The cook broiled the meat.

The natural sweet fish broiled with salt is absolutely terrific.

Most moms cooked like mine a piece of broiled meat, a quickly made salad with bottled dressing, canned soup, canned fruit salad.

There was the frightful suspense, you see, and, apart from that, birds, except when broiled and in the society of a cold bottle, bored him stiff.

And as for going as cook, though I confess there is considerable glory in that, a cook being a sort of officer on ship board yet, somehow, I never fancied broiling fowls though once broiled, judiciously buttered, and judgmatically salted and peppered, there is no one who will speak more respectfully, not to say reverentially, of a broiled fowl than I will.

It is out of the idolatrous dotings of the old Egyptians upon broiled ibis and roasted river horse, that you see the mummies of those creatures in their huge bake houses the pyramids.

It comes in a five ounce portion of tilapia breaded with Dijon mustard and crispy, broiled breadcrumbs and a steaming pile of pecan quinoa pilaf with crunchy, grilled broccoli so soft and sweet and charred and smoky on the outside with just a hint of chili flake.