Cooked By Yours Truly Quotes

Dear Max - You looked so beautiful today. I'm going to remember what you looked like forever. ... And I hope you remember me the same way - clean, ha-ha. I'm glad our last time together was happy. But I'm leaving tonight, leaving the flock, and this time it's for good. I don't know if I'll ever see any of you again. The thing is, Max, that everyone is a little bit right. Added up all together, it makes this one big right. Dylan's a little bit right about how my being here might be putting the rest of you in danger. The threat might have been just about Dr. Hans, but we don't know that for sure. Angel is a little bit right about how splitting up the flock will help all of us survive. And the rest of the flock is a little bit right about how when you and I are together, we're focused on each other - we can't help it. The thing is, Maximum, I love you. I can't help but be focused on you when we're together. If you're in the room, I want to be next to you. If you're gone, I think about you. You're the one who I want to talk to. In a fight, I want you at my back. When we're together, the sun is shining. When we're apart, everything is in shades of gray. I hope you'll forgive me someday for turning our worlds into shades of gray - at least for a while. ... You're not at your best when you're focused on me. I mean, you're at your best Maxness, but not your best leaderness. I mostly need Maxness. The flock mostly needs leaderness. And Angel, if you're listening to this, it ain't you, sweetie. Not yet. ... At least for a couple more years, the flock needs a leader to survive, no matter how capable everyone thinks he or she is. The truth is that they do need a leader, and the truth is that you are the best leader. It's one of the things I love about you. But the more I thought about it, the more sure I got that this is the right thing to do. Maybe not for you, or for me, but for all of us together, our flock. Please don't try to find me. This is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life, besides wearing that suit today, and seeing you again will only make it harder. You'd ask me to come back, and I would, because I can't say no to you. But all the same problems would still be there, and I'd end up leaving again, and then we'd have to go through this all over again. Please make us only go through this once. ... I love you. I love your smile, your snarl, your grin, your face when you're sleeping. I love your hair streaming out behind you as we fly, with the sunlight making it shine, if it doesn't have too much mud or blood in it. I love seeing your wings spreading out, white and brown and tan and speckled, and the tiny, downy feathers right at the top of your shoulders. I love your eyes, whether they're cold or calculating or suspicious or laughing or warm, like when you look at me. ... You're the best warrior I know, the best leader. You're the most comforting mom we've ever had. You're the biggest goofball, the worst driver, and a truly lousy cook. You've kept us safe and provided for us, in good times and bad. You're my best friend, my first and only love, and the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, with wings or without. ... Tell you what, sweetie: If in twenty years we haven't expired yet, and the world is still more or less in one piece, I'll meet you at the top of that cliff where we first met the hawks and learned to fly with them. You know the one. Twenty years from today, if I'm alive, I'll be there, waiting for you. You can bet on it. Good-bye, my love. Fang P.S. Tell everyone I sure will miss them

context and memory play powerful roles in all the truly great meals in one's life. I mean, lets face it:when you're eating simple barbecue under a palm tree, and you feel sand between your toes, samba music is playing softly in the backgroud, waves are lapping at the shore a few yards off, a gentle breeze is cooling the sweat on the back of your neck at the hairline, and looking across the table, past the column of empty Red Stripes at the dreamy expression on your companion's face, you realize that in half an hour you're proably going to be having sex on clean white hotel sheets, that grilled chicken leg suddenly tastes a hell of a lot better

I don't believe in twisting yourself into knots of excuses and explanations over the food you make. When one's hostess starts in with self-deprecations such as "Oh, I don't know how to cook...," or "Poor little me...," or "This may taste awful...," it is so dreadful to have to reassure her that everything is delicious and fine, whether it is or not. Besides, such admissions only draw attention to one's shortcomings (or self-perceived shortcomings), and make the other person think, "Yes, you're right, this really is an awful meal!" Maybe the cat has fallen into the stew, or the lettuce has frozen, or the cake has collapsed -- eh bien, tant pis! Usually one's cooking is better than one thinks it is. And if the food is truly vile, as my ersatz eggs Florentine surely were, then the cook must simply grit her teeth and bear it with a smile -- and learn from her mistakes.

I want to marry you, Malda - because I love you - because you are young and strong and beautiful - because you are wild and sweet and - fragrant, and - elusive, like the wild flowers you love. Because you are so truly an artist in your special way, seeing beauty and giving it to others. I love you because of all of this, because you are rational and highminded and capable of friendship - and in spite of your cooking!” “But - how do you want to live?” “As we did here - at first,” he said. “There was peace, exquisite silence. There was beauty - nothing but beauty. There were the clean wood odors and flowers and fragrances and sweet wild wind. And there was you - your fair self, always delicately dressed, with white firm fingers sure of touch in delicate true work. I loved you then.

Were there any Pyr in DC other than the two of them? No! It couldn't be! Raffery spun again, but Thorolf was keeping a wary distance. "It's not your firestorm, is it?" Bitterness welled within Rafferty at the prospect. If Thorolf, who did not care at all for romance or love or long-term relationships, should have a firestorm before Rafferty, then the Great Wyvern truly had no place in Her heart for him, even after all these centuries. "Me?" Thornolf looked as horrified by the prospect as Rafferty. "Wouldn't I be, like, the first to know?" "Can't you feel it?" Rafferty couldn't keep the anger from his tone. If Thorolf was having a firestorm, it wouldn't be unreasonable that he, of all the Pyr, wouldn't have a clue. Rafferty had never met a Pyr so disinclined to use his abilities. "Someone is our vicinity is having one." He switched to old-speak. "Feel it!" Thorolf stared at Rafferty, then started to chuckle. "Dude, I can't feel anything except the pounding in my head. That's no firestorm--that's plain old beer. Lots of it. With vodka shooters.

But if you truly want to reinvent your life, you're going to have to learn to say yes. Even if it feels selfish. Or scary.

Never stop. Truly, never stop. Keep cleaning, cooking, chopping your own wood. Go on walks with the dog. Dig in your garden. We are meant to be busy. Idle hands do the Devil’s work.

That done, a second list began to sketch itself from memory. Food, water, containers, blankets... I set three piles aside, starting with the blankets, then took what pillowcases I could find. They always made useful bags for carrying things when backpacks weren't available. One small pot for boiling, one small pan for cooking or additional self-defense. Knives, always good. One fork and a spoon for each of us. More than that, and they'd clatter inside our bags, keeping us from moving silently. No batteries. One flashlight that seemed to be working for now, even if the beam wasn't strong. The real coup would have been canned food or toilet paper, but those were truly one-in-a-million finds. "Did you forget to tell us that you're taking us camping?" I'm all four roughing it as long as that entails air-conditioning and a nice view." ... "Sorry," I muttered, forcing myself onto my feet. "Old habits.

spend some time with yourself. take yourself on dates. buy yourself coffee and flowers. take yourself on a road trip, blaring your favorite music the entire way. sing in the shower, and dance naked in your bedroom. cook dinner alone. eat alone. sleep alone. learn to truly love yourself. you will find yourself growing in directions you never dreamed possible. your dreams and aspiration will become accomplishments; the world will be placed beautifully at your feet. see, the thing about life is, we must learn to love ourselves before we can even think about loving another. we must be comfortable in our own skin before we crawl into someone else’s.

