What is "creamed"

Usage examples of "creamed".

The wind was strong, but not so strong, and Biter soon creamed away from them under a full press.

I got was sauteed valmin and creamed sinrows mixed with unsalted nuts, tessin soup and dreff salad, baked gimels and glazed finfaws.

Put into a stoneware platter creamed codfish prepared according to directions elsewhere given, and surround with a border of mashed potatoes beaten light with an egg.

Scented, powdered and creamed, she emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of white organza and stepped into a wonderland of romance and candlelight.

Remo looked at it as if a waiter had brought him creamed liver and scrod or some other untasty thing he had not ordered.

With Ahab trotting alongside or resting now and again just inside the door, Jonathan carried out some two or three dozen cheeses of various shapes and sizes including a half dozen crocks of creamed cheese and three of the round swtrly cheeses that he and the mayor had picked at the night before.

With Ahab trotting alongside or resting now and again just inside the door, Jonathan carried out some two or three dozen cheeses of various shapes and sizes including a half dozen crocks of creamed cheese and three of the round swirly cheeses that he and the mayor had picked at the night before.

I be immune to the hottest jade rumors since Chiang Kai-shek creamed mainland Chinas treasures on the way to Taiwan?

Luke sank gratefully into one of the white plastic mess-hall chairs and accepted the plate Threepio handed him: reconstituted and radiation-packed, maybe, and bearing only nominal resemblance to actual dewback steak and creamed topatoes, but close enough.

At least, that was what she was thinking when, later that evening, she bathed in bubbles, creamed her body with scented lotion, put on one of the slightly indecent nightgowns Graham had bought her during their earliest, randiest days, and climbed into their bed.

Hell, we'd stand to be fucking creamed if they attacked us here, despite those fucking flying coffins you and the Ayrab and Greg and Lisa take turns playing with.

Against the dun backdrop of the dunes, touched now with the last light of day, a gale creamed in from the south-west, breaking berserkly on the bars at the entrance, bared now like fangs.

A long folding table has been covered with a red tablecloth and is jammed with pans and plates and bowls of roasted hazelnuts and lobster and oyster bisques and celery root soup with apples and Beluga caviar on toast points and creamed onions and roast goose with chestnut stung and caviar in puff pastry and vegetable tarts with tapenade, roast duck and roast rack of veal with shallots and gnocchi gratin and vegetable strudel and Waldorf salad and scallops and bruschetta with mascarpone and white truffles and green chili soufflé and roast partridge with sage, potatoes and onion and cranberry sauce, mincemeat pies and chocolate truffles and lemon soufflé tarts and pecan tarte Tatin.

The cleaners know what I like --Stouffer's frozen dinners, especially that boil-in-the-bag stuff they call creamed chipped beef and Ma always called shit on a shingle, frozen strawberries, whole milk, preformed hamburger patties that you just have to slap in a hot frying pan (I hate playing with raw meat), Dole puddings, the ones that come in plastic cups (bad for my complexion but I love em), ordinary food like that.

Why, here are camman fowl slices and creamed fass leaves—things we haven’t seen for years!