Food in Literature

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I think that it was Kimmie or pastachef( I miss that lady very much!) that has once said that chefs are avid readers.

I believe that this is true.

A week or so ago, I was browsing Shakespeare's Macbeth and I came up with the famous soup the three witches are preparing :)

I tried just with the help of my memory to count the references of food in literature and I failed. There must be countless.

What so ever. I still remember mudbug's very sucessful thread about Food and Cinema and I thought to start one where we can collect the literaly references of food. What do you think?

Allow me to start with figs and Shakespeare :)
 
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From James Joyce's ULYSSES


"Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls", to the very end of the novel, food is as vital to Joyce’s work as it is to the human.
 
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MALVOLIO: Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a cooling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him in standing water, between boy and man.
 
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"Knowledge consists of knowing that a tomato is a fruit, and wisdom consists of not putting it in a fruit salad." ~ Miles Kington, 28 March 2002, 'The Independent'
 
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"There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray, love, remember: and there is pansies. that's for thoughts."
 
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ODYSSEUS
Sell us food, of which we are in need.

SILENUS
There is nothing but flesh, as I said.

ODYSSEUS
Well, even that is a pleasant preventive of hunger.

SILENUS
And there is cheese curdled with fig-juice, and the milk of kine.

ODYSSEUS
Bring them out; a man should see his purchases.

SILENUS
But tell me, how much gold wilt thou give me in exchange?

ODYSSEUS
No gold bring I, but Dionysus' drink.
 
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From In The Night Kitchen: "Milk in the batter! Milk in the batter! We bake cake and nothing's the matter!" (Maurice Sendak)

From Chicken Soup With Rice: "In January it's so nice, while slipping on the sliding ice, to sip hot chicken soup with rice. Sipping once, sipping twice, sipping chicken soup with rice."(Maurice Sendak)

From Bread and Jam for Frances: "I do not like the way you slide, I do not like your soft inside, I do not like you lots of ways, I could do for many days, without eggs." (Russell Hoban)
 
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From James Joyce's Dubliners :

He was hungry, for, except some biscuits which he had asked two grudging curates to bring him, he had eaten nothing since breakfast-time. He sat down at an uncovered wooden table opposite two work-girls and a mechanic. A slatternly girl waited on him.

`How much is a plate of peas?' he asked.

`Three halfpence, sir,' said the girl.

`Bring me a plate of peas,' he said, `and a bottle of ginger beer.'

He spoke roughly in order to belie his air of gentility, for his entry had been followed by a pause of talk.
 
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A few Italian quotations, and please forgive my awful translation!

From "Pinocchio" (the original one, NOT the disgusting Disney's imitation!:mad: )

While it's getting dark Pinocchio, the Cat and the Fox get to the Osteria del Gambero Rosso and decide to stop and have dinner there.

"The poor Cat, feeling seriously sick, couldn't eat anything but thirty-five mullets with tomato sauce and four helpings of Trippa alla parmigiana; and since the Trippa wasn't tasty enough he asked three times for more butter and grated parmesan.
Also the Fox would have loved to nibble something, but since her doctor had prescribed a very strict diet, she had to be satisfied with a plain sweet-and-sour hare stew with a light side dish of fattened chickens and young cocks. After that, she had a small Cibreo with partridges, thrushes, rabbits, frogs, lizards and sweet grapes; and then she didn't ask for more. She was SO sick, she said, that she couldn't put anything to her lips.
The one who ate less was Pinocchio. He asked for a walnut kernel and a small slice of bread, and left everything in the dish."

Pongi
 
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From Eduardo de Filippo's "Sabato, Domenica e Lunedì":

"In the Ragù silence, all around the Great Mother who celebrates handling her ladle, the faithfuls hold out their dishes waiting in communion."


From Giuseppe Marotta's "L'Oro di Napoli":

"Ragù is not a sauce, but the history, the novel, the poem of a sauce."

"It's Sunday, 1 pm: its smell overcomes sea smell. It's the smell of myth and rite, smell of Love and Dionysos god. From the Bassi sunk down into the alleys, to princes' and princesses' palaces, all the kitchens of Napoli are competing; up and down, from the mountains to the sea, this is the time when Napoli has just a King: 'O Ragù!"

Pongi
 
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