Word: plates
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...find some gristle or a piece of meat you cannot swallow, don't spit it out on your plate . . . Place it on the prongs of your fork, then place it on the rim of your plate. Don't let this embarrass you. It is perfectly correct...
Some of the hunters wore the new bright yellow togs, but most sported head-to-boots outfits in traditional red-cap, jacket, shirt, trousers, even suspenders. Pinned between their shoulders was a big red license plate. All were in moods ranging from festive to rambunctious. Said Rancher Bob Lahde, who "takes in" hunters: "You can tell how keyed up these hunters are by the way they eat. First day, they'll take maybe one of my bear-burgers. Then they get a buck, and my wife and I can't get enough food moving to them...
...other heiresses. Baltimore & Ohio Railroad stockholders flatly rejected Central overtures in favor of merger talks with the more profitable Chesapeake & Ohio Railway. The Central was also rebuffed when it tried to elbow into the projected merger of the Norfolk & Western Railway and the New York, Chicago & St. Louis (Nickel Plate) Railroad. And since the Pennsylvania owns 32.6% of the Norfolk & Western's voting stock, Perlman began to fear that the girl he had rejected might join the N. & W.-Nickel Plate combine, leaving the Central to lead an impoverished bachelor existence...
Flying out of New York, Ike kept up the pace. He stopped off in Gettysburg for a modest $10-a-plate fund-raising dinner staged by Adams County Republicans. At week's end, he would move on to San Antonio to jump into a key congressional race. Battling for a vacant House Seat representing big Bexar County are liberal Democratic State Senator Henrv Gonzalez, 45, and conservative Republican John W. Goode Jr., a 38-year-old lawyer and former county chairman. Ike hoped to drum up enough support for Goode to add a third Republican to Texas' congressional...
...turbot! ... I got six steaks! . . . Four plaice, please, ducks! . . . Three cutlets, Hans! . . . Two omelettes! . . . Four cod, lover boy! Ye canna be a slow coach here!" Waitresses scream, cooks curse, knives flash, fat crackles, urns squeal, sweat spews out of every pore and food leaps furiously from pot to plate as though it were alive. Faster the pace, wilder the tumult. Like a runaway reactor, like a Beethoven rising to full frenzy the great kitchen gathers itself and surges, thunders, mindlessly explodes in a tremendous climax of comestibles...