Is there something fundamentally, ethically … wrong about a meal so Pantagruelian in its ambition and proportions? Other than the “people are starving in Africa” argument, and the “250,000 people lost their jobs in America last month alone” argument, there’s the fact that they must necessarily trim off about 80 percent of the fish or bird to serve that perfectly oblong little nugget of deliciousness on the plate. There’s the unavoidable observation that it’s simply more food and alcohol than the human body is designed to handle. That you will, after even the best of times, the most wonderful of such meals, need to flop onto your bed, stomach roiling with reflux, the beginnings of a truly awful hangover forming in your skull, farting and belching like a medieval friar.

Human colour is the colour I'm truly interested in, the colour of your humanity. May the size of your heart and the depth of your soul be your currency. welcome aboard my Good Ship. Let us sail to the colourful island of misex identity. You can eat from the cooking pot of mixed culture and bathe in the cool shade of being mixed-race. There is no need for a passport. There are no borders. We are all citizens of the world. Whatever shade you are, bring your light, bring your colour, bring your music and your books, your stories and your histories, and climb aboad. United as a people we are a million majestic colours, together we are a glorious stained-glass window. We are building a cathedral of otherness, brick by brick and book by book. Raise your glass of rum, let's toast to the minorities who are the majority. There's no stopping time, nor the blurring of lines or the blending of shades. With a spirit of hope I leave you now. I drink to our sameness and to our unique differences. This is the twenty-first century and we share this, we live here, in the future. It is a beautiful morning, it is first light on the time of being other, so get out from that shade and feel the warmth of being outside. You tick: Other.

I called the Keep, introduced myself to the disembodied female voice on the phone, and asked for the Beast Lord. In less than fifteen seconds Curran came on the line. “I’m going into hiding with Jim.” The silence on the other side of the phone had a distinctly sinister undertone. Perhaps he thought that his kissing superpowers had derailed me. Fat chance. I would keep him from having to kill Derek. That was a burden he didn’t need. “I thought about this morning,” I said, doing my best to sound calm and reasonable. “I’ve instructed the super to change the locks. If I ever catch you in my apartment again, I will file a formal complaint. I’ve taken your food, under duress, but I did take it. You rescued me once or twice, and you’ve seen me near naked. I realize that you’re judging this situation by shapeshifter standards, and you expect me to fall on my back with my legs spread.” “Not necessarily.” His voice matched mine in calmness. “You can fall on your hands and knees if you prefer. Or against the wall. Or on the kitchen counter. I suppose I might let you be on top, if you make it worth my while.” I didn’t grind my teeth—he would’ve heard it. I had to be calm and reasonable. “My point is this: no.” “No?” “There will be no falling, no sex, no you and me.” “I wanted to kiss you when you were in your house. In Savannah.” Why the hell was my heart pounding? “And?” “You looked afraid. That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for.” Be calm and reasonable. “You flatter yourself. You’re not that scary.” “After I kissed you this morning, you were afraid again. Right after you looked like you were about to melt.” Melt? “You’re scared there might be something there, between you and me.” Wow. I struggled to swallow that little tidbit. “Every time I think you’ve reached the limits of arrogance, you show me new heights. Truly, your egotism is like the Universe—ever expanding.” “You thought about dragging me into your bed this morning.” “I thought about stabbing you and running away screaming. You broke into my house without permission and slobbered all over me. You’re a damn lunatic! And don’t give me that line about smelling my desire; I know it’s bullshit.” “I didn’t need to smell you. I could tell by the dreamy look in your eyes and the way your tongue licked the inside of my mouth.” “Enjoy the memory,” I ground out. “That’s the last time it will ever happen.” “Go play your games with Jim. I’ll find you both when I need you.” Arrogant asshole. “I tell you what, if you find us before those three days run out, I’ll cook you a damn dinner and serve it to you naked.” “Is that a promise?” “Yes. Go fuck yourself.” I slammed the phone down. Well, then. That was perfectly reasonable. On the other side of the counter an older, heavyset man stared at me like I had sprouted horns. Glenda handed me the money I’d given her. “That was some conversation. It was worth ten bucks.

How was your journey?" he asked. "You don't have to make small talk with me," she said. "I don't like it, and I'm not very good at it." They paused at the shade of portico, beside a sweet-scented bower of roses. Casually Lord St. Vincent leaned a shoulder against a cream-painted column. A lazy smile curved his lips as he looked down at her. "Didn't Lady Berwick teach you?" "She tried. But I hate trying to make conversation about weather. Who cares what the temperature is? I want to talk about things like... like..." "Yes?" he prompted as she hesitated. "Darwin. Women's suffrage. Workhouses, war, why we're alive, if you believe in séances or spirits, if music has ever made you cry, or what vegetable you hate most..." Pandora shrugged and glanced up at him, expecting the familiar frozen expression of a man who was about to run for his life. Instead she found herself caught by his arrested stare, while the silence seemed to wrap around them. After a moment, Lord St. Vincent said softly, "Carrots." Bemused, Pandora tried to gather her wits. "That's the vegetable you hate most? Do you mean cooked ones?" "Any kind of carrots." "Out of all vegetables?" At his nod, she persisted, "What about carrot cake?" "No." But it's cake." A smile flickered across his lips. "Still carrots." Pandora wanted to argue the superiority of carrots over some truly atrocious vegetable, such as Brussels sprouts, but heir conversation was interrupted by a silky masculine voice. "Ah, there you are. I've been sent out to fetch you." Pandora shrank back as she saw a tall msn approach in a graceful stride. She knew instantly that he must be Lord Sy. Vincent's father- the resemblance was striking. His complexion was tanned and lightly time-weathered, with laugh-lines at the outer corners of his blue eyes. He had a full head of tawny-golden hair, handsomely silvered at the sides and temples. Having heard of his reputation as a former libertine, Pandora had expected an aging roué with coarse features and a leer... not this rather gorgeous specimen who wore his formidable presence like an elegant suit of clothes. "My son, what can you be thinking, keeping this enchanting creature out in the heat of midday?

Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me: for the one, I have neither words nor measure, and for the other, I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken. I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a butcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks in his glass for love of any thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: If thou canst love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies’ favours, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what sayest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.

Then I'll go on, get it off my chest. It all starts with yours truly growing up in lovely Flanders, else I'd never of seen him and wouldn't be stuck here now in Poland, cause he was an army cook, fair-haired, a Dutchman but thin for once. Kattrin, watch out for the thin ones, only in those days I didn't know that, or that he'd got a girl already, or that they all called him Puffing Piet cause he never took out his pipe out of his mouth when he was on the job, it meant that little to him.

A dinner party is social and unpredictable and requires juggling many things at once—all things introverts aren’t crazy about. For me, it meant so many anxieties to be addressed in one evening: fear of cooking bad food (a rational fear—I regularly burn dinner), fear of being held hostage by guests (how do you have an exit strategy in your own home?), fear of throwing a party that is no fun (which means you are no fun), fear of being exposed by your own environment (what if you leave out your retainer?), and something truly horrifying: the mixing of various social groups.

coconut sunblock, a five-year-old showing you the spot where his front tooth used to be, a home-cooked meal, when your love kisses that exact spot on your neck, a grandmother’s handwriting, a job well done, the kindness of strangers, the human spirit, an Appaloosa horse, the ritual of your faith, laughing until you pee your pants a little, holiday dessert tables, first birthday parties, a perfect cup of coffee with a view. What’s good will always be good, and one of the most awful, beautiful things about the hard seasons is that unless we experience hardship, we’ll never truly appreciate and remember the good that was always good.

