In case, you can't find your measuring cups or measuring spoons, below is a chart to help with all of your cooking whether it's for a everyday meal or holiday cooking.
Personally, I sometimes cook grits. The side of the box calls for 4 tablespoons for one serving of grits. One day, I couldn't locate my measuring spoons. So, a moment of frustration quickly disappeared when I remembered I could use my ľ measuring cup. Breakfast is saved!
Or perhaps, let say a recipe calls for a pint of milk and you have a gallon of milk in the refrigerator. There is no need to stress out because the chart below shows that 2 cups is equivalent to 1 pint!
3 teaspoons = 1 tablespoons
4 tablespoons = 1/4 cup
5 tablespoons + 1 teaspoon = 1/3 cup
8 tablespoons = 1/2 cup
16 tablespoons = 1 cup
1 cup = 1/2 pint
1 fluid ounce = 2 tablespoons
8 ounces = 1 cup
64 ounces = 1/2 gallon or 2 quarts
128 ounces = 1 gallon or 4 quarts
2 cups = 1 pint
4 cups = 1 quart
2 pints = 1 quart
4 quarts = 1 gallon
1 pound = 16 ounces
1 peck = 8 dry quarts or 2 gallons (dry)
4 pecks = 1 bushel
This conversion calculator increases and decreases your recipes, converts metric units, oven temperatures and more.
by Robert Frost
My long two-pointed ladderís sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And thereís a barrel that I didnít fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didnít pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound 25
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether itís like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.