Eggplant Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Eggplant. Here they are! All 200 of them:

Very well, I will marry you if you promise not to make me eat eggplant.
Gabriel García Márquez (Love in the Time of Cholera)
The dark prince sat astride his black steed, his sable cape flowing behind him. A golden circlet bound his blond locks, his handsome face was cold with the rage of battle, and... "And his arm looked like an eggplant," Clary muttered to herself in exasperation.
Cassandra Clare (City of Bones (The Mortal Instruments, #1))
I doubt that the imagination can be suppressed. If you truly eradicated it in a child, he would grow up to be an eggplant.
Ursula K. Le Guin (The Language of the Night: Essays on Fantasy and Science Fiction)
What does an introvert do when he's left alone? He stays alone.
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Vegetarians, and their Hezbollah-like splinter-faction, the vegans, are a persistent irritant to any chef worth a damn. To me, life without veal stock, pork fat, sausage, organ meat, demi-glace, or even stinky cheese is a life not worth living. Vegetarians are the enemy of everything good and decent in the human spirit, an affront to all I stand for, the pure enjoyment of food. The body, these waterheads imagine, is a temple that should not be polluted by animal protein. It's healthier, they insist, though every vegetarian waiter I've worked with is brought down by any rumor of a cold. Oh, I'll accomodate them, I'll rummage around for something to feed them, for a 'vegetarian plate', if called on to do so. Fourteen dollars for a few slices of grilled eggplant and zucchini suits my food cost fine.
Anthony Bourdain
Chicks dig a dude who’s sporting the latest eggplant turtleneck styles.
Jordan Sonnenblick (Drums, Girls & Dangerous Pie)
My mother's voice intruded on a dream in which a large animated eggplant named Bob teetered on the edge of a cliff with thoughts of suicide and Parmesan.
Stacey Kade (The Ghost and the Goth (The Ghost and the Goth, #1))
If we go that way, it seems less like we’ll be shot for trespassing. We can’t be low profile because of your shirt.” “Aquamarine is a wonderful color, and I won’t be made to feel bad for wearing it,” Gansey said. But his voice was a bit thin, and he glanced back at the church again. Just then he looked younger than she’d ever seen him, his eyes narrowed, hair messed up, features unstudied. Young and, strangely enough, afraid. Blue thought: I can’t tell him. I can never tell him. I have to just try to stop it from happening. Then Gansey, suddenly charming again, flipped a hand in the direct of her purple tunic dress. “Lead the way, Eggplant.” She found a stick to poke at the ground for snakes before they set off through the grass. The wind smelled like rain, and the ground rumbled with thunder, but the weather held. The machine in Gansey’s hands blinked red constantly, only flickering to orange when they stepped too far away from the invisible line. “Thanks for coming, Jane,” Gansey said. Blue shot him a dirty look. “You’re welcome, Dick.” He looked pained. “Please don’t.
Maggie Stiefvater (The Raven Boys (The Raven Cycle, #1))
I'm going to be sick. I'm going to vomit that weird eggplant tapenade I had for dinner, and everyone will hear, and no one will invite me to watch the mimes escape from their invisible boxes, or whatever it is people do here in their spare time.
Stephanie Perkins (Anna and the French Kiss (Anna and the French Kiss, #1))
The fact is, I love to feed other people. I love their pleasure, their comfort, their delight in being cared for. Cooking gives me the means to make other people feel better, which in a very simple equation makes me feel better. I believe that food can be a profound means of communication, allowing me to express myself in a way that seems much deeper and more sincere than words. My Gruyere cheese puffs straight from the oven say 'I'm glad you're here. Sit down, relax. I'll look after everything.' - Ann Patchett, "Dinner For One, Please, James
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
We were both chilled from the rain and as hungry as wolves. Over a fine meal of oysters, cappeletti alla cortigiana and orecchiette with tomatoes, anchovies and eggplant served with a crisp dry chablis, we discussed our plans, if not for immortality, at least for defying the eroding qualities of time.
Harry F. MacDonald (Casanova and the Devil's Doorbell)
Let’s face it - English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren’t invented in England or French fries in France. Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren’t sweet, are meat. We take English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig. And why is it that writers write but fingers don’t fing, grocers don’t groce and hammers don’t ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn’t the plural of booth beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One index, 2 indices? Doesn’t it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend? If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it? If teachers taught, why didn’t preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell? How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which an alarm goes off by going on. English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race (which, of course, isn’t a race at all). That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible. And finally, why doesn't "buick" rhyme with "quick"?
Richard Lederer
Taking solitude in stride was a sign of strength and of a willingness to take care of myself. This meant - among other things - working productively, remembering to leave the house, and eating well. I thought about food all the time. I had a subscription to Gourmet and Food & Wine. Cooking for others had often been my way of offering care. So why, when I was alone, did I find myself trying to subsist on cereal and water? I'd need to learn to cook for one.
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Because cooks love the social aspect of food, cooking for one is intrinsically interesting. A good meal is like a present, and it can feel goofy, at best, to give yourself a present. On the other hand, there is something life affirming in taking the trouble to feed yourself well, or even decently. Cooking for yourself allows you to be strange or decadent or both. The chances of liking what you make are high, but if it winds up being disgusting, you can always throw it away and order a pizza; no one else will know. In the end, the experimentation, the impulsiveness, and the invention that such conditions allow for will probably make you a better cook.
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Isabel: It’s weird that I don’t know what your boyfriend looks like. Is he ugly? That’s okay. I bet he makes up for it in other ways. *eggplant emoji*
Elena Armas (The Spanish Love Deception)
See, if you said green bean, I'd be very upset. However, if you told her an eggplant, I'd probably never wear pants again. So what's it going to be, Jess?
Aly Martinez (Changing Course (Wrecked and Ruined, #1))
Dear Ms. Baird,   As of today, you do have a slave clause in your contract. It means you do everything I say. Under no circumstances are you to eat, sleep, take breaks, or check in to hotel rooms with men named Eggplant.   Sincerely, Gabriel
Nalini Singh (Rock Hard (Rock Kiss #2))
One Monday, just for sport, Charlie grabbed an eggplant that a spectacularly wizened granny was going for, but instead of twisting it out of his hand with some mystic kung fu move as he expected, she looked him in the eye and shook her head - just a jog, barely perceptible really - it might have been a tic, but it was the most eloquent of gestures. Charlie read it as saying: O White Devil, you do not want to purloin that purple fruit, for I have four thousand years of ancestors and civilization on you; my grandparents built the railroads and dug the silver mines, and my parents survived the earthquake, the fire, and a society that outlawed even being Chinese; I am mother to a dozen, grandmother to a hundred, and great-grandmother to a legion; I have birthed babies and washed the dead; I am history and suffering and wisdom; I am a Buddha and a dragon; so get your fucking hand off my eggplant before you lose it.
Christopher Moore (A Dirty Job (Grim Reaper, #1))
You should have tried the eggplant parmesan she tried to hoist on me at the church bake sale. No wonder her children turned to Satan. He probably showed up as an angel of light and promised them a decent meal.
Kathy Hepinstall (The Book of Polly)
What? What is it?” Big Aunt says. “He sound like very nice boy, offer to cook eggplant for you.
Jesse Q. Sutanto (Dial A for Aunties (Aunties, #1))
She pulls her hand away and Damian feels the sensation of falling, a somersault into a foreign abyss where a girl with eggplant hair and a hoop in her brow waits in the darkness.
Christy A. Campbell (A Halo Sun (The Sharing Moon #2))
Why can I remember eggplant, when I can't remember my own name?!
Carla Cassidy (Pregnesia (The Recovery Men, #3))
Sending someone all of the possible birthday party emoji is extra festive: great! But sending someone all of the possible phallic emoji (say, the eggplant and the cucumber and the corncob and the banana) is NOT extra sexxaayy: that’s a weird salad.
Gretchen McCulloch (Because Internet: Understanding the New Rules of Language)
(Potatoes were, for some reason, more prone to fits of random magic than most vegetables. It would take a remarkable magic to affect turnips or kale. No one bothered planting eggplants—they would run into the woods or fly away on leafy kites the instant your back was turned.)
T. Kingfisher (The Seventh Bride)
There was real plasure to be had eating ice cream out of container and pickles out of a glass jar, standing up at the counter. I wondered whether the cravings associated with pregnancy were really only a matter of women feeling empowered to admit their odd longings to their husbands, to ask another person to bring them the eccentric combinations they'd long enjoyed in private.
