Stir The Coffee Essay

“Not bad,” replied Gabby, who had thrown her bag up on the counter and was trying to fish out a lighter, “just got off!” Both of her stockings had a run in them and flicks of discarded food stuck to the sides of her tennis shoes. Her dress was black and sparkling. Vernon could tell she worked at another diner the moment she got out of the cab. The waitress flipped over an empty cup and poured out what was leftover of the coffee. Gabby had lite her cigarette, inhaled a drag, took a sip, and exhaled out a thick cloud of smoke in one single breath. “Ended up pulling a double?” The swirls in the smoke seemed to actuate Gaby's words. “Don’t remind me!” replied the waitress, who had removed one of her flats and was rubbing her heel, “I’ve been on and off my feet since 9:30 this morning.” Gabby looked towards the front of the diner at the back of Vernon’s head and then back at the waitress. “Rough night?” “Nope,” replied the waitress, “he’s been coming in here late for the last month or so, keeps to himself.” They both could see that Vernon was moving his hands while he was talking to himself. “We still on for tonight,” asked Gabby. “Maybe,” said the waitress, “as long we can get a table.” The band aids on the back of her heels needed to be replaced with new ones. Gabby

For a more than half of clan, the fine they free their eyes, they are already rational about grabbing a cup of java. More than 83 percent of Americans drink coffee quotidian, with most consuming at least 2 to 3 topping-bouts a day. Whether you prepare by fermentation it at domicile or clutch some at a topical eatery, coffee seems to have become a mainstay in most people's quotidian life. So what is the foot streak when it comes to whether coffee is deemed of good health or not? With more than 1.5 billion topping-bout being served up quotidian, one can only trust it is a of good health choice.

Coffee is a beverage that is globally consumed, but also a product that has different values in different parts of the world. The role coffee plays in society differs around the world, from the farmers who grew the crops to the people who constantly consume them. Social theoretical perspectives are capable of showing the different roles coffee has in different societies. Symbolic interactionism, functionalism, and Marxism are three theories which show coffee’s role sociologically. These theories show how coffee affects people physically, how it affects them emotionally, how it leads them to have interactions, how it connects different parts of society, and how it’s economically controlled by a select few.

So began a thrice-daily ritual on the raft, with pumpkin pie and spaghetti being the favorite subjects. The men came to know louise’s recipes so well that if louie skipped a step or forgot an ingredient, Phil, and sometimes Mac, would quickly correct him and make him start over.” Instead of just saying “they were starving” Hillenbrand instead talks about how they fantasized about Louie’s Mother's cooking. She uses detail of the cooking to develop how hungry they are and to show the lack of food they have. I know when I'm hungry I often think about my mother's mash potatoes and ham, and how she puts everything together and cooks.

Sarah slugged through the early morning work and realized-too soon- that she needed to make a trip to the house. She made her way, clasping her arms around her for warmth in the cold November morning. Painted Girl’s borrowed sweater did not help dissipate the cold air, and neither did the lingering whiskey in her system. A light shone in the window illuminating Grandfather and Dingle, who sat at the table together eating pie. She watched as Dingle grabbed a juicy strawberry from Grandfather’s pie and nibbled at it greedily. Grandfather must have finished his hunt early, Sarah realized. She had hoped to avoid Grandfather today but nature called. There was no choice, either the woods or the house. Sarah did an about turn and went for the

After a long Thursday of work on the ranch the hard working men packed into the dining hall. Everyone rushed through the lineup to eat first and instantly the sound of growling stomachs and clinking forks and knifes filled the dining room that was silent moments ago. George, Slim, Lennie, Candy and Carlson in their dirty work wear an scuffed boots sat around an old wood dining room table that was aged with scratches and cuts from the many men that had worked at the ranch before the five men that sat around the table today. The men chowed down on roast beef with gravy and garlic mashed potatoes. Lennie was thrilled as he ate his mountain of potatoes. Gravy spilled down the edge of old Candy’s lips. “Jesus Candy do you have any table manners?” Carlson asked with frustration in his deep voice.

