Flour is usually white. Flour actually rhymes with flower. I love flowers . And i love flour. Flour is used for cake and all things nice. Flowers smell good and remnid me of all things nice. White flour and white flowers.
If there was one thing Abe hated more in the kitchen than tabasco and cinnamon, it had to be flour. Not because it tasted bad – though it sort of did – but simply because it stuck to every damn thing in sight.
whenever i bake, i put on that apron i had sowed for me. it has white frills like you’d imagine in french romantic era novels and two pockets to put my phone in so i can listen to music while i dirty the kitchen counters with various residues of ingredients. i’m a moderately messy baker, if i’m being honest but i know that it always turns out better when i put on that apron
I like to make bread with all purpose flour. Not self rising because it gives it a strange texture. Other flours can be used. Corn flour, rice flour, just to name a couple, can be used to make bread. If you want to make donuts, some people like to use a pastry flour. There is also a cake flour.
Ashley ate the flour straight out of the bag, as if it were popcorn. Congealing in her mouth, she was unable to speak. It was at this inopportune moment that Frank walked through the door. Ashley had a crush on Frank. This dated back to March of 2004. Frank, enthusiastically, spilled the beans. “Ashley. I think you’re great, and I’d like to take you out on a date. Not to that shitty bar we always frequent…well…to that shitty bar we always frequent, but this time, in a capacity that’s more than just friends.” Unable to respond due to the flour that had cemented her tongue to her teeth, Ashley frowned and choked. Frank left heartbroken.
I think of making some cakes, using this white stuff to help build texture; and I can also see myself smelling the richness of the aroma. It reminds me of the kitchen where I am making, creating and having fun. With no recipes to guide me, it makes me wonder if I can be anything,
gluten free is where its at. because wheat makes you bloaty. but how do I make good gluten free bread? the last time I made a loaf its too crumbly. I like the feeling of flour between my fingers. I want to make my own flour using the Vitamix. Almond flour, rice flour, oat flour?
The flour was packed high in a compact pile on top of Mother’s table, and I wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted me to do with it. You see, Mother was a fickle sort of woman who would lay everything out for you that you needed, and she would expect you to automatically know what she wanted you to do. That might sound like an easy chore to some, but it wasn’t for us, because, as I said, she was a fickle sort of woman, and you never knew what she was thinking about.
My mother was a bower bird and her collection of paper, nails, batteries, margarine containers, ceramic fragments and plant cuttings all made their way to the kitchen. Whenever I visited I had to fight the urge to tidy, to discard her dusty piles of flotsam and restore order. Still there was comfort there. In seeing her busy herself with pots and pans, smiling at me, relaying gossip about the various maladies of neighbours, her hands covered in flour and the smell of fresh bread coming from the cooker.
The cake is beautiful. She made it herself. It was the first time ever. She looked in the oven about a thousand times to see if it was rising. That means the cake grows, right there in the oven. It was like watching a flower grow. But it was watching a flour grow. She laughed out loud at her own joke. She couldn’t wait to put the frosting on. She wondered if he would let her put the frosting on. It was always the most fun part. So he probably wouldn’t let her do it then. He never let her do the fun parts.
I can feel the powder white flesh of the grinder on flesh, but the bread is not yet baked. White fluff is what makes the sandwich wild and soaks up the sun as it burns down on the meat. I can even hear the mills winding down the Dutchman’s valley.
As she looked at the well she had made in the flour, she felt the tears come. She had been making these biscuits twice a day, every day, for thirty years. Her life was not hers. She was a slave to the role. She was simply a wife, a mother, and nothing else–what happened to her dreams?
Flour is white and often used for cooking. You can use it to bake a cake or to make dough for a pizza. This word is not to be confused with “flower” but could be as a pun for your valentines date.
When I walked in it looked like a murder scene. Flour, everywhere. I saw the little baker sitting in the corner, shaking, scared. On the floor in front of here was a poor little gingerbread man. She HAD murdered him. “What happened, ma’am?” “He wouldn’t stop mocking me…”
Laughter exploded in the room as they pounded the bread dough! A cloud of flour hung in the air making them all look giggling ghosts.
Flour is usually white. Flour actually rhymes with flower. I love flowers . And i love flour. Flour is used for cake and all things nice. Flowers smell good and remnid me of all things nice. White flour and white flowers.
