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“Flames roar up the sides of pans, pots clatter like artillery, slabs of beef are dragged and hoisted like casualties. Hands are burned, fingers slashed; the pace of the prep rush turns the kitchen staff into sweating, shouting bodies, meat cooking meat.”

Flames roar up the sides of pans, pots clatter like artillery, slabs of beef are dragged and hoisted like casualties.

The whole thing made me so mad, I felt like smoke might shoot from my ears, and if I parted my lips even the slightest bit, fire would roar up from my stomach and burn the whole place down.

It was a welcome sight; for here was a great bedroom well lighted and warmed with another log fire,—also added to but lately, for the top logs were fresh—which sent a hollow roar up the wide chimney.

Sometimes my ex-wife will roar up in her Jeep, music blaring, children in the back and her fiancée next to her.