No flesh nor fish can I swallow: porridge and milk are the only things I can taste.
"Your porridge is waiting you—as cold as a stone," she answered.
There she set my porridge before me, which I declined to eat.
You see I don't want you to eat your meal in fear—or your porridge either.
There's a feller in the Bible that sold his—his birthday, I think 'twas—for a mess of porridge.