What is your Christian life like? What is the shape of your gospel, your faith? In the end, it will all depend on what you think God is like. Who God is drives everything. So what is the human problem? Is it merely that we have strayed from a moral code? Or is it something worse: that we have strayed from him? What is salvation? Is it merely that we are brought back as law-abiding citizens? Or is it something better: that we are brought back as beloved children? What is the Christian life about? Mere behaviour? Or something deeper: enjoying God? And then there’s what our churches are like, our marriages, our relationships, our mission: all are moulded in the deepest way by what we think of God. In the early fourth century, Arius went for a pre-cooked God, ready-baked in his mind. Ignoring the way, the truth and life, he defined God without the Son, and the fallout was catastrophic: without the Son, God cannot truly be a Father; thus alone, he is not truly love. Thus he can have no fellowship to share with us, no Son to bring us close, no Spirit through whom we might know him. Arius was left with a very thin gruel: a life of self-dependent effort under the all-seeing eye of his distant and loveless God. The tragedy is that we all think like Arius every day. We think of God without the Son. We think of ‘God’, and not the Father of the Son. But from there it really doesn’t take long before you find that you are just a whole lot more interesting than this ‘God’. And could you but see yourself, you would notice that you are fast becoming like this ‘God’: all inward-looking and fruitless.

After she had gone through most of the songs she knew, she sang an old one that she said she had written herself. I’d love to cook a stew for you But I have no pot. I’d love to knit a scarf for you But I have no wool. I’d love to write a poem for you But I have no pen. “It’s called ‘I Have Nothing,’” Midori announced. It was a truly terrible song, both words and music. I listened to this musical mess with thoughts of how the house would blow apart in the explosion if the gas station caught fire. Tired of singing, Midori put her guitar down and slumped against my shoulder like a cat in the sun. “How did you like my song?” she asked. I answered cautiously, “It was unique and original and very expressive of your personality.” “Thanks,” she said. “The theme is that I have nothing.” “Yeah, I kinda thought so.

I want you to cook more. It's good for you. You know exactly what you're nourishing yourself with (which for me almost always includes a healthy dose of fresh vegetables). It allows you to feel the natural rhythms of life in a way that microwaved frozen dinners never can. And cooking often draws people to the table, encouraging dialogue and providing a moment to appreciate the good (and truly tasty) things in life. I know: if I want you to cook more, I need to make it easy for you. And to my way of thinking, that means I need to help you with three things: First I need to help wean you from a slavish dependency on recipes - I need to hand you a few go-to recipes that are easily varied depending on what you have on hand, and teach you to look at other recipes with an eye to how they can be varied to suit your own tastes and kitchen. Second, I need to help you know what ingredients and basic preparations to have on hand so that a good meal is never more than a few minutes away. And third, I need to help you know which kitchen equipment will enable you to create delicious food fast (and, of course, I need to guide you in how to use it to its best advantage). I can do all that.

The people we find truly anathema are the ones who reduce the past to caricature and distort it to fit their own bigoted stereotypes. We’ve gone to events that claimed to be historic fashion shows but turned out to be gaudy polyester parades with no shadow of reality behind them. As we heard our ancestors mocked and bigoted stereotypes presented as facts, we felt like we had gone to an event advertised as an NAACP convention only to discover it was actually a minstrel show featuring actors in blackface. Some so-called “living history” events really are that bigoted. When we object to history being degraded this way, the guilty parties shout that they are “just having fun.” What they are really doing is attacking a past that cannot defend itself. Perhaps they are having fun, but it is the sort of fun a schoolyard brute has at the expense of a child who goes home bruised and weeping. It’s time someone stood up for the past. I have always hated bullies. The instinct to attack difference can be seen in every social species, but if humans truly desire to rise above barbarism, then we must cease acting like beasts. The human race may have been born in mud and ignorance, but we are blessed with minds sufficiently powerful to shape our behavior. Personal choices form the lives of individuals; the sum of all interactions determine the nature of societies. At present, it is politically fashionable in America to tolerate limited diversity based around race, religion, and sexual orientation, yet following a trend does not equate with being truly open-minded. There are people who proudly proclaim they support women’s rights, yet have an appallingly limited definition of what those rights entail. (Currently, fashionable privileges are voting, working outside the home, and easy divorce; some people would be dumbfounded at the idea that creating beautiful things, working inside the home, and marriage are equally desirable rights for many women.) In the eighteenth century, Voltaire declared, “I disagree with what you say but I will fight to the death for your right to say it.”3 Many modern Americans seem to have perverted this to, “I will fight to the death for your right to agree with what I say.” When we stand up for history, we are in our way standing up for all true diversity. When we question stereotypes and fight ignorance about the past, we force people to question ignorance in general.

The biggest fear for homeschooled children is that they will be unable to relate to their peers, will not have friends, or that they will otherwise be unable to interact with people in a normal way. Consider this: How many of your daily interactions with people are solely with people of your own birth year?  We’re not considering interactions with people who are a year or two older or a year or two younger, but specifically people who were born within a few months of your birthday. In society, it would be very odd to section people at work by their birth year and allow you to interact only with persons your same age. This artificial constraint would limit your understanding of people and society across a broader range of ages. In traditional schools, children are placed in grades artificially constrained by the child’s birth date and an arbitrary cut-off day on a school calendar. Every student is taught the same thing as everyone else of the same age primarily because it is a convenient way to manage a large number of students. Students are not grouped that way because there is any inherent special socialization that occurs when grouping children in such a manner. Sectioning off children into narrow bands of same-age peers does not make them better able to interact with society at large. In fact, sectioning off children in this way does just the opposite—it restricts their ability to practice interacting with a wide variety of people. So why do we worry about homeschooled children’s socialization?  The erroneous assumption is that the child will be homeschooled and will be at home, schooling in the house, all day every day, with no interactions with other people. Unless a family is remotely located in a desolate place away from any form of civilization, social isolation is highly unlikely. Every homeschooling family I know involves their children in daily life—going to the grocery store or the bank, running errands, volunteering in the community, or participating in sports, arts, or community classes. Within the homeschooled community, sports, arts, drama, co-op classes, etc., are usually sectioned by elementary, pre-teen, and teen groupings. This allows students to interact with a wider range of children, and the interactions usually enhance a child’s ability to interact well with a wider age-range of students. Additionally, being out in the community provides many opportunities for children to interact with people of all ages. When homeschooling groups plan field trips, there are sometimes constraints on the age range, depending upon the destination, but many times the trip is open to children of all ages. As an example, when our group went on a field trip to the Federal Reserve Bank, all ages of children attended. The tour and information were of interest to all of the children in one way or another. After the tour, our group dined at a nearby food court. The parents sat together to chat and the children all sat with each other, with kids of all ages talking and having fun with each other. When interacting with society, exposure to a wider variety of people makes for better overall socialization. Many homeschooling groups also have park days, game days, or play days that allow all of the children in the homeschooled community to come together and play. Usually such social opportunities last for two, three, or four hours. Our group used to have Friday afternoon “Park Day.”  After our morning studies, we would pack a picnic lunch, drive to the park, and spend the rest of the afternoon letting the kids run and play. Older kids would organize games and play with younger kids, which let them practice great leadership skills. The younger kids truly looked up to and enjoyed being included in games with the older kids.