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Today, while Mother was watching me work, she suddenly remarked, “They say that people who like summer flowers die in the summer. I wonder if it’s true.” I did not answer but went on watering the eggplants. It is already the beginning of summer. She continued softly, “I am very fond of hibiscus, but we haven’t a single one in this garden.” “We have plenty of oleanders,” I answered in an intentionally sharp tone. “I don’t like them. I like almost all summer flowers, but oleanders are too loud.” “I like roses best. But they bloom in all four seasons. I wonder if people who like roses best have to die four times over again.” We both laughed.
Osamu Dazai
Border crossings in the Balkans, where bitter wars have been waged, were not regarded as pleasurable; in many places, they weren't even possible, and one avoided them. But, while riding in the droshky and later, when we dismounted, we saw the most luxuriant orchards and vegetable gardens, dark-violet eggplants, peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, gigantic pumpkins and melons; I couldn't get over my amazement at all the different things that grew here. "That's what it's like here", said Mother, "a blessed land. And it's a civilized land, no one should be ashamed of being born here.
Elias Canetti (Die gerettete Zunge: Geschichte einer Jugend)
Never be daunted in public' was an early Hemingway phrase that had more than once bolstered me in my timid twenties. I changed it resolutely to 'Never be daunted in private'. - M.F.K. Fisher "A Is for Dining Alone
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Many people are partial to the notion that . . . all writers are somehow mere vessels for Truth and Beauty when they compose. That we are not really in control. This is a variation on that twee little fable that writers like to pass off on gullible readers, that a character can develop a will of his own and 'take over a book.' This makes writing sound supernatural and mysterious, like possession by faeries. The reality tends to involve a spare room, a pirated copy of MS Word, and a table bought on sale at Target. A character can no more take over your novel than an eggplant and a jar of cumin can take over your kitchen.
Paul Collins (Sixpence House: Lost in a Town of Books)
The fuck I can’t,” I bark, glowering at Jay as he meticulously paints his nails eggplant purple from the seat next to my hospital bed.
H.D. Carlton (Hunting Adeline (Cat and Mouse Duet, #2))
Here’s the list of stuff I don’t like: apples, the fork in my bowl, Honey Nut Cheerios, eggplant parmesan, worms, watching baseball, and Taylor Swift.
Stacy Kramer
Peeling an eggplant was like unveiling an ivory-skinned woman dressed all in black.
Mohja Kahf (The Girl in the Tangerine Scarf)
Later, when April dropped me off at the house on her way to pick up Caitlin, my phone buzzed with a text. I smiled. Stacey. "You alive?" "I'm ok." I texted back. "How was your date?" Three fire emojis popped up in response, followed by an eggplant and ... were those water droplets? Oh, dear. I had no answer for that.
Jen DeLuca (Well Met (Well Met, #1))
There aren’t a lot of hobbies you can eat. Like, let’s say you love to cook. That’s a bad example. Let’s say you love to travel, and everywhere you go, you try the food at the best local— My point is, I love gardening as a hobby. Right now in our garden, Portia and I are growing tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, beets, eggplant,
Ellen DeGeneres (Seriously... I'm Kidding)
‎"Repeat that?" "It's National Talk Like a Pirate Day. Didn't you know?" "Somehow I missed the memo." "You mean, 'Somehow I missed the memo, arrr!'" "Precisely. Arr. So, Mrs. Jack... Er, is that still your name? Or, I tremble to ask, have you adopted a pirate identity?" "Arr, matey, of course I have! It's..." She pulled an eggplant from the grocery bag. "Captain Eggplantier." She needed to stop speaking the first words that popped into her mind. "Captain Eggplanteir." He sounded very doubtful. "That's right. A family name. It's Belgian.
Shannon Hale (The Actor and the Housewife)
I had for breakfast more paprika, and a sort of porridge of maize flour which they said was "mamaliga", and egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, a very excellent dish, which they call "impletata". (Mem.,get recipe for this also.)
Bram Stoker (Dracula)
Dear Ms. Baird, As of today, you do have a slave clause in your contract. It means you do everything I say. Under no circumstances are you to eat, sleep, take breaks, or check in to hotel rooms with men named Eggplant. Sincerely, Gabriel
Nalini Singh
As while other passions in your life may, at some point, begin to bank their fires, the shared happiness of good homemade food can last as long as we do.
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
You’re here to express your appreciation by proposing a kinky doppelganger ménage à trois? In which case, I’m going to have to turn you down. I’m sad to say it, but Ethan gives me the impression he’d be about as exciting in the sack as an eggplant.
Sarah Rees Brennan (Tell the Wind and Fire)
The Story of the Rabbit and the Eggplant Once there was a race between a rabbit and an eggplant. Now, the eggplant, as you know, is a member of the vegetable kingdom, and the rabbit is a very fast animal. Everybody bet lots of money on the eggplant, thinking that if a vegetable challenges a live animal with four legs to a race, then it must be that the vegetable knows something. People expected the eggplant to win the race by some clever trick of philosophy. The race was started, and there was a lot of cheering. The rabbit streaked out of sight. The eggplant just sat there at the starting line. Everybody knew that in some surprising way the eggplant would wind up winning the race. Nothing of the sort happened. Eventually, the rabbit crossed the finish line and the eggplant hadn’t moved an inch. The spectators ate the eggplant. Moral: Never bet on an eggplant.
Daniel Pinkwater (Borgel)
RATATOUILLE PROVENÇALE 8 servings Served on a platter that shows off its contrasting colors, this dish looks like a colorful Cubist still life. Heat in a large skillet or Dutch oven over medium heat: ¼ cup olive oil Add and cook, stirring, until golden and just tender, 10 to 12 minutes: 1 medium eggplant (about 1 pound), peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks 2 large zucchini (about 1 pound), cut into 1-inch chunks
Irma S. Rombauer (Joy of Cooking)
My point is, I love gardening as a hobby. Right now in our garden, Portia and I are growing tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, beets, eggplant, basil, and a whole assortment of herbs. It smells nice, it looks nice, and I can't tell you how satisfying it is to be able to host a dinner party and offer my quests the literal fruits of my labor. (As it turns out, these are very different than the fruits of one's loins. At a recent dinner party, I accidently asked Martha Stewart how she was enjoying the fruits of my loins and she nearly choked on her stew.)
Ellen DeGeneres (Seriously... I'm Kidding)
You know, hon, after Stephie died, we never really talked about her." she says, her hands tight around the cart handle. "There's a lot of pain there. Still. I guess we feel like we failed her. Like maybe if we were home instead of away at college, we could've done something to fix her. Something my patents and the doctors and her boyfriend missed. Sometimes I think I don't have the right to talk about her. Like at the end, I don't know her well enough to say anything. So much of her life became secret. She spent all of her time with her boyfriend, and when she was home, her nose was buried in her diary. I swear that diary was her best friend, even more than Megan." "Did you ever read it?" I ask. "No." "Not even after she died?" Aunt Rachel shakes her head, removing an eggplant from the middle row and pressing her fingers against its flesh. "To this day, I don't know if I would've, either. We never found it, Delilah. It's like she just…took it with her.
Sarah Ockler (Fixing Delilah)
Eating as a simple means of ending hunger is one of the great liberties of being alone ... It is a pleasure to not have to take anyone else's tastes into account or explain why I like to drink my grapefruit juice out of the carton." - Ann Patchett, "Dinner for One, Please, James
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
every session I had no fewer than sixteen girls with “allergies” to dairy and wheat—cheese and bread basically—but also to garlic, eggplant, corn, and nuts. They had cleverly developed “allergies,” I believe, to the foods they had seen their own mothers fearing and loathing as diet fads passed through their homes. I could’ve strangled their mothers for saddling these girls with the idea that food is an enemy—some of them only eight years old and already weird about wanting a piece of bread—and I would’ve liked to bludgeon them, too, for forcing me to participate in their young daughters’ fucked-up relationship with food.
Gabrielle Hamilton (Blood, Bones, and Butter: The Inadvertent Education of a Reluctant Chef)
By the time the first Europeans arrived in the New World, farmers there were harvesting more than a hundred kinds of edible plants—potatoes, tomatoes, sunflowers, eggplants, avocados, sweet potatoes, peanuts, cashews, pineapples, papaya, guava, yams, manioc (or cassava), pumpkins, vanilla, a whole slew of beans and squashes, four types of chili peppers, and chocolate, among rather a lot else—not a bad haul. It has been estimated that 60 percent of all the crops grown in the world today originated in the Americas.
Bill Bryson (At Home: A Short History of Private Life)
What are you making?" he asked me. "Eggplant with a pomegranate walnut sauce." It was nice to be able to answer at least something with certainty. I turned the eggplant over in the pan. The sauce was just a mixture of pomegranate juice, good red wine vinegar, garlic, red pepper flakes, and salt. Nothing else. It was hard for me to resist embellishing recipes that called for so little, but the complexity of the juice transformed what would otherwise be the world's most basic support ingredients into a symphony of flavor.
