A Quote by Molly Yeh
When the chickpeas are still warm from boiling, you get warm hummus, which feels more like a meal. And it's not that hard. Just plan ahead, soak them all night, and dump them in the food processor.
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If you want someone to feel warm, you dress them in a warm color and put a warm light on them and you get the picture. Sometimes, all that needs pushing a little bit to help tell the story.
I hate chickpeas. I like hummus but I ate that before I realised it was made out of chickpeas.
I love the old movies from my past, when I was growing up. I just have a special place in my heart for them. They kind of feel like comfort food to me, so watching them is just cozy and warm.
Want me to warm up the sauce?” “Do we do that? I mean, it’s in a jar, right? Can’t you just dump it over the pasta?” “Well, you can, but it tastes better if you warm it up.” “Oh.” Eve sighed. “This is complicated. No wonder I never cook.
I got so excited, just talking about hummus to the Food Network. I feel like you don't see a lot of hummus and challah and shakshuka on the Food Network and that was really the meat of the process.
Oh! Your hand is cold." Ashley cupped her fingers against her shirt to warm them. "I've been dead for seven years," Noah said. "That's as warm as they get.
I wasn't aware so many kids were lacking basic things like a hot meal at night and somewhere warm and safe to live.
I must say this now about that first fire. It was magic. Out of dead tinder and grass and sticks came a live warm light. It cracked and snapped and smoked and filled the woods with brightness. It lighted the trees and made them warm and friendly. It stood tall and bright and held back the night.
All I want is a room somewhere, far away from the cold night air. With one enormous chair; Oh wouldn't it be loverly? Lots of choc'late for me to eat; Lots of coal makin' lots of heat. Warm face, warm 'ands, warm feet, Oh wouldn't it be loverly? Oh, so loverly sittin' abso-bloomin'-lutely still! I would never budge 'til spring crept over my window sill. Someone's head restin' on my knee; Warm and tender as he can be, who takes good care of me; Oh wouldn't it be loverly? Loverly, loverly, loverly, loverly.
Your eyes are beautiful," he said, and she felt warm suddenly, warm in the sun that dappled through the treetops and rested on them in patches.
Anything that feels familiar and comfortable [is home]. It's wherever I feel safe and safest. Most of the time, that's just Barbados. It's warm, it's beautiful, it's the beach, it's my family, it's the food, it's the music. Everything feels familiar, feels right and feels safe. So, Barbados is home for me.
Such is the condition of life that something is always wanting to happiness. In youth we have warm hopes, which are soon blasted by rashness and negligence, and great designs which are defeated by inexperience. In age, we have knowledge and prudence, without spirit to exert, or motives to prompt them; we are able to plan schemes, and regulate measures, but have not time remaining to bring them to completion.
Ocean acidification looks suspiciously like a back-up plan by the environmental pressure groups in case the climate fails to warm: another try at condemning fossil fuels. [...] Even if the world warms as much as the consensus expects, the net harm still looks small alongside the real harm now being done by preventable causes; and if it does warm this much, it will be because more people are rich enough to afford to do something about it.
As the evening mist worked its way into the scene, creating a warm filter through which the lowering sun bathed its light, it was all I could to to keep painting, and not just put my brushes down and soak it all in. Which, of course, I did for a while anyway.
Dating is like trying to make a meal out of leftovers. Some leftovers actually get better when they've had a little time to mature. But others should be thrown out right away, No matter how you try to warm them up, they're never as good as when they were new.
This time of year, I live and breathe the beach. My cheeks feel raw with the wind throwing sand against them. My thighs sting from the friction of the saddle. My arms ache from holding up two thousand pounds of horse. I have forgotten what it is like to be warm and what a full night’s sleep feels like and what my name sounds like spoken instead of shouted across yards of sand. I am so, so alive.
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