If there was one thing Abe hated more in the kitchen than tabasco and cinnamon, it had to be flour. Not because it tasted bad – though it sort of did – but simply because it stuck to every damn thing in sight.
whenever i bake, i put on that apron i had sowed for me. it has white frills like you’d imagine in french romantic era novels and two pockets to put my phone in so i can listen to music while i dirty the kitchen counters with various residues of ingredients. i’m a moderately messy baker, if i’m being honest but i know that it always turns out better when i put on that apron
A plant with a stem and cloreful pedles with leaves sun
I like to make bread with all purpose flour. Not self rising because it gives it a strange texture. Other flours can be used. Corn flour, rice flour, just to name a couple, can be used to make bread. If you want to make donuts, some people like to use a pastry flour. There is also a cake flour.
Ashley ate the flour straight out of the bag, as if it were popcorn. Congealing in her mouth, she was unable to speak. It was at this inopportune moment that Frank walked through the door. Ashley had a crush on Frank. This dated back to March of 2004. Frank, enthusiastically, spilled the beans. “Ashley. I think you’re great, and I’d like to take you out on a date. Not to that shitty bar we always frequent…well…to that shitty bar we always frequent, but this time, in a capacity that’s more than just friends.” Unable to respond due to the flour that had cemented her tongue to her teeth, Ashley frowned and choked. Frank left heartbroken.
I think of making some cakes, using this white stuff to help build texture; and I can also see myself smelling the richness of the aroma. It reminds me of the kitchen where I am making, creating and having fun. With no recipes to guide me, it makes me wonder if I can be anything,
gluten free is where its at. because wheat makes you bloaty. but how do I make good gluten free bread? the last time I made a loaf its too crumbly. I like the feeling of flour between my fingers. I want to make my own flour using the Vitamix. Almond flour, rice flour, oat flour?
The flour was packed high in a compact pile on top of Mother’s table, and I wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted me to do with it. You see, Mother was a fickle sort of woman who would lay everything out for you that you needed, and she would expect you to automatically know what she wanted you to do. That might sound like an easy chore to some, but it wasn’t for us, because, as I said, she was a fickle sort of woman, and you never knew what she was thinking about.
My mother was a bower bird and her collection of paper, nails, batteries, margarine containers, ceramic fragments and plant cuttings all made their way to the kitchen. Whenever I visited I had to fight the urge to tidy, to discard her dusty piles of flotsam and restore order. Still there was comfort there. In seeing her busy herself with pots and pans, smiling at me, relaying gossip about the various maladies of neighbours, her hands covered in flour and the smell of fresh bread coming from the cooker.
i was baking yesteday. i spilled the flour. it got on my shoe and i screamed my head off. i was positively dying.
The cake is beautiful. She made it herself. It was the first time ever. She looked in the oven about a thousand times to see if it was rising. That means the cake grows, right there in the oven. It was like watching a flower grow. But it was watching a flour grow. She laughed out loud at her own joke. She couldn’t wait to put the frosting on. She wondered if he would let her put the frosting on. It was always the most fun part. So he probably wouldn’t let her do it then. He never let her do the fun parts.
I can feel the powder white flesh of the grinder on flesh, but the bread is not yet baked. White fluff is what makes the sandwich wild and soaks up the sun as it burns down on the meat. I can even hear the mills winding down the Dutchman’s valley.
As she looked at the well she had made in the flour, she felt the tears come. She had been making these biscuits twice a day, every day, for thirty years. Her life was not hers. She was a slave to the role. She was simply a wife, a mother, and nothing else–what happened to her dreams?
Flour is white and often used for cooking. You can use it to bake a cake or to make dough for a pizza. This word is not to be confused with “flower” but could be as a pun for your valentines date.
Flour is the best thing to make cookies cake and anything really. Flour is disgusting by itself. Flour is awesome to cook with.
Ben knocked on the door of his neighbor. He was greeted by a scruffy old lady.
“Excuse me, miss, do you have any flour I could borrow?”
The lady looked at him, then grabbed a pack of flour from under her rocker and dumped it into his lap. “Make sure to return it! I’m a real witch.”
She slammed the door. Ben sat looking at the flour, which gathered into a humanoid blob and sneezed in his face.
When I walked in it looked like a murder scene. Flour, everywhere. I saw the little baker sitting in the corner, shaking, scared. On the floor in front of here was a poor little gingerbread man. She HAD murdered him. “What happened, ma’am?” “He wouldn’t stop mocking me…”
Riley,ran out of the kitchen barking like a fool. Her normally curly sand colored curls belched by the flour.
As she put flour on the cutting board her memories went to the days of her childhood, watching her Mother make the daily bread in the morning sun.