Beth Harbison (When in Doubt, Add Butter)
The very thought of maintaining high standards meal after meal is exhausting. It discounts all the peanut butter that is available in the world. When
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
summer twilight that was so beautiful she ached. The sky was an eggplant purple, the clouds the color of bruises.
Marjan Kamali (The Stationery Shop)
Me: *grin* *peach* *eggplant* *waterdrops* *drool* Fox: Emojis exist. Me: But this way you know I’ve intentionally sexted you.
Jennifer Cody (The Trouble with Trying to Date a Murderer (Murder Sprees and Mute Decrees #1))
Nothing could appear to be more human than refusing to believe extinction possible so long as you were encircled by luscious eggplants and ripe tomatoes[..]
Philip Roth (Operation Shylock: A Confession)
He wore a forest green T-shirt and straight-legged black jeans that fit snugly, but not enough to advertise his eggplant emoji.
Alyssa Cole (A Princess in Theory (Reluctant Royals, #1))
It has an eggplant in it, so it must be a good dream.
CLAMP (xxxHolic, Vol. 9 (xxxHOLiC, #9))
I feel it coming, but I can't stop it. PANIC. They left me.My parents actually left me! IN FRANCE! Meanwhile, Paris is oddly silent.Even the opera singer has packed it in for the night. I cannot lose it.The walls here are thinner than Band-Aids, so if I break down, my neighbors-my new classmates-will hear everything. I'm going to be sick.I'm going to vomit that weird eggplant tapenade I had for dinner, and everyone will hear,and no one will invite me to watch the mimes escape from their invisible boxes, or whatever it is people do here in their spare time.
Stephanie Perkins (Anna and the French Kiss (Anna and the French Kiss, #1))
Eating as a simple means of ending hunger is one of the great liberties of being alone, like going to the movies by yourself in the afternoon or, back in those golden days of youth, having a cigarette in the bathtub. It is a pleasure to not have to take anyone else's tastes into account or explain why I like to drink my grapefruit juice out of the carton. Eating, after all, is a matter of taste, and taste cannot always be good taste. The very thought of maintaining high standards meal after meal is exhausting. It discounts all the peanut butter that is available in the world.
Ann Patchett (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Dinner that night is a feast of flavor. To celebrate the successful exorcism, Kagura has cooked several more dishes than the shrine's usual, simple fare- fragrant onigiri, balls of rice soaked in green tea, with umeboshi- salty and pickled plums- as filling. There is eggplant simmered in clear soup, green beans in sesame sause, and burdock in sweet-and-sour dressing. The mood is festive.
Rin Chupeco (The Girl from the Well (The Girl from the Well, #1))
He'd woken up at four this morning in Emma's hospital room to write down an eggplant roulade with tandoori paneer. The magic was in the Indian thyme and garlic chive foam infused into the paneer.
Sonali Dev (Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes, #1))
The fact was, I wanted the same thing again and again. And so I yielded, bought the good, took them home, cooked, ate, accompanied usually by music, preferably a public radio station that played music I liked. And I am here to tell you, the pleasure never diminished I was happy every time. - Beverly Lowery
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
My fingers play with my hospital bracelet. I stare at my name. Carley Connors. Thirteen letters. How unlucky can one person be? I think about my mother. Still there, lying in her hospital bed like an eggplant.
Lynda Mullaly Hunt (One for the Murphys)
The easiest way to check if there is enough variety on your table is to make sure you’re “eating the rainbow.” A table featuring red peppers, carrots, spinach, cauliflower, and eggplant, for example, offers great color and variety.
Hector Garcia Puigcerver (Ikigai: The Japanese secret to a long and happy life)
Once we obtain high-quality foods, we still must prepare them properly. The first step in nontoxic food preparation is to wash or peel foods in order to remove agricultural chemicals, bacteria and molds. Waxed foods (such as most cucumbers, eggplant, turnips and apples) definitely should be peeled, because the wax often is covering surface residues of pesticides and fungicides that are applied before the wax is applied; also, questions abound about the safety of some of the waxes. For foods that cannot be peeled, washing under running water for a minute or two does a relatively good cleaning job; using a pure, liquid castile soap (a mild soap made from olive oil and sodium hydroxide) cleans even better. For foods like lettuce,
Raymond Francis (Never Be Sick Again: Health Is a Choice, Learn How to Choose It)
Since that era the question “Do you have any food restrictions?” has become a part of the etiquette of a dinner invitation, and participants at conference dinners can now tick a box that will replace a plate of rubber chicken with a plate of sodden eggplant.
Steven Pinker (The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined)
Often in the morning he drove a long hour or more to the markets in the city, there to behold what would determine the day’s special. With the crates of fresh selesctions snuggled into his station wagon, his thoughts on the ride back confronted the culinary equivalent of the writer’s blank page. Sometimes his head swirled with exciting ideas; other mornings he was in a panic upon returning with the same old eggplant and squash and zucchini and nothing but the dullness of the word ratatouille standing by to mock him.
Nancy Zafris (The Home Jar: Stories)
On Chicken Parmesan: It was all downhill from there. Eventually, the boneless chicken breast replaced the chicken breast as America’s favorite tasteless meat product, and then boneless skinless chicken breast, and somewhere in between the birth of my ultimate nemesis: The Chicken Patty. How things went quite so far downhill that the patty found its way into ANY Italian food is beyond me, but I can assure you this dish isn’t what anyone back in Italy had in mind when they sent Vito through Ellis Island with an eggplant recipe.
Gordon Vivace (No, That's Not Tiramisu: A Discussion of Italian Cooking Principles and Keeping Tradition Alive in the Contemporary Kitchen, with 140 Example Recipes Included.)
The recipes of the dishes served Khubilai Khan still survive. They include a variety of foods but maintain the traditional Mongol emphasis on meat and dairy products. The members of the Mongol court ate such delicacies as strips of mutton tail fat dusted with flour and baked with leeks. Bull testicles fried in hot oil, basted with saffron paste, and sprinkled with coriander. Mutton boiled with cardamom and cinnamon and served with rice and chickpeas. Young eggplant stuffed with chopped mutton, fat, yogurt, orange peel, and basil.
Jack Weatherford (Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World)
Still, we permit the appearance of our meats, sauces, fruits, and vdgetables to dominate our tongues until it is difficult to divide a twist of lemon or squeeze of lime from the colors of their rinds or separate yellow from its yolk or chocolate from the quenchless brown which seems to be the root, shoot, stalk, and bloom of it. Yet I hardly think the eggplant's taste is as purple as its skin. In fact, there are few flavors at the violet end, odors either, for the acrid smell of blue smoke is deceiving, as is the tooth of the plum, though there may be just a hint of blue in the higher sauces. Perceptions are always profound, associations deceiving. No watermelon tastes red. Apropos: while waiting for a bus once, I saw open down the arm of a midfat, midlife, freckled woman, suitcase tugging at her hand like a small boy needing to pee, a deep blue crack as wide as any in a Roquefort. Split like paper tearing. She said nothing. Stood. Blue bubbled up in the opening like tar. One thing is certain: a cool flute blue tastes like deep well water drunk from a cup.
William H. Gass (On Being Blue)
Would you like to dance?" I knew I had frosting on my nose. Alex leaned over and wuped it off with his thumb. "Well?" I could only nod. I had a full mouth, too. I stood up, swallowed, and accepted the napkin he was holding. "You're here." "I'm here," he agreed, like it hadn't been a ridiculous thing to say. "I am crashing your sister's wedding. Hope she won't mind." "She won't mind." He was wearing a tux. A real tux, complete with bow tie and silk lapels. I stroked one. "I'm guessing this isn't a rental." He squirmed a little. "No, it's mine. Nice dress." I looked down at the snug purple monstrosity my sister had chosen. At least it had a mandarin collar and some sleeves. "It's a cheongsam," she'd announced proudly. "It's Eggplant Ho Lee Mess" was Frankie's take. My pear-shaped cousin Vanessa got strapless. Now she looked like an eggplant. "You look beautiful," Alex said, but the corner of his mouth was twitching. "Well,you look like...like..." I sighed. "Okay, you look really really good." Then, again, "You're here." "I'm here." "Why?" "I missed you," he said simply. "It's only been four days." "A very,very long four days. But your e-mail helped." He reached for my hand. "Now,are we dancing or not?" We did, and it wasn't as complicated as I'd thought it might be. I stood on my toes, he bent down a little, and we fit together pretty well. The song ended way too soon. "So," Alex said. "So." "We can stay here if you want to...or if you have to. But I have another suggestion. Let's go watch the sun rise." It sounded like a good idea to me. Except... "It's ten o'clock. And it's freezing out there." "Trust me," he said. "okay.
