "Is the Kama Sutra a volcano?"
She gasped and splashed lemonade across the kitchen counter. The strangest look streaked across her face as she sopped up the mess with a wad of paper towels. "Well, I suppose some might think it's a volcano of sorts, but I can say with absolute assurance you wouldn't enjoy that book."
"That's what I thought," I said, feeling pleased with myself, so I put it back on the shelf.
She let out a barely audible sigh. "Good. — Beth Hoffman

Neither of us ever threw anything away. We made
a lot of mix tapes while we were together. Tapes for making out, tapes for dancing, tapes for falling asleep. Tapes for doing the dishes, for walking
the dog. I kept them all. I have them piled up on my bookshelves, spilling out of my kitchen cabinets, scattered all over the bedroom floor. I don't
even have pots or pans in my kitchen, just that old boom-box on the counter, next to the sink. So many tapes. — Rob Sheffield

You expect me to fall on my back with my legs spread."
"Not necessarily ... You can fall on your hands and knees if you prefer. Or against the wall. Or on the kitchen counter. I suppose I might let you be on top, if you make it worth my while. — Ilona Andrews

As I see it, a green salad is an open invitation to carrots, onions, mushrooms, tomatoes, and the sprouts that grow in jars on my kitchen counter. — Victoria Moran

The Kitchen





Half a papaya and a palmful of sesame oil;
lately, your husband's mind has been elsewhere.

Honeyed dates, goat's milk;
you want to quiet the bloating of salt.

Coconut and ghee butter;
he kisses the back of your neck at the stove.

Cayenne and roasted pine nuts;
you offer him the hollow of your throat.

Saffron and rosemary;
you don't ask him her name.

Vine leaves and olives;
you let him lift you by the waist.

Cinnamon and tamarind;
lay you down on the kitchen counter.

Almonds soaked in rose water;
your husband is hungry.

Sweet mangoes and sugared lemon;
he had forgotten the way you taste.

Sour dough and cumin;
but she cannot make him eat, like you. — Warsan Shire