In a village quaint and bright, Lived a chef with great delight. Every morn, with break of day, He’d cook his meals, then he’d say “Did you eat?” His voice so clear, Echoed far and echoed near. Neighbors smiled, children played, In his care, their hearts were laid. One fine day, a stranger came, Hungry, tired, seeking fame. “Teach me, chef, your art so fine, I long to make my dishes shine.” With a nod and knowing glance, The chef began the culinary dance. “First, you learn to truly care, For food is love, you must declare.” Days turned weeks, the lessons flew, The stranger learned and friendships grew. But fame and glory filled his mind, Leaving care and love behind. He opened a place, grand and vast, But love for food, a thing of the past. “Did you eat?” He’d never ask, Focused solely on his task. DID YOU EAT? Customers came, then soon they went, For something vital had been spent. Food was fine, but heart was cold, A lesson learned, a tale retold. Back he went, with heavy heart, To the chef who’d played his part. “Teach me now, what I have missed, For love and care, I have dismissed.” The chef then smiled, wise and kind, “To care for others, open your mind. The food you make, with love instill, And hearts you’ll nourish, a void you’ll fill.” “Did you eat?” He asked anew, And in that question, wisdom true. For food with love is more than treat, It’s a bond, a joy, a life complete. So here’s the tale, both light and deep, A lesson strong for all to keep. In every meal, in every greet, Ask with love, “Did you eat?

Did You Eat?" In a village quaint and bright, Lived a chef with great delight. Every morn, with break of day, He’d cook his meals, then he’d say “Did you eat?” His voice so clear, Echoed far and echoed near. Neighbors smiled, children played, In his care, their hearts were laid. One fine day, a stranger came, Hungry, tired, seeking fame. “Teach me, chef, your art so fine, I long to make my dishes shine.” With a nod and knowing glance, The chef began the culinary dance. “First, you learn to truly care, For food is love, you must declare.” Days turned weeks, the lessons flew, The stranger learned and friendships grew. But fame and glory filled his mind, Leaving care and love behind. He opened a place, grand and vast, But love for food, a thing of the past. “Did you eat?” He’d never ask, Focused solely on his task. Customers came, then soon they went, For something vital had been spent. Food was fine, but heart was cold, A lesson learned, a tale retold. Back he went, with heavy heart, To the chef who’d played his part. “Teach me now, what I have missed, For love and care, I have dismissed.” The chef then smiled, wise and kind, “To care for others, open your mind. The food you make, with love instill, And hearts you’ll nourish, a void you’ll fill.” “Did you eat?” He asked anew, And in that question, wisdom true. For food with love is more than treat, It’s a bond, a joy, a life complete. So here’s the tale, both light and deep, A lesson strong for all to keep. In every meal, in every greet, Ask with love, “Did you eat?

We begin with an onion soup as smoky and fragrant as autumn leaves, with croutons and grated Gruyère and a sprinkle of paprika over the top. She serves and watches me throughout, waiting, perhaps, for me to produce from thin air an even more perfect confection that will cast her effort into the shade. Instead I eat, and talk, and smile, and compliment the chef, and the chink of crockery goes through her head, and she feels slightly dazed, not quite herself. Well, pulque is a mysterious brew, and the punch is liberally spiked with it, courtesy of Yours Truly, of course, in honor of the joyful occasion. As comfort, perhaps, she serves more punch, and the scent of the cloves is like being buried alive, and the taste is like chilies spiced with fire, and she wonders, Will it ever end? The second course is sweet foie gras, sliced on thin toast with quinces and figs. It's the snap that gives this dish its charm, like the snap of correctly tempered chocolate, and the foie gras melts so lingeringly in the mouth, as soft as praline truffle, and it is served with a glass of ice-cold Sauternes that Anouk disdains, but which Rosette sips in a tiny glass no larger than a thimble, and she gives her rare and sunny smile, and signs impatiently for more. The third course is a salmon baked en papillote and served whole, with a béarnaise sauce. Alice complains she is nearly full, but Nico shares his plate with her, feeding her tidbits and laughing at her minuscule appetite. Then comes the pièce de résistance: the goose, long roasted in a hot oven so that the fat has melted from the skin, leaving it crisp and almost caramelized, and the flesh so tender it slips off the bones like a silk stocking from a lady's leg. Around it there are chestnuts and roast potatoes, all cooked and crackling in the golden fat.

One morning, a farmer knocked loudly on the door of a monastery. When Brother Porter opened the door, the farmer held out to him a magnificent bunch of grapes. “Dear Brother Porter, these are the finest grapes from my vineyard. Please accept them as a gift from me.” “Why, thank you! I’ll take them straight to the Abbot, who will be thrilled with such a gift.” “No, no. I brought them for you.” “For me? But I don’t deserve such a beautiful gift from nature.” “Whenever I knocked on the door, you opened it. When the harvest had been ruined by drought, you gave me a piece of bread and a glass of wine every day. I want this bunch of grapes to bring you a little of the sun’s love, the rain’s beauty and God’s miraculous power.” Brother Porter put the grapes down where he could see them and spent the whole morning admiring them: they really were lovely. Because of this, he decided to give the present to the Abbot, whose words of wisdom had always been such a boon to him. The Abbot was very pleased with the grapes, but then he remembered that one of the other monks was ill and thought: “I’ll give him the grapes. Who knows, they might bring a little joy into his life.” But the grapes did not remain for very long in the room of the ailing monk, for he in turn thought: “Brother Cook has taken such good care of me, giving me only the very best food to eat. I’m sure these grapes will bring him great happiness.” And when Brother Cook brought him his lunch, the monk gave him the grapes. “These are for you. You are in close touch with the gifts Nature gives us and will know what to do with this, God’s produce.” Brother Cook was amazed at the beauty of the grapes and drew his assistant’s attention to their perfection. They were so perfect that no one could possibly appreciate them more than Brother Sacristan, who had charge of the Holy Sacrament, and whom many in the monastery considered to be a truly saintly man. Brother Sacristan, in turn, gave the grapes to the youngest of the novices in order to help him understand that God’s work is to be found in the smallest details of the Creation. When the novice received them, his heart was filled with the Glory of God, because he had never before seen such a beautiful bunch of grapes. At the same time, he remembered the day he had arrived at the monastery and the person who had opened the door to him; that gesture of opening the door had allowed him to be there now in that community of people who knew the value of miracles. Shortly before dark, he took the bunch of grapes to Brother Porter. “Eat and enjoy. You spend most of your time here all alone, and these grapes will do you good.” Brother Porter understood then that the gift really was intended for him; he savoured every grape and went to sleep a happy man. In this way, the circle was closed; the circle of happiness and joy which always wraps around those who are in contact with the energy of love.

Nearly all of the atoms in your body were once cooked in the nuclear furnace of an ancient supernova—you are truly made of stardust.

