70+ Funny, Short And Cute Kitchen Quotes

It’s the smell of him in the bathroom, all I need to get ready for the day. Watching him get dressed, and the sound in the kitchen; a slow hum of a song and his movements, picking things to eat. The way I could observe him, for hours, just go on with his day – or as he sleeps – simply breathing in and out, in and out, and it’s like the hymn that sings me to peace.
i know the world is still out there and I know i’m not yet friendly to its pace, but as long as I know him with me, here, there, somewhere – us – I know I have a chance.

Despite a few exceptions, I have found that americans are now far more willing to learn new names, just as they’re far more willing to try new ethnic foods… It’s like adding a few new spices to the kitchen pantry.

As a producer, as a CEO of Hartbeat Productions, I am making deals to put my company in place to win, to put my staff to work so that while all this stuff is going on, they’re in the kitchen cooking. So it’s understanding the longevity of the entertainment business; you get out of it what you put into it.

When you’re the conscious captain in your kitchen, you’ll feel better mentally and physically.

There’s a bond among a kitchen staff, I think. You spend more time with your chef in the kitchen than you do with your own family.

Anyone that’s ever had their kitchen done over knows that it never never gets done as soon as you wish it would.

Lucy settled into august’s kitchen as if they were a family.

My recipe for dealing with anger and frustration: set the kitchen timer for twenty minutes, cry, rant, and rave, and at the sound of the bell, simmer down and go about business as usual.

The more you know, the more you can create. There’s no end to imagination in the kitchen.

Tanto yo como shu, en aquellos dos meses, habíamos adquirido una expresión en el rostro que no teníamos antes. La expresión de quien lucha consigo mismo para no pensar en las personas que ha perdido. Acababa poniendo aquella cara sin saberlo, sin darme cuenta, cuando estaba entre unas tinieblas hacia las que venían oleadas de soledad al recordarlo todo de repente.

I like to have friends in the kitchen and make a big mess and use every pot in the kitchen.

My favorite room in the house is my kitchen. It’s definitely the heart and soul of our home. It’s where we gather in the morning as a family to start the day, and it’s where we wind down at night over supper.

In the childhood memories of every good cook, there’s a large kitchen, a warm stove, a simmering pot and a mom.

Happiness is a small house, with a big kitchen.

If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.

‘Kitchen Confidential’ wasn’t a cautionary or an expose. I wrote it as an entertainment for New York tri-state area line cooks and restaurant lifers, basically; I had no expectation that it would move as far west as Philadelphia.

Its kitchens were enormous and capable of being put to any use except the convenient preparation of food.

I made the coffee myself in armande’s curious small kitchen with its cast-iron range and low ceiling. Everything is clean there, but the one tiny window looks onto the river, giving the light a greenish underwater look. Hanging from the dark, unpainted beams are bunches of dry herbs in their muslin sachets. On the whitewashed walls, copper pans hang from hooks. The door- like all the doors in the house- has a hole cut into the base to allow free passage to her cats.

It’s like a kitchen, acting. Put a chef in a kitchen and they will have different recipes. Whatever your recipe, what works for you won’t work for another.

I’ve been my mom’s kitchen helper since I was a little kid.

Después cuando al fin lo conocí, pensé que transmitía una sensación de aislamiento, no se por qué. Aunque su forma de ser y de hablar eran dulces, me pareció que estaba solo.