Melissa Jensen (The Fine Art of Truth or Dare)
We surf-fished in the breakers catching spottail bass and flounder for dinner. I discovered that summer that I loved to cook and feed my friends, and I enjoyed the sound of their praise as they purred with pleasure at the meals I fixed over glowing iron and fire. I had the run of my grandparents’ garden and I would put ears of sweet corn in aluminum foil after washing them in seawater and slathering them with butter and salt and pepper. Beneath the stars we would eat the beefsteak tomatoes okra and the field peas flavored with salt pork and jalapeno peppers. I would walk through the disciplined rows that brimmed with purple eggplants and watermelons and cucumbers, gathering vegetables. My grandfather, Silas, told us that summer that low country earth was so fertile you could drop a dime into it and grow a money tree.
Pat Conroy (Beach Music)
This was Antonio's interpretation of "anything": succulent black olives, sun-dried tomatoes and marinated artichokes, three kinds of salami, tiny balls of fresh mozzarella, roasted cherry tomatoes, some kind of creamy eggplant dip that made her swoon, and a basket of warm focaccia.
Elin Hilderbrand (The Blue Bistro)
We are at stake to each other...We are all lichens, so we can be scraped off the rocks by the Furies, who still erupt to avenge crimes against the Earth. Alternatively, we can join in the metabolic transformations between and among rocks and critters, for living and dying well. "Do you realize," the phytolinguists will say to the aesthetic critic, "that once upon a time, they couldn't even read eggplant?" And they will smile at our ignorance, as they pick up their rucksacks and hike on up to read the newly deciphered lyrics of the lichen on the north face of Pike's Peak.
Donna Haraway, "Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene" (Chapter 2)
I still face a final, cold truth: eating alone isn’t natural. Life’s greatest sensual pleasure (or at least its most consistently attainable) should be shared. I happen to believe that humans were born to feed one another. The meal is our celebration of nurturance, our secular communion. Does
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
This is the first time we’ve spoken in years and it feels tedious, like a mutually assigned chore.
Yann Tanguay (Passings and the Eggplant)
mamaliga", and egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, a very excellent dish, which they call "impletata". (Mem., get recipe for this also.)
Bram Stoker (Dracula)
I’m eighty-two, can you believe it?” She’s actually ageless, given that her purple face is stretched tighter than an eggplant. “So what did you have done?” I ask, unable to help myself. “The whole package,” she says. “Got my eyelids done, some Botox, a little filler, chin implant, cheekbones, got my lips done, neck lift, breast implants, tummy tuck, ass lift.
Kristan Higgins (If You Only Knew)
HIGHEST IN PESTICIDES— BUY ORGANIC IF POSSIBLE LOWEST IN PESTICIDES— BUY EITHER ORGANIC OR CONVENTIONAL Celery Onion Peaches Avocado Strawberries Sweet corn Apples Pineapple Blueberries Mango Nectarines Sweet peas Bell peppers Asparagus Spinach Kiwi Kale Cabbage Cherries Eggplant Potatoes Cantaloupe Grapes (imported) Watermelon Grapefruit Sweet potato Honeydew
Joel Fuhrman (Super Immunity: The Essential Nutrition Guide for Boosting Your Body's Defenses to Live Longer, Stronger, and Disease Free)
The instant noodles that I ate alone in Ithaca might have been identical to the instant noodles of my childhood, but the taste, so to speak, was entirely different. The reasons for this, of course, were obvious. My mother was not there. My sister was not there. Instant Noodles, Rattawut Lapcharoensap [from the book Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone]
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
The guy was lying next to the neighbor's house with his limbs pointing in painful-looking directions. I was pretty sure arms and legs weren't supposed to bend in that many places. And I was also pretty sure I'd have a hard time explaining the vaguely person-shaped crater in the neighbor's second-story siding. Maybe no one would notice. Like, if the police sent over a blind cop with the IQ of an eggplant.
Ben Reeder (Page of Swords (The Demon's Apprentice, #2))
the toxicity in much Western food lies in the processing, rather than in the food itself. The carbohydrates in Western diets are heavily skewed toward refined grains, and are thus highly obesogenic. Eggplant, kale, spinach, carrots, broccoli, peas, Brussels sprouts, tomatoes, asparagus, bell peppers, zucchini, cauliflower, avocados, lettuce, beets, cucumbers, watercress, cabbage, among others, are all extremely healthy carbohydrate-containing foods.
Jason Fung (The Obesity Code: Unlocking the Secrets of Weight Loss)
It's all messed up," she said. "What is?" he asked quietly from behind her. "Us." "We're doing okay." "I didn't set out to trap you or anything." Keith had accused her of that a hundred times. "I don't feel trapped." "Why?" "I'm a simple guy. I have a beautiful woman in my arms. What's there to complain about?" "I'm hardly beautiful. I look like an eggplant." "Purple is my favorite color." "There's a really annoying dinosaur you might want to watch with Justin over breakfast." But she smiled into the darkness.
Dana Marton (Deathblow (Broslin Creek, #4))
Stewed eggplant; chicken steaks in egg batter; marinated peppers with buckwheat honey; herring under potatoes, beets, carrots, and mayonnaise; bow-tie pasta with kasha, caramelized onions, and garlic; ponchiki with mixed-fruit preserves; pickled cabbage; pickled eggplant; meat in aspic; beet salad with garlic and mayonnaise; kidney beans with walnuts; kharcho and solyanka; fried cauliflower; whitefish under stewed carrots; salmon soup; kidney beans with the walnuts swapped out for caramelized onions; sour cabbage with beef; pea soup with corn; vermicelli and fried onions.
Boris Fishman (A Replacement Life)
I swing down viciously but narrowly miss. It goes for another dive and I take my shot whacking it head-on in the face. The impact of my swing rattles through the bones in my arm as the shockwave from the strike explodes in a brilliant flash of coppery shimmers, chromatic sparks, and fiery swirls.
Yann Tanguay (Passings and the Eggplant)
There was a bag of coffee beans beneath a harpoon gun and a frozen hunk of spinach, but there was no way to grind the beans into tiny pieces to make coffee. Near a picnic basket and a large bag of mushrooms was a jug of orange juice, but it had been close to one of the bullet holes in the trunk, and so had frozen completely solid in the cold. And after Sunny moved aside three chunks of cold cheese, a large can of water chestnuts, and an eggplant as big as herself, she finally found a small jar of boysenberry jam, and a loaf of bread she could use to make toast, although it was so cold it felt more like a log than a breakfast ingredient.
Lemony Snicket (The Slippery Slope (A Series of Unfortunate Events, #10))
It never ceased to surprise him how many of her dishes were cooked without meat. Her pasta sauces often consisted of just one or two ingredients, such as garlic and oil, or grated lemon zest and cream. Many more were based on a vegetable, with peperone, anchovy or cheese providing a subtle kick. Often it didn't occur to him that he hadn't eaten meat until after the meal was over. His very favorite dish was her melanzane alla parmigiana, but it was only as his palate became more trained that he realized this, too, contained nothing more substantial than dense chunks of eggplant. As for gravy, he had never missed it once. He mentioned this to her, and she laughed. "We've never had a lot of meat to spare in Campania. Even before the war, it was expensive. So we had to learn to use our ingenuity.
Anthony Capella (The Wedding Officer: A Novel of Culinary Seduction)
They all felt gloomy that evening as they set out trick-or-treating and hoped that no one they knew would see them. But their troubles were far from over. At some houses, they were surprised with tricks instead of treats. At other houses, the treats were weird, or awful. Soon their bags were full of candy with names like “Broccoli Chews,” “Sweet ‘n’ Sauerkraut,” and “Eggplant Fizzlers.” “I can’t believe this is happening,” Wendell grumbled. At that moment a screech of laughter came from down the block. Floyd peered through his spyglass and groaned. “It’s Leona Fleebish and her nasty friends.” “Not them!” Mona squeaked. “They’re the worst!” “We’d better run for it!” cried Wendell. Floyd led them down a hidden path through the woods behind the old Dreedle House. But soon Leona’s jeering voice rang out: “We see you! You can’t hide!” The chase was on!
Mark Teague (One Halloween Night)
Time passes, and as the hot midday sun and cool mountain nights alternately bake and freeze the blackened landscape of Vesuvius, something remarkable happens. Gradually, the streams of cold lava are colonized by a lichen, stereocaulon vesuvianim. This lichen is so tiny that it is almost invisible to the naked eye, but as it grows, it turns the lava from black to silvery gray. Where the lichen has gone, other plants can follow- first mugwort, valerian, and Mediterranean scrub, but later ilex and birch trees, along with dozens of species of apricot. Meanwhile, the clinkers and ash that covered the landscape like so much grubby gray snow are slowly, inexorably, working their way into the fields and the vineyards, crumbling as they do so, adding their richness to the thick black soil, and an incomparable flavor to tomatoes, zucchini, eggplants, fruit and all the other produce which grows there.