Cosette was waiting in the walk-in fridge. “There is someone causing trouble,” she said. “I don’t know who it is yet, but maybe you can help me. Look at this.” She pointed to large flats of smashed eggs, dead, lifeless bread dough, and trays of pastries that were so black they were indistinguishable. She rubbed her temples. “Someone visiting my bakery is out to get me.”

I thought what a wonderful way to tell a story” (Mujica 38). The reader is often present in the kitchen with Esquivel when she writes about her past experiences in the kitchen.

“Ping, bang,” the not so subtle sound of the evening storm, awoke Lucynell from her slumber. The youth behind the counter stared in awe at the angel before him, at the request of Mr. Shiflet, he gingerly pushed the plate of cold ham and grits toward her. Without so much as a glance the boy’s way, Lucynell quickly gobbled down the hearty meal and then began to brush through her hair with the fork.

“Hey Alan wake up...you're going to be late” said my aunt as she snatched the blanket off my legs “ I am up okay…” I said. As i was getting dressed, all i could hear was my aunt saying “ I told to go to sleep early last night...”. I wasn’t to worried about not getting enough sleep because i knew i could sleep in the airplane. I rushed into the bathroom to comb my hair and a sweet soothing smell penetrated the bathroom door...then i knew my aunt was making breakfast. She was making pancakes, eggs, hashbrowns and bacon...mmm bacon, i couldn’t wait to eat it. As soon as i was done combing my hair, i rushed into the kitchen and leaped into the table. My mouth began to drool, i grabbed a fork and pierced through the scrambles eggs as if it was

The cook even becomes a queen, but rather than accept it, the children find it humorous and unbelievable. The cook’s appearance is described as “very red and damp in the face, and with a clean apron tied on all crooked over the dirty one that she had dished up those dear delightful chickens in” (57).

It was another gorgeous spring morning in Grovesdale, Pennsylvania a small cosy suburb on the outskirts of Lancaster. The sun had just started it's ascent over the brilliant flowering mountains. Trista was already awake in the farmhouse-style kitchen making pancakes for her family. It was tradition in their house that whoever was first to get up in the morning was the one to cook breakfast. She cracked the farm fresh eggs into the blue ceramic bowl and continued to mix. Trista always loved mornings and being the one to make breakfast, it gave her a sense of pride being able to cook for her family.

With legs crossed at the heels and arms folded, a man leaned his lower back against the dark marble counter of a small apartment kitchen. His hair was short, blonde, and styled with hair gel. His face was rounded and subtly angular with a jaw accentuated by a rough stubbly ginger-brown beard. The beard was quite thick and dense, and appeared as if some days before there had been an attempt to neatly trim it. His eyes were bright green, almond shaped and innocent but were made slightly sinister by a thick arched brow and a widows peak hairline. Above him was a selection of dark cupboards like you might expect to find in such a kitchen, except the doors all hung open and another man was rifling through them.

“I stayed up all night doing it, dad. Don’t tell mom!” He scampered away to show his two little sisters, Daphne and Sadie. I walked into the kitchen and there was my wife standing by the stove frying up some eggs for breakfast. Her light brown hair was in a low bun and her apron covered in random assortment of ingredients from the baking that she love so dearly.

“Reom, get me a glass of water, NOW!” commanded his mother. Staggering with each step, Reom rose. He fetched a tall glass and pours cool water into it. With every step he took,the floorboards of the old house creaked. He stretched out his arms, barely having enough strength to hold the glass up. His mother grabs the glass forcefully. “Took you long enough,useless” she mumbled.Waiting for her to give her to give him permission to go to his tiny bedroom and sleep, he stood there, by her side, “Well, what are you waiting for?” “Make me some food.” growled his mother. And so he did. Reom struggled to walk upright, nonetheless stand. He gets out the frying pan and turns on the gas. He lays the pan on the stove and puts some oil and bread on it. “I’ll just close my eyes and sit down for a little while” he thought. Reom sat down on the rugged floor, laid his head against the teal wall, and shut his eyes for a few seconds.