Pots hung from the ceiling beams, between the festoons of braided garlic, the hams, the salsicce, bunches of mountain herbs for medicine, strings of dried porcini, necklaces of dried apple rings in winter, chains of dried figs. The smell of onions, of hot lard and smoldering oak wood, of cinnamon and pepper, always seemed to hang in the air. The larder was full of meat at all times, needless to say: not small pieces, but huge joints and sides of beef and lamb, which mamma and carenza could never hope to use just for our household, and which were quietly passed on to the monks of santa croce so that they could feed the poor. Carenza made salami with fennel seeds and garlic, prosciutto, pancetta. Sometimes the air in the larder was so salty that it stung your nostrils, and sometimes it reeked of spoiled blood from the garlands of hares, rabbits, quail, thrushes and countless other creatures that would arrive, bloody and limp, from papa’s personal game dealer.
next to the larder, a door led out to our courtyard, which mamma had kept filled with herbs. An ancient rosemary bush took up most of one side, and the air in summer was always full of bees. Sage, thyme, various kinds of mint, oregano, rocket, hyssop, lovage and basil grew in mamma’s collection of old terra-cotta pots. A fig tree was slowly pulling down the wall, and a tenacious, knotted olive tree had been struggling for years in the sunniest corner.

Nature is never the same twice; this inconsistency requires adaptability. There are limitless problems in the world. If we think like a machine we only find ourselves with the same problems. The problems are there because we haven’t adapted a solution; the only way to find a solution is to think outside the machine.

this thinking is necessary to a natural food system. There are no two vegetables that are the same, no two days of cooking that are the same, no two humans that are the same. Industrial systems give us the same ingredients every day, through all the seasons. When you put square shapes in square spaces, you don’t understand the circle.

your thinking becomes linear and you can’t adapt.

when you adapt, your mind is able to make connections and find solutions to the unpredictable nature of real food.

There is nothing nicer than a kitchen really made for a cook. Things that are designed to be used always have an innate beauty.

There has ling been a happy symbiotic relationship between kitchen and bar. Simply put, the kitchen wants booze, and the bartender wants food.

There are times when wisdom cannot be found in the chambers of parliament or the halls of academia but at the unpretentious setting of the kitchen table.

If you can organize your kitchen, you can organize your life.

The place I like best in this world is the kitchen. No matter where it is, no matter what kind, if it’s a kitchen, if it’s a place where they make food, it’s fine with me. Ideally it should be well broken in. Lots of tea towels, dry and immaculate. Where tile catching the light (ting! Ting!)

मसाला यहूदी धर्मगुरु
जिसकी सांस एक क्रिया है,
उनकी दाढ़ी काफी पतली है
और एक लाल लबादा:
आप, जो रोगग्रस्त और क्षुद्र हैं
और चेहरा झाग की तरह है,
एक यहूदी भिक्षु,
हमारी कड़वाहट को आशीर्वाद दें,
किचन को सबसे अच्छा बनाएं
मौत को मिठास देना –
हमें मोम सिखाओ
और रोटी में हमारे बीज
मेरे दादाजी बैठे हैं
मेरा चचेरा भाई भरा हुआ है
मेरे मुँह में ऐश.

I have been in Sorrow’s kitchen and licked out all the pots. Then I have stood on the peaky mountain wrapped in rainbows, with a harp and sword in my hands.

We are about creating a new wave of talent. We are the Manchester United of kitchens now. Am I playing full-time in the kitchen? I am a player-coach.

La cucina bears the scents of its past, and every event in its history is recorded with an olfactory memorandum. Here vanilla, coffee, nutmeg, and confidences; there the milky-sweet smell of babies, old leather, sheep’s cheese, and violets. In the corner by the larder hangs the stale tobacco smell of old age and death, while the salty scent of lust and satiation clings to the air by the cellar steps along with the aroma of soap, garlic, beeswax, lavender, jealousy, and disappointment.

As an art form, cooktalk is, like haiku or kabuki, defined by established rules, with a rigid, traditional framework in which one may operate.

Have you ever asked yourselves what you are going to do when you grow up? In all likelihood you will get married, and before you know where you are, you will be mothers and fathers; and you will then be tied to a job, or to the kitchen, in which you will gradually wither away. Is that all that your life is going to be?

The kitchen, reasonably enough, was the scene of my first gastronomic adventure. I was on all fours. I crawled into the vegetable bin, settled on a giant onion and ate it, skin and all. It must have marked me for life, for I have never ceased to love the hearty flavor of raw onions.