There is something difficult to describe about how different you feel working under someone who doesn’t have too many other places he’d rather be, who wants you to do well, who is genuinely excited about imparting information, who loves cooking and assumes the same about you, who watches every move you make—not to nail you for an error, but to be sure you’re doing it the best possible way—and who is having a truly good time doing it all. It’s like being given permission to succeed, and you operate fueled by a low, constant ebullience.

My grandfather always had a little framed picture by his bed that simply said: There is always music in the garden, but our hearts have to be still enough to hear it. So every once in a while, take out your backpack and head off for a night under canvas. Even if it’s only for one night, and even if it’s only in your garden. Nature and the outdoors are a universal and deep-rooted language that we can all pick up once we get immersed. Once you have learnt to tie a bowline or cook a simple meal over a fire that you’ve built yourself, you’ll never forget it. I mean, who doesn’t want to learn how to make fire without matches? It is one of the greatest and oldest of human achievements. These skills and experiences are so deep-rooted in our subconscious that it is no surprise that they calm us. It is about being true to who we all are. And to remind ourselves of this, every now and again, is always going to better our lives. So camp out, enjoy some stories, watch a bit of nature’s TV (that’s a fire, by the way), eat simple food with your fingers, drink some wine and chat to those you love, and then lie back and soak in some quiet time under the night sky: it is restorative. You don’t need to be in Fiji to get restored! The only thing I would add to all this is once a year to watch a sunrise. It is good for the mind, body and spiritual health: to get up early and watch the sun appear quietly over the horizon, with no fuss, no fanfare - a gentle, warming, calm reminder that the world, at its heart, is wonderful, and that life is truly a gift. Never underestimate the power of simple pleasures like this to restore and inspire you. It is part of how we are made.

She was no longer young enough to cook all day, clean herself up, and have the energy to be charming at the end of it all. That had been her job for twenty-two years. She’d done it excellently and for long enough that it was well and truly out of her system. Managing your energy and your assets was the key to aging right.

Girls, I’m going to cook your noodle with this one, but believe it or not, there is story after story in God’s word of people being rejected by others. We hear that the Bible is a book of rules, but truly it is a love story of God’s great love for us all, including those who are rejected by man. Jesus himself was rejected by the very people he came to save. But he gave of himself anyway.

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Elena came up with the idea of a fusion elote, taking her beloved Mexican street corn and adding Pakistani and Filipino twists to match with Adeena's and my respective backgrounds. Not only did Jae gave us his mother's recipe for the oksusu cha, or Korean corn tea, but he'd also volunteered to handle all elote duties: slathering the corn with thick, creamy coconut milk before rolling it in a fragrant spice mix that included amchur powder and red chili powder, grilling it, then squeezing calamansi over the corn before sprinkling it with your choice of kesong puti or cotija cheese. It was a simple yet laborious task, but he seemed to enjoy himself ( I wasn't one for gender stereotypes, but what was with guys and grills?) and I'd caught him sneaking more than one smoky, salty treat as he worked. The benefit of being the cook. Meanwhile, I arranged the sweet offerings I'd prepared: mais ube sandwich cookies, mais kon keso bars, and two types of ice candy--- mais kon yelo and ginataang mais. Corn as a dessert ingredient may seem strange to some people, but Filipinos absolutely love and embrace corn in all its salty-sweet possibilities. My first offering sandwiched ube buttercream between corn cookies, the purple yam's subtle vanilla-like sweetness pairing well with the salty-sweet corn. Cheese and corn are a popular savory pairing, but guess what? It makes one of my absolute favorite Filipino ice cream flavors as well, and I channeled that classic combo into a cheesecake bar with a corn cookie crust. Mais kon yelo, literally corn with ice, is a Filipino dessert consisting of shaved ice with corn, sugar, and milk, while ginataang mais, a simple porridge made with coconut milk, glutinous rice, and sweet corn, is usually served warm for breakfast or meryenda. My take on these simple, refreshing snacks utilized those same flavors in a portable, easy-to-eat ice pop bag. However, if you wanted to try the traditional versions, you could just pop down a few booths over to Tita Rosie's Kitchen, the restaurant run by my paternal aunt and grandmother. While my aunt, Tita Rosie, handled the savory side of the menu, offering small cups of corn soup and paper cones full of cornick, or corn nuts flavored with salt and garlic, my grandmother, Lola Flor, reigned over the sweets. The aforementioned mais kon yelo and ginataang mais were the desserts on offer, in addition to maja blanca, a simple corn and coconut pudding. Truly a gluten-free sweet tooth's paradise.

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Thanks to television, we’re consumed by the trivial. Thanks to the Internet, we are drowning in a sea of information and yet unable to truly communicate. And

WILD GAME MARINADE WITH JUNIPER AND GIN The year was 1976; the place, the La Varenne cooking school in Paris. A nice Jewish guy from Baltimore (yours truly) was about to have his first taste of wild game. Our instructor, Chef Fernand Chambrette, had secured a haunch of wild boar, and he prepared a traditional marinade of red wine and juniper berries to heighten its gamy flavor. A shot of gin reinforced the woodsy flavor of the juniper. If I’d known game could be this good, I would have tried it a lot sooner. You’ll be amazed by the power of this simple marinade to turn tame supermarket pork, beef, and even lamb into “wild” game. 3 cups dry red wine ½ cup balsamic vinegar ½ cup extra virgin olive oil 2 tablespoons gin 1 medium onion, thinly sliced 1 carrot, thinly sliced 1 rib celery, thinly sliced 2 cloves garlic, flattened with the side of a cleaver

Imagine what you can give in these areas of the Twelve Areas of Balance: 9.​YOUR CAREER. What are your visions for your career? What level of competence do you want to achieve and why? How would you like to improve your workplace or company? What contribution to your field would you like to make? If your career does not currently seem to contribute anything meaningful to the world, take a closer look—is that because the work is truly meaningless or does it just not have meaning to you? What career would you like to get into? 10.​YOUR CREATIVE LIFE. What creative activities do you love to do or what would you like to learn? It could be anything from cooking to singing to photography (my own passion) to painting to writing poetry to developing software. What are some ways you can share your creative self with the world? 11.​YOUR FAMILY LIFE. Picture yourself being with your family not as you think you “should” be but in ways that fill you with happiness. What are you doing and saying? What wonderful experiences are you having together? What values do you want to embody and pass along? What can you contribute to your family that is unique to you? Keep in mind that your family doesn’t have to be a traditional family—ideas along those lines are often Brules. “Family” may be cohabiting partners, a same-sex partner, a marriage where you decided not to have children, or a single life where you consider a few close friends as family. Don’t fall into society’s definition of family. Instead, create a new model of reality and think of family as those whom you truly love and want to spend time with. 12.​YOUR COMMUNITY LIFE. This could be your friends, your neighborhood, your city, state, nation, religious community, or the world community. How would you like to contribute to your community? Looking at all of your abilities, all of your ideas, all of the unique experiences you’ve had that make you the person you are, what is the mark you want to leave on the world that excites and deeply satisfies you? For me, it’s reforming global education for our children. What is it for you? This brings us to Law 8. Law 8: Create a vision for your future. Extraordinary minds create a vision for their future that is decidedly their own and free from expectations of the culturescape. Their vision is focused on end goals that strike a direct chord with their happiness.