Anthony Capella (The Wedding Officer: A Novel of Culinary Seduction)
Pleasure Principles What you pay attention to grows. This will be familiar to those who have read Emergent Strategy. Actually, all the emergent strategy principles also apply here! (Insert eggplant emoji). Tune into happiness, what satisfies you, what brings you joy. We become what we practice. I learned this through studying somatics! In his book The Leadership Dojo, Richard Strozzi-Heckler shares that “300 repetitions produce body memory … [and] 3,000 repetitions creates embodiment.”12 Yes is the way. When it was time to move to Detroit, when it was time to leave my last job, when it was time to pick up a meditation practice, time to swim, time to eat healthier, I knew because it gave me pleasure when I made and lived into the decision. Now I am letting that guide my choices for how I organize and for what I am aiming toward with my work—pleasure in the processes of my existence and states of my being. Yes is a future. When I feel pleasure, I know I am on the right track. Puerto Rican pleasure elder Idelisse Malave shared with me that her pleasure principle is “If it pleases me, I will.” When I am happy, it is good for the world.13 The deepest pleasure comes from riding the line between commitment and detachment.14 Commit yourself fully to the process, the journey, to bringing the best you can bring. Detach yourself from ego and outcomes. Make justice and liberation feel good. Your no makes the way for your yes. Boundaries create the container within which your yes is authentic. Being able to say no makes yes a choice. Moderation is key.15 The idea is not to be in a heady state of ecstasy at all times, but rather to learn how to sense when something is good for you, to be able to feel what enough is. Related: pleasure is not money. Pleasure is not even related to money, at least not in a positive way. Having resources to buy unlimited amounts of pleasure leads to excess, and excess totally destroys the spiritual experience of pleasure.
Adrienne Maree Brown (Pleasure Activism: The Politics of Feeling Good (Emergent Strategy))
Garnish soft comfort foods with crunchy crumbs, toasted nuts, or crisp bits of bacon to make things interesting. Serve rich meats with bright, acidic sauces and clean-tasting blanched or raw vegetables. Serve mouth-drying starches with mouthwatering sauces, and recognize that a well-dressed, juicy salad can serve as both a side dish and a sauce. On the other hand, pair simply cooked meats, such as grilled steak or poached chicken, with roasted, sautéed, or fried vegetables glazed with Maillard’s dark lacquer. Let the seasons inspire you; foods that are in season together naturally complement one another on the plate. For example, corn, beans, and squash grow as companions in the field, then the three sisters find their way together into succotash. Tomatoes, eggplant, zucchini, and basil become ratatouille, tian, or caponata depending on where you are on the Mediterranean coast. Sage, a hardy winter herb, is a natural complement to winter squash because its leaves—and its flavor—stand up to the cold of winter.
Samin Nosrat (Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat: Mastering the Elements of Good Cooking)
Ryder’s in jeans and his shirt from last night, and he’s staring at the fridge. When I pad closer, I see he’s not just staring at the door. I’ve hung my various ultrasound pictures to the silvery surface, and he’s studying them. His index finger is poised over my recent twenty-week one, and he’s tracing the outline of the baby’s legs. “Hi,” I say, clearing my throat. He straightens and then smiles. It’s a sheepish look, as if he’s been caught. “Just checking out Papaya.” I love that the name Papaya has stuck. That must be a sign he feels the same. I gesture to the thirteen-week picture, when I first heard the heartbeat. “I think Papaya was a fig in that one. Funny thing—when I was so sick, Papaya was only a kidney bean.” “Kidney beans are known to be troublemakers.” He steps closer, drops a strangely chaste kiss to my forehead, and sets his hands on my belly. “And I think Papaya is almost a mango now, right?” I nod. “How did you know?” “I might have googled pregnancy-to-fruit comparisons. Papaya will be an eggplant in a little while.” I blink. Holy shit. He really knows his pregnancy fruits. Better than I do.
Lauren Blakely (The Knocked up Plan (One Love, #3))
All of this could fall flat, feel too much like a caricature of a Sicilian trattoria, if the food itself weren't so damn good: arancini, saffron-scented rice fried into crunchy, greaseless golf balls; polpette di pesce spada, swordfish meatballs with a taste so deep and savory they might as well be made of dry-aged beef; and a superlative version of caponata di melanzane, that ubiquitous Sicilian starter of eggplant, capers, and various other vegetation, stewed into a sweet and savory jam that you will want to smear on everything. Everything around you screams Italy, but those flavors on the end of the fork? The sweet-and-sour tandem, the stain of saffron, the grains of rice: pure Africa. The pasta: even better. Chewy noodles tinted jet black with squid ink and tossed with sautéed rings and crispy legs of calamari- a sort of nose-to-tail homage to the island's cherished cephalopod. And Palermo's most famous dish, pasta con le sarde, a bulge of thick spaghetti strewn with wild fennel, capers, raisins, and, most critically, a half dozen plump sardines slow cooked until they melt into a briny ocean ragù. Sweet, salty, fatty, funky- Palermo in a single bite.
Matt Goulding (Pasta, Pane, Vino: Deep Travels Through Italy's Food Culture)
My Deep-Fried Pork Cutlet with Fondue Lunch Set is ready to eat!" A Lunch Set?! With fondue even?! Wow, that's, um... a really Soma thing to make! "So I'm assuming the cheese is a dipping sauce? And it's in this little pot?" "Yep, you got it. Go on and give it a good dunking." "Here we go... huh? It's black?! Wait a minute, isn't this supposed to be cheese?!" Mmm! Sooo gooood! It's so light and tender! The crunchy outer shell practically melts in your mouth the second you bite into it! And the sauce is mellow and rich, melding together with the cutlet in indescribable deliciousness! "Wait... what is this sauce?!" "At a glance, it looks like tonkatsu sauce- the plain old black paste that always goes with pork cutlets. But it's really a black cheese sauce! I made an eggplant puree from chunks of eggplant I grilled over a brazier until their skins were charred good and black. Then I took that puree, rich with the unique aroma of charcoal grilling, and blend it with cheese!" "Ah! Now I see! The soft flavors of cheese and chargrilling work together, lingering in the mouth as a light but rich aftertaste! That's how you managed to give such a refined and elegant deliciousness!
Yuto Tsukuda (食戟のソーマ 32 [Shokugeki no Souma 32] (Food Wars: Shokugeki no Soma, #32))
Palermo is dotted everywhere with frittura shacks- street carts and storefronts specializing in fried foods of all shapes and cardiac impacts. On the fringes of the Ballarò market are bars serving pane e panelle, fried wedges of mashed chickpeas combined with potato fritters and stuffed into a roll the size of a catcher's mitt. This is how the vendors start their days; this is how you should start yours, too. If fried chickpea sandwiches don't register as breakfast food, consider an early evening at Friggitoria Chiluzzo, posted on a plastic stool with a pack of locals, knocking back beers with plates of fried artichokes and arancini, glorious balls of saffron-stained rice stuffed with ragù and fried golden- another delicious ode to Africa. Indeed, frying food is one of the favorite pastimes of the palermitani, and they do it- as all great frying should be done- with a mix of skill and reckless abandon. Ganci is among the city's most beloved oil baths, a sliver of a store offering more calories per square foot than anywhere I've ever eaten. You can smell the mischief a block before you hit the front door: pizza topped with french fries and fried eggplant, fried rice balls stuffed with ham and cubes of mozzarella, and a ghastly concoction called spiedino that involves a brick of béchamel and meat sauce coated in bread crumbs and fried until you could break someone's window with it.