I’m in a loft and the kitchen is in the very center of the apartment. The whole place revolves around it.

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).

The kitchen. Scent of cumin, ajwain and cardamom. On the table, a little pile of nutmeg. Thick, oily vapor rose from the pot on the stove. The room was warm and spacious, the window high and wide. Tiny drops of condensation covered the top of the glass. Smoke soared towards the ceiling in shafts of light. I noticed many shiny pots and pans hanging on the whitewashed walls. And strings of lal mirchi, and idli makers, and thalis, and conical molds for kulfi. In the corner the tandoor was ready. Its orange glow stirred in the utensils on the walls.

When she goes about her kitchen duties, chopping, carving, mixing, whisking, she moves with the grace and precision of a ballet dancer, her fingers plying the food with the dexterity of a croupier.

The kitchen really is the castle itself. This is where we spend our happiest moments and where we find the joy of being a family.

A kitchen is a good place to be, almost always the best place in the house.

Some of our most exquisite murders have been domestic, performed with tenderness in simple, homey places like the kitchen table.

The kitchen is a place I know well. It’s my favorite room wherever I am living, and it has to be completely open and social.

The kitchen may not get cleaned, and I have to accept that. I do the important things.

I have loved to cook since I was a child in my mother’s kitchen. If I don’t have time to cook, I’ll just read a cookbook.

There is a peculiar burning odor in the room, like explosives. the kitchen fills with smoke and the hot, sweet, ashy smell of scorched cookies. The war has begun.

I’m a chef, I own restaurants, and there’s a behavior in the kitchen you have to have.

The worst mistake of a woman is to go to the kitchen, because then she never gets out of there.

If I walked into the kitchen without washing my hands as a kid, I’d hear a loud ‘A-hem!’ from my mother or grandmother. Now I count on other people to do the same.

I have tennis shoes with little rhinestones that I slip on if I exercise. But I always wear heels, even around the house. I’m such a short little thing, I can’t reach my kitchen cabinets.

Their kitchen is their shrine, the cook their priest, the table their altar, and their belly their god.

Afterwards, they always had tea in the kitchen, much the nicest room in the house.

The kitchen is the most important place in any house. Visit your family, and that’s where you’ll end up. Go to a party, that’s where everyone congregates.

No me gusta demasiado el sentimentalismo de la palabra ‘jamás’ ni la sensación que da de determinar el futuro. Pero, entonces, el peso enorme y la desesperanza de la palabra que me había ocurrido: ‘jamás, tenían una intensidad difícil de olvidar.

What’s a soup kitchen?

The sight of iniquity, immorality, pure evil, perhaps the world’s end; a kitchen in disorder.

We journalists don’t have to step on roaches. All we have to do is turn on the kitchen light and watch the critters scutter.

A kitchen without a knife is not a kitchen.

Even when I try to stir myself up, I just get irritated because I can’t make anything come out. And in the middle of the night I lie here thinking about all this. If I don’t get back on track somehow, i’m dead, that’s the sense I get. There isn’t a single strong emotion inside me.

If you let too many cooks in the kitchen it could cloud your vision of what you want to do.

Our kitchen is a kitchen that makes food designed to be tasted with the five senses and it requires concentration to appreciate all that we want to express.

My kitchen looks like the one from my childhood – very homey, with a little bit of Alice in Wonderland!

I train my chefs completely different to anyone else. My young girls and guys, when they come to the kitchen, the first thing they get is a blindfold. They get blindfolded and they get sat down at the chef’s table… Unless they can identify what they’re tasting, they don’t get to cook it.

The pressure on young chefs today is far greater than ever before in terms of social skills, marketing skills, cooking skills, personality and, more importantly, delivering on the plate. So you need to be strong. Physically fit. So my chefs get weighed every time they come into the kitchen.