Thank you for your call yesterday,” she said shyly. “And for the beautiful posy.” “Hardly enough to convey my gratitude,” he said. She had not, of course, supposed the flowers were meant as anything more than an expression of thanks. “We’ll inquire about the Bromyard woman at the Antlers,” she said, grasping at a practical topic. “I have high hopes of her.” “The dahlias reminded me of your hair,” he said pensively. “That deep copper color. Only a little darker.” “Oh,” Callie said. She lifted her skirt and stepped over a tuft of grass. “I do hope she knows how to cook. Truly cook, you know. Something that your mother would like.” “And the roses—pretty and pale, with a flush of pink. Very like your cheeks when you blush.” “A blancmange, perhaps,” Callie said brightly. “Or a custard.” “Your cheeks are nothing like a blancmange, I assure you, my lady. And certainly not a custard.” “A blancmange would be the true test of her skill,” Callie said with difficulty. “I think we should ask her to make a blancmange.” “They’re the classic strawberries and cream. Very English.” “Any sort of fruit trifle would make a good test, I agree,” she said hastily. “But strawberries are out of season.” “Indeed, but they aren’t,” he said.

When we got to the front door, he didn’t knock. It was unlocked and he let us in. It was like stepping into a Dave & Buster’s. Music, laughing, kids screaming, a video game turned up too loud, a blender running. The warm smell of cooking food. A parrot flew through the vestibule and I ducked. “Whoa!” It landed on top of the coatrack and squawked, “MOTHERFUCKER!” at the top of its lungs.

The first thought that I want to share centers around self-doubt. There have been days that I truly do not know how I was able to function. There have been days that I have felt I could no longer carry the weight and burden of working full time and taking care of the things at home. It is normal to feel that you have been pushed to a place where you are unable to do any more. It’s OK to think, “I can’t do this.” I have spent many hours talking with God over the thirteen years we have been together. These are deep, intimate conversations where I have told him I was in over my head. I have come home on many occasions after a long day and had to cook, clean up, or do both when I had no gas left in my tank. I have been honest to say in this book that I am not perfect and have a tendency to grumble. If you’re the spouse, it’s OK to grumble to yourself. It’s OK to feel that you cannot do any more, but it is not OK to take those thoughts or feelings out on the one you love. They most likely are already feeling that they are not good enough for you. They most likely feel that they are not carrying their workload.

Beyond those somewhat anchored fantasy settings are the wild-eyed and the wahoo worlds. This is by no means pejorative, as these include some of my personal favorites, but it is meant to show that there are high-concept, love-’em-or-hate-’em sorts of settings. Call them worlds of pure chaos, places where anything goes and where the usual rules do not apply. They are not meant to be realistic, and indeed that is their appeal. They are settings unmoored from reality and operating by rules of your design—but these settings do have rules. To provide some examples, think of places like China Mieville’s Bas Lag, Pratchett’s Disc World, Frank Baum’s Oz, David “Zeb” Cook’s Dark Sun and Planescape, Keith Baker’s Eberron, Jim Ward’s Gamma World, NCSoft’s Guild Wars, Andrew Leker’s Jorune, Michael Moorcock’s Melnibone, Jeff Grubb’s Spelljammer, and Blizzard’s World of Warcraft. These are places where truly Weird Shit happens, with different rules of physics, alien landscapes, magical wastelands, alien gods, mutants, and cosmologies. It’s fun to go out on the edge, and fantasy is always exploring strange places like this. These are the high-wire acts of worldbuilding. They take creative risks, not always successfully, and they endure a higher degree of mockery than the real fantasies or anchored fantasies do because of those creative risks. They also attract a loyal following who love that particular flavor of weird. Just ask any Planescape fan.

Rhys leaned over and whispered. “Have a care, love. It’s already been slaughtered.” Smile lines appeared at his eyes. “Now, if it were the roast at evening meal, then you’d have reason for your suspicions.” That gave her pause. “Truly?” He lowered his lips so close they nearly brushed the shell of her ear. “Does my mother strike you as one who’d tolerate a roast that is still mooing?

A few moments later, I had a pungent mound of searingly hot sautéed wild mushrooms in front of me, crispy, golden brown, black and yellow, with a single raw egg yolk slowly losing its shape in the center. After a toast of red wine, I ran my fork around the plate, mingling yolk and fungi, then put a big forkful in my mouth. I can only describe the experience as ‘ready to die’ – one of those times when if suddenly and unexpectedly shot, at that precise moment you would, in your last moments of consciousness, know that you had had a full and satisfying life, that in your final moments, at least you had eaten well, truly well, that you could hardly have eaten better. You’d be ready to die. This state of gustatory rapture was interrupted by more wine, a tiny plate of tantalizing baby octopus, and a few sexy-looking anchovies. I was at first confused by an offer of what looked to be a plate of fried zucchini sticks, but when I bit inside and found tender white asparagus, I nearly swooned.

Cut the bullshit. Your little ingénue act---it's pathetic." Her words sock me like a punch in the gut. As much as I hate lying to her face, as much as I've been dying to tell her the truth, to have it out once and for all in a big, messy fight, I'm not sure I'm ready for this. The steely look in her eyes, the tightness of her jaw---she'll crush me. "Okay. Fine," I say, the courage building inside me. I can do this. I have to. "Let's cut the bullshit, then." My eyes drift toward her cabinets. "Maybe we should talk over a glass of wine. Unless that would be bad for the baby." I wait for her to take the bait, but she just stares at me. "There is a baby, right? You wouldn't make something like that up. Only a crazy person would do that. Only someone who was truly horrible, all the way to her core." She clenches her jaw. "You have no idea what you're talking about." "Yes, I do. And you know it." "Watch yourself." "Why? So you can steamroll me like you steamroll everyone? You don't even love him." "You have no idea how I feel. About anything." "I know your marriage is one of convenience. That you sleep in separate bedrooms. That you're having an affair with a guy named Jacques." "And I suppose that makes you an expert on my love life." "No, but it means I know you don't have Hugh's interests at heart." "What do you know about his interests? You think you can parachute in, five years into our marriage, and decide you understand how or why any of this works? You think a month or two of screwing means you know more about him than I do?" "I know he doesn't love you. I know he never did." "Well, la-di-da. Here's a newsflash: It takes more than love to make a relationship work." "But you can't really make a relationship work without it, can you?" "You can if you want to." "Only if both people do. And Hugh doesn't. Not anymore." "Is that so? Then tell me, why did he just spend more than a week with me, discussing our future?" "Because you created a phantom pregnancy without consulting him? Because he's trying to do damage control?" "Ah, I see. Is that what you keep telling yourself?" My face grows hot. "It kills you that he'd choose me over you." She throws her head back and cackles. "Is that what you think? That he'd choose you? Christ, you're even more naive than I thought." "He loves me," I say. "He said so." "You know what else he loves? His career. And how do you think you fit in with that? Let me answer for you: You don't." My hands are shaking. "What about you? You're having an affair with some French guy named Jacques. How do you think that will play with Hugh's constituency? Let me answer for you: Not well.

Just keep going, girl, I told myself. Put your head down and your heart into it; you’ll know what to do—you’ll feel it in your bones. It was the nicest thing I had said to myself and truly believed in a long time. It

Just keep going, girl, I told myself. Put your head down and your heart into it; you’ll know what to do—you’ll feel it in your bones. It was the nicest thing I had said to myself and truly believed in a long time.