Matt Goulding (Pasta, Pane, Vino: Deep Travels Through Italy's Food Culture)
Soba noodles with eggplant and mango This dish has become my mother’s ultimate cook-to-impress fare. And she is not the only one, as I have been informed by many readers. It is the refreshing nature of the cold buckwheat noodles the sweet sharpness of the dressing and the muskiness of mango that make it so pleasing. Serve this as a substantial starter or turn it into a light main course by adding some fried firm tofu. Serves 6 1/2 cup rice vinegar 3 tbsp sugar 1/2 tsp salt 2 garlic cloves, crushed 1/2 fresh red chile, finely chopped 1 tsp toasted sesame oil grated zest and juice of 1 lime 1 cup sunflower oil 2 eggplants, cut into 3/4-inch dice 8 to 9 oz soba noodles 1 large ripe mango, cut into 3/8-inch dice or into 1/4-inch-thick strips 12/3 cup basil leaves, chopped (if you can get some use Thai basil, but much less of it) 21/2 cups cilantro leaves, chopped 1/2 red onion, very thinly sliced In a small saucepan gently warm the vinegar, sugar and salt for up to 1 minute, just until the sugar dissolves. Remove from the heat and add the garlic, chile and sesame oil. Allow to cool, then add the lime zest and juice. Heat up the sunflower oil in a large pan and shallow-fry the eggplant in three or four batches. Once golden brown remove to a colander, sprinkle liberally with salt and leave there to drain. Cook the noodles in plenty of boiling salted water, stirring occasionally. They should take 5 to 8 minutes to become tender but still al dente. Drain and rinse well under running cold water. Shake off as much of the excess water as possible, then leave to dry on a dish towel. In a mixing bowl toss the noodles with the dressing, mango, eggplant, half of the herbs and the onion. You can now leave this aside for 1 to 2 hours. When ready to serve add the rest of the herbs and mix well, then pile on a plate or in a bowl.
Yotam Ottolenghi (Plenty: Vibrant Recipes from London's Ottolenghi)
But your lolas took offense at being called witches. That is an Amerikano term, they scoff, and that they live in the boroughs of an American city makes no difference to their biases. Mangkukulam was what they styled themselves as, a title still spoken of with fear in their motherland, with its suggestions of strange healing and old-world sorcery. Nobody calls their place along Pepper Street Old Manila, either, save for the women and their frequent customers. It was a carinderia, a simple eatery folded into three food stalls; each manned by a mangkukulam, each offering unusual specialties: Lola Teodora served kare-kare, a healthy medley of eggplant, okra, winged beans, chili peppers, oxtail, and tripe, all simmered in a rich peanut sauce and sprinkled generously with chopped crackling pork rinds. Lola Teodora was made of cumin, and her clients tiptoed into her stall, meek as mice and trembling besides, only to stride out half an hour later bursting at the seams with confidence. But bagoong- the fermented-shrimp sauce served alongside the dish- was the real secret; for every pound of sardines you packed into the glass jars you added over three times that weight in salt and magic. In six months, the collected brine would turn reddish and pungent, the proper scent for courage. unlike the other mangkukulam, Lola Teodora's meal had only one regular serving, no specials. No harm in encouraging a little bravery in everyone, she said, and with her careful preparations it would cause little harm, even if clients ate it all day long. Lola Florabel was made of paprika and sold sisig: garlic, onions, chili peppers, and finely chopped vinegar-marinated pork and chicken liver, all served on a sizzling plate with a fried egg on top and calamansi for garnish. Sisig regular was one of the more popular dishes, though a few had blanched upon learning the meat was made from boiled pigs' cheeks and head.
Rin Chupeco (Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love)
The store smells of roasted chicken and freshly ground coffee, raw meat and ripening stone fruit, the lemon detergent they use to scrub the old sheet-linoleum floors. I inhale and feel the smile form on my face. It's been so long since I've been inside any market other than Fred Meyer, which smells of plastic and the thousands of people who pass through every day. By instinct, I head for the produce section. There, the close quarters of slim Ichiban eggplant, baby bok choy, brilliant red chard, chartreuse-and-purple asparagus, sends me into paroxysms of delight. I'm glad the store is nearly empty; I'm oohing and aahing with produce lust at the colors, the smooth, shiny textures set against frilly leaves. I fondle the palm-size plums, the soft fuzz of the peaches. And the berries! It's berry season, and seven varieties spill from green cardboard containers: the ubiquitous Oregon marionberry, red raspberry, and blackberry, of course, but next to them are blueberries, loganberries, and gorgeous golden raspberries. I pluck one from a container, fat and slightly past firm, and pop it into my mouth. The sweet explosion of flavor so familiar, but like something too long forgotten. I load two pints into my basket. The asparagus has me intrigued. Maybe I could roast it with olive oil and fresh herbs, like the sprigs of rosemary and oregano poking out of the salad display, and some good sea salt. And salad. Baby greens tossed with lemon-infused olive oil and a sprinkle of vinegar. Why haven't I eaten a salad in so long? I'll choose a soft, mild French cheese from the deli case, have it for an hors d'oeuvre with a beautiful glass of sparkling Prosecco, say, then roast a tiny chunk of spring lamb that I'm sure the nice sister will cut for me, and complement it with a crusty baguette and roasted asparagus, followed by the salad. Followed by more cheese and berries for dessert. And a fruity Willamette Valley Pinot Noir to wash it all down. My idea of eating heaven, a French-influenced feast that reminds me of the way I always thought my life would be.
Jennie Shortridge (Eating Heaven)
Walking home from work that night, I stopped in the Centicore Bookstore on State Street and wandered up and down the aisles. I saw a thin volume of poetry entitled Fruits and Vegetables by Erica Jong. (Jong had not come out with her novel Fear of Flying yet and was still unknown.) The first poem I opened to in the book was about cooking an eggplant!
Natalie Goldberg (Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within)
She made them honey butter fried chicken and buttermilk biscuits the way her mother had taught her, with White Lily flour and the butter shredded on a box grater. She served charred eggplant with cilantro pesto, polenta pasticciata, grilled corn, and fried dill pickles.
Susan Wiggs (Sugar and Salt (Bella Vista Chronicles, #4))
Baba Ghanoush over Mixed Greens Serves: 4 1 (1½-pound) eggplant 1 cup cooked garbanzo beans or low-sodium or no-salt-added canned garbanzo beans 2 tablespoons raw tahini or unhulled sesame seeds 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped ⅓ cup water 1 teaspoon Bragg Liquid Aminos 5 ounces romaine lettuce, chopped 5 ounces mixed baby greens Preheat the oven to 350˚F. Prick eggplant, place on baking sheet, and bake for 45 minutes, turning occasionally, until soft. Let it cool and then peel. In a high-powered blender, combine eggplant, garbanzo beans, tahini, lemon juice, garlic, water, and Bragg Liquid Aminos. Blend until smooth. Combine romaine and mixed baby greens and serve baba ghanoush on a bed of greens. Baba ghanoush and greens can also be served in a whole wheat pita or wrap. PER SERVING: CALORIES 155; PROTEIN 8g; CARBOHYDRATE 23g; TOTAL FAT 5.1g; SATURATED FAT 0.7g; SODIUM 83mg; FIBER 9.2g; BETA-CAROTENE 3954mcg; VITAMIN C 13mg; CALCIUM 104mg; IRON 2.5mg; FOLATE 190mcg; MAGNESIUM 61mg; ZINC 1.4mg; SELENIUM 2.4mcg
Joel Fuhrman (The End of Heart Disease: The Eat to Live Plan to Prevent and Reverse Heart Disease (Eat for Life))
Memorize this list of foods that you should eat liberally: 1.​All green vegetables, both raw and cooked, including frozen. If it is green, you get the green light. Don’t forget raw peas, snow pea pods, kohlrabi, okra, and frozen artichoke hearts. 2.​Non-green, non-starchy vegetables, including tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, mushrooms, onions, garlic, leeks, cauliflower, water chestnuts, hearts of palm, and roasted garlic cloves. 3.​Raw starchy vegetables, such as raw carrots, raw beets, jicama, radish, and parsnips. They are all great, shredded raw, in your salad. 4.​Beans/legumes, including split peas, lima beans, lentils, soybeans, black beans, and all red, white, and blue beans. Soak them overnight, then rinse and cook them, add them to salads and soups, make bean burgers, sprout them, and eat bean pasta. 5.​Low-sugar fruits, one or two with breakfast and about one more each meal. 6.​Try to have berries or pomegranate at least once a day. Frozen berries are the most cost effective.
Joel Fuhrman (The End of Heart Disease: The Eat to Live Plan to Prevent and Reverse Heart Disease (Eat for Life))
At least 90 percent of your diet should be from whole plant foods such as the following: Green vegetables—including kale, Swiss chard, broccoli, artichokes, string beans, asparagus, spinach, cabbage, lettuce, snow peas, and peas Yellow/orange vegetables—including carrots, butternut squash, winter squash, spaghetti squash, sweet potato, and corn Beans/legumes—including chickpeas, red kidney beans, lentils, and adzuki beans Fresh fruits—including blueberries, strawberries, kiwis, apples, oranges, grapes, pears, watermelon, and pomegranates (Eat dried fruits, including raisins and dates, only in small amounts.) Nonstarchy vegetables—including eggplant, mushrooms, peppers, tomatoes, and onions
Joel Fuhrman (The End of Heart Disease: The Eat to Live Plan to Prevent and Reverse Heart Disease (Eat for Life))
or 3 sprigs fresh thyme or ½ teaspoon dried thyme 1 bay leaf Reduce the heat to low, cover, and cook for 5 minutes. Add the eggplant and zucchini and cook until everything is tender, about 20 minutes more. Taste and adjust the seasonings. Stir in: ¼ cup chopped basil (Chopped pitted Niçoise or Kalamata olives to taste)
Irma S. Rombauer (Joy of Cooking)
Fruit,” Lornysh said. “What?” “Eggplants have seeds and are thus considered fruits.” “So are elves,” Cutter said, “but we don’t call them that to their faces.” “Wise,” Lornysh said.