If my kid couldn’t draw I’d make sure that my kitchen magnets didn’t work.

All food is just a vehicle for transporting butter to my mouth.

I’m at the age where food has taken the place of sex in my life. In fact, I’ve just had a mirror put over my kitchen table.

The kitchen is the heart of every home, for the most part. It evokes memories of your family history.

To want to own a restaurant can be a strange and terrible affliction. What causes such a destructive urge in so many otherwise sensible people? why would anyone who has worked hard, saved money, often been successful in other fields, want to pump their hard-earned cash down a hole that statistically, at least, will almost surely prove dry? why venture into an industry with enormous fixed expenses (…), with a notoriously transient and unstable workforce, and highly perishable inventory of assets? the chances of ever seeing a return on your investment are about one in five. What insidious spongi-form bacteria so riddles the brains of men and women that they stand there on the tracks, watching the lights of the oncoming locomotive, knowing full well it will eventually run over them? after all these years in the business, I still don’t know.

I was also sick of my neighbors, as most parisians are. I now knew every second of the morning routine of the family upstairs. At 7:00 am alarm goes off, boom, madame gets out of bed, puts on her deep-sea divers’ boots, and stomps across my ceiling to megaphone the kids awake. The kids drop bags of cannonballs onto the floor, then, apparently dragging several sledgehammers each, stampede into the kitchen. They grab their chunks of baguette and go and sit in front of the tv, which is always showing a cartoon about people who do nothing but scream at each other and explode. Every minute, one of the kids cartwheels (while bouncing cannonballs) back into the kitchen for seconds, then returns (bringing with it a family of excitable kangaroos) to the tv. Meanwhile the toilet is flushed, on average, fifty times per drop of urine expelled. Finally, there is a ten-minute period of intensive yelling, and at 8:15 on the dot they all howl and crash their way out of the apartment to school.” (p.137).

Best way to get rid of kitchen odors: Eat out.

On the good days, my mother would haul out the ukulele and we’d sit around the kitchen table – it was a cardboard table with a linoleum top – and sing.

When I was writing ‘Kitchen Confidential,’ I was in my 40s, I had never paid rent on time, I was 10 years behind on my taxes, I had never owned my own furniture or a car.

Our cellar home had a kitchen and a combination bedroom and half bath, which meant we had a sink next to the bed. We had no refrigerator, no shower or tub, and no privacy. My parents shared the bedroom with my sister and me.

My life at home gives me absolute joy. There are some days when, as soon as you’ve finished cooking breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, it’s time to start lunch, and by the time you’ve done that, you’re doing dinner and thinking, ‘There has to be a menu we can order from.’

I’ll be right here. Until they drag me off the line. I’m not going anywhere. I hope. It’s been an adventure. We took some casualties over the years. Things got broken. Things got lost. But I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

মশলার ইহুদি যাজক
যাঁর শ্বাস এক ক্রিয়াপদ,
দাড়ি তাঁর বেশ পাতলা
আর একটা শাদা আলখাল্লা :
আপনি, যিনি রোগা আর ক্ষুদে
আর চেহারা মুঠোর মতো,
এক ইহুদি ধর্মস্হান,
আমাদের তিক্ততাকে আশীর্বাদ করেন,
রান্নাঘরকে শ্রেষ্ঠ করে তুলে
মৃত্যুকে মিষ্টতা দেবার জন্য–
শিখায় আমাদের মোম
আর রুটিতে আমাদের বীজ
আমার দাদু বসে থাকেন
আমার কাকারা পুরে দ্যান
আমার মুখে ছাই ।.

Kitchens are hard environments and they form incredibly strong characters.

It’s the kind of kitchen people don’t just cook in, they live in it. Just stepping into it reminds me of where I am, and i’m at home instantly.”, loving summer by.

Too lazy to peel fresh? you don’t deserve to eat garlic.

параноята е чесънът в кухнята на живота, винаги можеш да сложиш още малко, нали?.