Not to encounter a true teacher will result in being led around by your feelings and emotions. The case of the foolish son of a wealthy man leaving home with the family treasure and throwing it away like so much rubbish is truly a pathetic one.51 Likewise, to the extent that we are familiar with what the work of the tenzo is we must not squander it.

Imagine that you’re standing in the middle of the floor of a prison cell. Around you are solid concrete walls and a solid steel door. The only window is a small slit on the back wall of your cell, but it’s so high up above your head that you can’t see out of it unless you grip the ledge and haul yourself up with sheer brute strength. Imagine that you pull yourself up there by your fingertips, actually feeling what it would be like—the muscles in your hands, forearms, and biceps all activated and getting more exhausted by the second; the rough texture of the wall scraping your belly and thighs as you struggle to ascend; the cold steel of the window bars around your hands. When you finally pull yourself up above the ledge, you’re nearly blinded by a brilliant light from the outside. It’s the light of creation, and it bursts into the window and makes everything disappear. There’s only the light—no prison cell, no window, and no you. Nothing exists anymore but infinite light. That’s the meditation. Just like the pull-up or chin-up you’re imagining yourself doing, one repetition is probably not enough to do much. There aren’t any rules as to how many times you should visualize the above, but I think ten reps is a good start. And when that becomes easy, try working your way up to a hundred times. When you get truly proficient at it, you’ll notice a peculiar sensation. As you imagine the light obliterating everything (including you), you’ll start to feel as if you’ve been cast back into your own body—gently, yet forcefully. You’ll also experience a temporary state of being grounded in the present moment, in your physical form, with no stray thoughts whatsoever. Mindfulness has been increasing in popularity for the last decade or so, and people apply it in the context of just about anything these days—golf, cooking, running, tennis, parenting, and so on. Originating thousands of years ago

And then there are the pure in heart, the ones for whom nothing is good enough, not even themselves. ("Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.") These are the perfectionists. They are a pain to everyone, themselves most of all. In religion they will certainly find errors in your doctrine, your practice, and probably your heart and your attitude. They may be even harder on themselves. They endlessly pick over their own motivations. They wanted Jesus to wash his hands even though they were not dirty and called him a glutton and a winebibber. Their food is never cooked right; their clothes and hair are always unsatisfactory; they can tell you what is wrong with everything. How miserable they are! And yet the kingdom is even open to them, and there at last they will find something that satisfies their pure heart. They will see God. And when they do they will find what they have been looking for, someone who is truly good enough.

I think of book development like cooking spaghetti. There are many ways to cook it, but the basic ingredients should be present: The pasta, and the sauce, and the cheese topping! If you’re a fabulous cook, and you plan on selling spaghetti to earn extra income, it should be obvious to you that there are a lot of other places where it is sold, and you would have to convince people that your spaghetti is better than the others. You’d do this by making sure that the noodles are perfectly al dente, the sauce is tasty, and to give it an edge, you’d make it cheesier, put it in a nice container, and maybe add a sprig of parsley on top to add to the appeal. You wouldn’t serve it on the floor and tell people to go on and taste it because it’s truly delicious, and that you have slaved for many hours perfecting the taste. Packaging and appearances are important, as much as the taste. In publishing, you could be the next great writer, but if you don’t present your words in the most appealing way possible, especially in this highly competitive industry, I doubt anyone would bother to read it except your friends and family, if at all.

That mess can't possibly come together in any proper way! I haven't the first idea what either of them is thinking! No, Erina Nakiri. You do know. Think back to what you found in abundance at Polaris. All the crazy, incomprehensible ideas bouncing off one another... creating solutions... creating possibilities I'd never imagined possible. Chef Saiba and Yukihira are doing just that. By letting their ideas and egos clash... they're trying to create something that could never come about through any preestablished method. This is the test Chef Saiba has set before us. Ugh! None of this can be considered cooking! To a perfectionist like me, this is plain unthinkable! But... if that's what you want... You're on! "What's this?!" "M-Miss Erina!" "She's cooking a steak?!" "W-what stage of the recipe is this? Is that the kind of dish this is?" "No! I've never heard of such a thing! The traditional Hachis Parmentier recipe always calls for thinly sliced or ground meat! Th-this is shocking! Miss Erina has always epitomized the traditional standard of haute cuisine. For her to do something so... so unorthodox!" Finally... in a sense, this is a first for her. The first time... ... she's truly had to train.

Just how did you know where this guy grew up?!" "Was it mere coincidence?! No way! This has to be deliberate! But how?! What kind of magic trick is this, Miss Yamato Nadeshiko?!" "Um, it's kind of hard to explain but... sometimes there's a certain lilt to how you pronounce your words. It sounded an awful lot like the lyrical accent unique to that area." "Huh?" "Eheh heh... when I'm not paying attention, sometimes my hometown accent slips outdo. Given your outfits and brand choices, I figured you were American... so I wondered if you were born in the South near the Gulf of Mexico... which made me think you probably had gumbo a lot growing up." "Well, I'll be! You managed to deduce all that?" "Was I right? Oh, I'm so glad!" "No way! I don't believe it! Just who are you?! How can you even figure something like that out?!" "Eheheh heh... it wasn't much. I've just been doing some studying, is all." "Voila. C'est votre monnaie. Au revoir, bonne journée." "Merci!" In the few months since earning my Seat on the Council of Ten... I took advantage of some of the perks it gave me... to visit a whole bunch of different countries. I went to all kinds of regions and met all kinds of people... learning firsthand what it feels like to live and thrive there. I experienced the "taste of home" special to each place... and incorporated it into my own cooking... so that I could improve a little as a chef! "And that's how you knew about gumbo? But still! All you did was make a dish from my hometown. That's it! There's no way it should've overwhelmed me this much! Why?! How could you manage something like that?!" "I think it's because, deep down, this is what you've truly been searching for. Um, to go back to what I mentioned to you earlier... I think you might have the wrong idea. I'm pretty sure that isn't what real hospitality is. In your heart, the kind of hospitality you're truly looking for... isn't to be pampered and treated like a king for a day. If that kind of royal luxury was all you were looking for... you wouldn't need to come all the way to Japan. You could have just reserved a suite at any international five-star hotel to get that experience. But you said you specifically liked Japan's rural hot springs resort towns. The kind of places so comfortable and familiar they tug at your heart... places that somehow quietly remind you of home. "I think... no, I know... ... that what you really want... ... is simply a warm, gentle hug.