Lindsay Buroker (Eye of Truth (Agents of the Crown, #1))
Nina and Sophie were seated at a large round table settled under the branches of a blooming magnolia. The rich scent of the flowers mixed with the incredible food Jasmine and her team had whipped up had built an almost intoxicating aroma. They started off with sesame Halloumi and sweet potato tahini mash, followed by butternut squash and sage risotto, then there were hearty mushroom steaks with a side of roasted eggplant and miso salsa as their main. As they ate, she tasted the flavors from the earth, celebrating the gardens and passionate people around them. Her friend had harnessed the surroundings and created a rich culinary experience for the event.
Erin La Rosa (For Butter or Worse)
Who knew winter meant vegetables? Chef. No asparagus shipped in from Peru, no avocados from Mexico, no eggplants from Asia. What I assumed would be a season of root vegetables and onions was actually the season of chicories. Chef had his sources, which he guarded. Scott walked through the restaurant in the morning with unmarked brown paper bags, sometimes crates. He told me that the chicories would really brighten when the first freezes came. It sweetened their natural bitterness. I could barely keep track of them. The curly tangle of frisée didn't seem the same species as the heliotrope balls of radicchio, or the whitened lobes of endive. Their familial trait was a bite---I thought of them as lettuces that bit back. Scott agreed. He said we should be hard on them. Eggs, anchovies, cream, a streak of citrus. "Don't trust the French with your vegetables," Scott said. "The Italians know how to let something breathe.
Stephanie Danler (Sweetbitter)
Yes, we were starving. Scott waved the menus away and we got the waiter's attention---he proceeded to order an obscene amount of food off the "real menu," which wasn't printed. Two-dollar beers that tasted like barely fermented, yeasty water. We salivated. There was no coursing---in ten minutes plates started pounding the spinning tray at the center of the table and we fought among ourselves. Conch in a hallucinatory Sichuan oil, a nest of cold sesame noodles, a wild, red stew that Scott called ma po tofu, cold tripe ("Just eat it," Scott said, and I did), crackling duck, dry-sautéed green beans, skinny molten eggplants, cucumbers in scallion oil...
Stephanie Danler (Sweetbitter)
Eggplant, kale, spinach, carrots, broccoli, peas, Brussels sprouts, tomatoes, asparagus, bell peppers, zucchini, cauliflower, avocados, lettuce, beets, cucumbers, watercress, cabbage, among others, are all extremely healthy carbohydrate-containing foods.
Jason Fung (The Obesity Code: the bestselling guide to unlocking the secrets of weight loss)
Engaging in the physical world; learning how to build or make or do something in the physical world, where the results aren't negotiable; you can't claim that you did it if you didn't; you either summited, or the cake is edible, or the eggplant grew, or the table is made - whatever it is, doing something that is a physical manifestation in the world will create strength and ability. [And that physical experience is important because unless you have experience you may have inaccurate ideas about things.] Experience reveals your biases. And it reveals the holes in your thinking. And it informs you and enables you to become a much more complete and frankly, compassionate human being.
Heather E. Heying
Where shrimp and ham are thrown into vegetable preparations as afterthoughts, even a northern transplant familiar with obscurities like cushaw (a crookneck squash grown to obscene lengths and shapes) is bound to lose her way in the produce department. I first learned to eat from a midwestern plate upon which eggplant, shrimp, and ham never, ever touched. It was the 1970s. Vegetables were little punishments, prepared to look and taste like themselves and served in amounts guaranteed to make children strong.
Francis Lam (Cornbread Nation 7: The Best of Southern Food Writing)
Lima beans, watermelons, potatoes, eggplants, and cabbages are among the many other familiar crops whose wild ancestors were bitter or poisonous, and
Jared Diamond (Guns, Germs, and Steel)
Agnès was from Toulouse, in the south of France, so she knew a thing or two about sun-soaked veggies. She taught me how to sauté the onions until they turned translucent with a pale caramel around the edges. Then she added the slices of eggplant, but no more oil- because eggplant soaks up every liquid within reach. We served it over pasta; we were students, after all. Marie-Chantal brought out the fish. Or, rather, she brought out a solid white mountain with the fish hidden inside. She had baked the bass in a crust of coarse sea salt, which she cracked open at the table with a knife and a hammer. It was spectacular really, like serving baked Alaska for a main course.
Elizabeth Bard (Lunch in Paris: A Love Story, with Recipes)
The Whole30 is ideal to help normalize an overactive immune system, decreasing systemic inflammation and reducing or eliminating the symptoms of your autoimmune disease, chronic pain, or immune-related conditions (like Lyme disease). However, there are some Whole30 Approved foods that are healthy for most people, but might exacerbate your symptoms or fire up your immune system. The trouble is there isn’t just one list of foods that negatively impact all chronic diseases. You are a unique snowflake. That means foods that may be perfectly fine for someone else with your same condition may make your symptoms much worse, and vice-versa. This makes it incredibly hard to create one protocol that works well for everyone with an immune dysfunction. Eggs, tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, potatoes, instant coffee, nuts and seeds, beef, lamb, oranges, grapefruit, lemons, and limes . . . These are all foods that are either known to be commonly problematic for those with autoimmune conditions, or are common food sensitivities for those with increased gut permeability.
Melissa Urban (The Whole30: The 30-Day Guide to Total Health and Food Freedom)
Then there's the secret ingredient I added to the chargrilled eggplant puree- black garlic! I mixed all that together and added it to the fondue... ... giving the sauce a flavor so addicting you can't wait to stick the next bite into your mouth
Yuto Tsukuda (食戟のソーマ 32 [Shokugeki no Souma 32] (Food Wars: Shokugeki no Soma, #32))
We celebrated her freedom on Tuesday night with a visit to Opart Thai House, where I introduced her to the magic of brilliantly prepared Thai dishes for the first time. She really loved the appetizers, especially the Tiger Cry, a marinated grilled beef with a spicy dipping sauce, as well as the chicken and eggplant in oyster sauce, and pad kra praow, a ground-pork dish with basil and peppers, which felt almost familiar to her- it has a background that tastes a bit like crumbled Italian fennel sausage. She liked the pad Thai, which she thought her youngest would really enjoy, and was sure that Gio would at least get into the various satays and embrace the broccoli and beef.
Stacey Ballis (How to Change a Life)
Against an eggplant-purple backdrop shone a single bright star, blue as a sapphire, like a fleck of afternoon someone had forgotten to wipe away.
Tommy Wallach (We All Looked Up)
Dinner alone is one of life’s pleasures. Certainly cooking for oneself reveals man at his weirdest. People lie when you ask them what they eat when they are alone.
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Following the darkened, hushed corridor toward his mother's room, Dagou imagines a future menu for the night nurses. Winnie always said, "A little food never hurts." These nurses might like the basics: chicken and broccoli, shrimp with pea pods, garlic eggplant, and house special lo mein. (But for his mother he will concoct a special bone soup with a beaten egg white, seaweed for iron, and black wood ears for lowering the blood pressure.)
Lan Samantha Chang (The Family Chao)
Out of nowhere, her body began to buzz with awareness. Lena looked up. And spotted him. Duncan towered above most everyone else on Main Street. He walked at a steady pace, with a strong stride. He was about half a block from the water and headed right toward her. Lena slipped under the awning of Frankie’s Fish-n-Chips, pulled a bistro chair into the shade, and sat with her back against the restaurant’s cedar-shingled wall. Her heart was beating like crazy! What was she—eleven years old? She took a deep breath and told herself to calm down and blend in with the dozen or so tourists dining al fresco. She slumped in the chair and covered the lower part of her face with her shopping bag. A mother of two glared at Lena, moving her chair to act as a buffer between Lena and her offspring. Good grief! Since when did a woman with a tote full of eggplant look like a threat?