There has been a time or two when I haven't been able to escape having tea with him. For someone so young, he knows a lot. I sense incredible esprit and joie de vivre from him. Each time, I came away feeling that the time I spent conversing with him was well spent." "Ooh, that's a good sign!" "Oh yeah! Come to think of it... hasn't Yukihira been chasing you around too?" "Yo, Nakiri! I brought you 30 new recipes I'm working on! Taste 'em and lemme know what you think!" "What?! I'm not eating all of that!" "Yikes. There's nothing romantic or princely about that." "You're telling me! He could certainly stand to learn a thing or two about manners from Instructor Suzuki." "Oho, what's that? You're admitting there's something about Mr. Suzuki that you like?" "Ah! Manners are not the same thing! First off, I doubt I'm ready for anything like... like romance or dating. What about you, Tadokoro? Is there anyone that you, um... like?" "M-me?! Um... I-I'm not sure. I don't know much about romance." "There! See? I'm not the only one behind!" "Ooh, so you haven't found your first love yet?" "Wow, really? But you have to have an idea of what your type is, right? What's your ideal man like?" I have admired Chef Saiba for some time. Would that count as a first love, I wonder? "I'm not certain this counts as, er... first love... but I do have a picture of what I would consider ideal. First... he would have to be passionate about and fully devoted to cooking. He would never grow complacent or lose the desire to improve himself. And, um... I-I wouldn't mind if he had a little bit of a wild and dangerous side. Someone who could do things and creating dishes far beyond anything I can imagine. I would truly respect someone like that... And I think I might like to date such a gentleman too." Wait... But isn't that like...

perfect boiled eggs Serves 2 Prep time: 5 minutes Cook time: 7 to 10 minutes Total time: 12 to 15 minutes 4 eggs, large This technique and cook times are the same whether you boil 2 eggs or a dozen. We like boiling a large amount at once for on-the-go protein or to include in a Protein Salad. Prepare a small bowl half-full with ice water. Fill a small saucepan halfway with water. Bring the water to a rolling boil, then add the eggs by sliding them gently into the pan with a wooden spoon. For soft-boiled eggs, cook on high heat for 7 minutes. (This will leave your eggs truly soft-boiled, with very runny yolks.) For soft but not runny yolks, cook for 9 minutes. For true hard-boiled eggs, cook for 11 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat, and immediately transfer them to a bowl of ice water for 5 minutes to prevent them from cooking further and make them easier to peel. To peel your eggs, crack the shell at the very bottom of the egg. Then, peel under cool running water, using the shell membrane to guide the removal of the shell pieces.

I’m messy.” She bit back her grin. “You’re the worst.” Luke refused to hide his smile. It looked truly stunning on his handsome face. “I’m stubborn.” “Contumacious.” She giggled. “I can’t cook.” “I’d rather starve than eat what you make.” She pinched her lips together and nodded. “I think this could work.

What does True Wireless Earbuds Mean Where are my earphones? Ahh!! There they are….and they are tangled (with irksome scream inside your head). There is nothing more frustrating than going on a search operation for your headphones and finally finding them entangled. Well thanks to the advance technology these days one of your daily struggles is gone with the arrival of wireless earphones in the market. No wire means no entanglement. ‘Kill the problem before it kills you’, you know the saying. Right! So what actually truly wireless earbuds are? Why should you replace your old headphones and invest in wireless ones? Without any further delay let’s dig deep into it. image WHAT ARE TRUE WIRELESS EARBUDS? A lot of people misunderstand true wireless earbuds and wireless earphones as the same thing. When it’s not. A true wireless earbuds which solely connects through Bluetooth and not through any wire or cord or through any other source. While wireless earphones are the ones which are connected through Bluetooth to audio source but the connection between the two ear plugs is established through a cable between them. Why true wireless earbuds? Usability: Who doesn’t like freedom! With no wire restrictions, it’s easier to workout without sacrificing your music motivation. From those super stretch yoga asanas to marathon running, from weight training to cycling - you actually can do all those without worrying about your phone safety or the dilemma of where to put them. With no wire and smooth distance connection interface, you have the full freedom of your body movement. They also comes with a charging case so you don’t have to worry about it’s battery. Good audio quality and background noise cancellation: With features like active noise cancellation, which declutter the unwanted background voice giving you the ultimate audio quality. These earbuds has just leveled up the experience of music and prevents you from getting distracted. Comfort and design: These small ear buddies are friendly which snuggles into your ear canal and don’t put too much pressure on your delicate ears as they are light weight. They are style statement maker and are comfortable to use even when you are on move, they stick to your ear and don’t fall off easily. Apart from all that you can easily answer your call on go, pause your music or whatever you are listening, switch to next by just touching your earplugs. image Convenience: You don’t necessarily have to have your phone on you like the wired ones. The farthest distance you could go was the length of the cable. But with wireless ones this is not the case, they could transmit sound waves from 8 meter upto 30 meters varying from model to model. Which allows you multi-task and make your household chores interesting. You can enjoy your podcasts or music or follow the recipe while cooking in your kitchen when your phone is lying in your living room. Voice assistance: How fascinating was it to watch all those detective/ secret agent thriller movies while they are on run and getting directions from their computer savvy buddies. Ethan Hunt from Mission Impossible….. Remember! Many wireless earphones comes with voice assistance feature which makes it easy to go around the places you are new to. You don’t have to stop and look to your phone screen for directions which makes it easier to move either on foot or while driving. Few things for you to keep in mind and compare before investing in a true wireless earphones :- Sound Quality Battery Life Wireless Range Comfort and design Warranty Price Gone are those days when true wireless earbuds were expensive possession. They are quite economical now and are available with various features depending upon different brands in your price range.

Even in darkness, if you close your eyes and try to walk, a serenade of light guides you. And it is not just blank philosophy, it's absolutely true and something that we actually know in the deepest corner of our heart, if only our minds let us look deep enough. And at this time when the world is seeped in a cloud of uncertainty, a shade of darkness that is so dense that an unknown fear clutch us and we fall deep inside that pit of fire, I hope we do not forget that often fire is the most potent element in this Earth to purify us, and even from the ashes one can rise provided we hold on to that Hope, that is the very wings of Faith. This time, this quarantine as they call it, or this Solitude as I call it is making us realize so much and each time I come across a post breathing with life be it music, art, introspective words, I know that this time is letting some of us sink deep in the realm of spiritual growth, even if the outer countenance of that is limited to a shape. The paintings, the songs, the dance and act performances, the cooking dishes, the motivating words, the happiness of spending time with family, the mirth and laughter, even in the frugalities showing the battles of survival, and actually in every littlest post, all I can see is how everyone is getting hold of their inner light and delving into something that gives them the fuel to this light. Sometimes a wreck of clouds bring in a burst of rainfall that perhaps had been long due and yet a silver lining often lurks around as a surprising gift of that grey canopy of clouds. The rain might jolt on the fields of harvest but brings in the promise of a better harvest, and soothes the earth with the harmony of tranquil serenity. The sky shines with a rainbow that we embrace in our hearts through that belief in our abilities and the joy of love, the complete invincible love for ourselves with each and every particle of our soul, and there we rise in compassion and shine in gratitude. I believe, I always believe that anything that we practice often, again and again and yet again, becomes a part of us and sometimes all of us. And perhaps the best practice that we can all indulge in at the moment is the practice of mindfulness, of knowing what truly we want not what we are programmed to want but what lies deep dormant in the innermost vicinity of our hearts where we as souls reside because once we know that, we would know how silence speaks in the sharpest tongue beckoning us again and again onto the path of love, where a serenade of light leads us even through the darkest of gloom.

In the end, and at the last possible moment, she asked him only one question. It was the only question she truly did want an answer to. Leaning over his pillow, her mouth very close to his once handsome face, she asked it: “Just for the record, and just because we’re here, was it all your idea? Or something the two of you cooked up together? And also, I’ve always wondered. Did you watch?