Susan Donovan (Moondance Beach (Bayberry Island, #3))
EGGPLANT ZAKUSKA APPETIZER Broil eggplants until soft and blackened. Scoop out flesh and mince finely. Sauté diced onion and red pepper in olive oil with tomato paste, then add vinegar and sugar, and season. Stir in minced eggplant, moisten with olive oil, lower the heat, and reduce until thickened and glossy. Chill and serve on buttered toast with chopped raw onions sprinkled on top.
Jason Matthews (Palace of Treason (Red Sparrow Trilogy #2))
My eyes widened at this jungle of freshness, the earth on the ground. The back wall, around thirty feet high, burst with terra-cotta pots filled with every herb imaginable- basil, thyme, coriander, parsley, oregano, dill, rosemary, and lavender. There were tomatoes of almost every variety beaming with colors of red, dark purple, yellow, and green. Lemon trees. Avocados. Lettuces, like roquette and feuille de chêne. Zucchinis and eggplants. Fennel, celeriac, artichokes, and cucumbers. Leeks, asparagus, cabbages, and shallots, oh my. I exhaled a happy breath. This explosion of color, this climate-controlled greenhouse, was every chef's idea of heaven. I ran my hands over the leaves of a cœur de bœuf tomato plant and brought my fingers to my nose, breathing in the grassy and fragrant aroma, an unmistakable scent no other plant shared. All of the smells from my summers in France surrounded me under one roof. As the recipes Grand-mère taught me when I was a child ran through my head, my heart pumped with happiness, a new vitality. I picked a Black Krim, which was actually colored a reddish purple with greenish brown shoulders, and bit into it. Sweet with just a hint of tartness. Exactly how I summed up my feelings.
Samantha Verant (The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux)
Sometimes, eating alone, you are humble. Sometimes, though, the reason to go through with cooking for yourself is the chance to brag about it afterward. When I talked to my ex-boyfriend on the phone, we would recount meals we had made for ourselves—see, I live pretty nice on my own.
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
The best are the extra-large fillets packed by Ortiz, which are not cheap. Another good packer is Agostino Recca from Sicily.
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Over the years I’ve settled on a few basic beliefs, one of which is that whatever we do for pleasure, we should try to do, or learn to do, and practice on occasion, in solitude. A kind of test to gauge our skills and see how deep the passion lies and to find out what it is we truly like, to discover—minus other tastes and preferences—what specifically gives us pleasure. We all have our eccentricities. Alone, we indulge.
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
roasted sliced eggplant and peppers, with anchovies, garlic, oregano, and olive oil.
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Why should it take courage, as I’m told it sometimes does, to treat oneself as generously as one would a guest?
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Never be daunted in public
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
When I cooked it for myself, I made sure to sit at the table, light candles, and have a really good book to read while I dawdled over my meal, eventually polishing off every lentil, every speck of carrot. It was a perfect way to leave the office behind, to say to the world, I am a grown-up. I don’t have any papers due. I didn’t bring any work home tonight. My evening is mine.
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
And before you know it, you have stopped thinking and started doing. Which, as you are starting to figure out, is the first step to making anything become real.
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Nanette raised her street sign. “Is that it? May I kill you now?” “No, no!” I said. “I am just, ah, letting Calypso sit so…so she can act as my chorus. A good Greek performance always needs a chorus.” Calypso’s hand looked like a crushed eggplant. Her ankle had swollen around the top of her sneaker. I didn’t see how she could stay conscious, much less act as a chorus, but she took a shaky breath and nodded. “Ready.” “Lo!” I said. “I arrived at Camp Half-Blood as Lester Papadopoulos!” “A pathetic mortal!” Calypso chorused. “Most worthless of teens!” I glared at her, but I didn’t dare stop my performance again. “I overcame many challenges with my companion, Meg McCaffrey!” “He means his master!” Calypso added. “A twelve-year-old girl! Behold her pathetic slave, Lester, most worthless of teens!” The policeman huffed impatiently. “We know all this. The emperor told us.” “Shh,” said Nanette. “Be polite.” I put my hand over my heart. “We secured the Grove of Dodona, an ancient Oracle, and thwarted the plans of Nero! But alas, Meg McCaffrey fled from me. Her evil stepfather had poisoned her mind!” “Poison!” Calypso cried. “Like the breath of Lester Papadopoulos, most worthless of teens!” I resisted the urge to push Calypso into the flower bed. Meanwhile, Leo was making his way toward the bulldozer under the guise of an interpretive dance routine, spinning and gasping and pantomiming my words. He looked like a hallucinating ballerina in boxer shorts, but the blemmyae politely got out of his way. “Lo!” I shouted. “From the Oracle of Dodona we received a prophecy—a limerick most terrible!” “Terrible!” Calypso chorused. “Like the skills of Lester, most worthless of teens.” “Vary your adjectives,” I grumbled, then continued for my audience: “We traveled west in search of another Oracle, along the way fighting many fearsome foes! The Cyclopes we brought low!” Leo jumped onto the running board of the bulldozer. He raised his staple gun dramatically, then stapled the bulldozer operator twice in the pectorals—right where his actual eyes would be. That could not have felt good—even for a tough species such as the blemmyae. The operator screamed and grabbed his chest. Leo kicked him out of the driver’s seat. The police officer yelled, “Hey!” “Wait!” I implored them. “Our friend is only giving you a dramatic interpretation of how we beat the Cyclopes. That’s totally allowed while telling a story!
Rick Riordan (The Dark Prophecy (The Trials of Apollo, #2))
I’ve watched the tape.” “Who hasn’t?” Vivi says from beside her. “Not that one. The one with Franny,” Alex says. “And Wilson.” “Alexandra,” my Aunt Allison says through clenched teeth. “What?” Alex looks around the room. “I wanted to see how long it was. It’s not like I sat there watching it frame by frame. I skimmed it.” She shrugs. “Twice.” “Dear God.” My uncle Max puts his hands on his hips and looks up at the ceiling. He pinches his nose and then looks at my aunt, who just shrugs. “I will say your body is banging.” She looks at me, and I can’t help but laugh. “And high-five on the eggplant. You did good.
Natasha Madison (Only One Love (Only One, #7))
He didn't know it, but America had a need for David Fairchild. The bare agricultural landscape at the beginning of his life would transform by its end into a colorful portrait: yellows from tropical nectarines and Chinese lemons, reds of blood oranges from Mongolia, greens from Central American avocados and grapes from the Caucasus, even purple from dates, raisins, and eggplants that sprouted first in the Middle East.
Daniel Stone (The Food Explorer: The True Adventures of the Globe-Trotting Botanist Who Transformed What America Eats)
In a biological sense, a fruit is the developed ovary of a plant (the vessel that holds the plant's eggs), and examining a fruit gives clues about its past struggles. Before humans, the red flesh of strawberries was a decoy for flyby nibbles from birds. Avocados appealed to elephant-like creatures called gomphotheres, which had intestines wide enough for the animals to swallow the fruit and excrete its hefty seed somewhere else. The day gomphotheres went extinct, thankfully no one told avocados. Nine thousand years passed before the Aztecs invented guacamole. As for what constitutes a fruit in 2018, sweetness has little to do with it. Tomatoes are fruits, but so are eggplants, peppers, and olives. Peanuts and almonds and walnuts are fruits. So are parts of the world's six top crops---wheat, corn, rice, barley, sorghum, and soy. Oftentimes, things that masquerade as vegetables, like pea pods, are definitely fruits. Which is not to cast shade at vegetables; they are, by definition, almost fruits. To botanists, vegetables are any other edible part of the plant that doesn't contain seeds. Roots, such as carrots, potatoes, and parsnips, are vegetables. Lettuces are seedless, so they're vegetables, too, as is garlic.
Daniel Stone (The Food Explorer: The True Adventures of the Globe-Trotting Botanist Who Transformed What America Eats)
Eggs and Nightshades You may improve your results by restricting eggs and nightshades, too. Egg whites contain proteins that can indirectly increase immune activity—a contributing factor in immune-mediated diseases. Nightshades are a group of plants that contain compounds that promote gut irritability, inflammation, joint pain and/or stiffness in sensitive individuals. Nightshades include potatoes (all varieties except sweet potatoes or yams), tomatoes, all sweet and hot peppers, eggplant, tomatillos, tamarios, pepinos, and spices like cayenne, chili powder, curry powder, paprika, pimento, and red pepper flakes. These two groups are the most commonly problematic in those with autoimmune conditions, chronic pain, and other immune-mediated medical conditions, so consider leaving these off your Whole30 if this is your context.
Melissa Urban (The Whole30: The 30-Day Guide to Total Health and Food Freedom)
At the house in Montclair, Daisy's mother had a quarter-acre patch in the backyard where she grew vegetables and flowers. From spring through summer and into the early fall, that was where she spent most of her free time, tilling the soil, planting and weeding and watering, hand-pollinating eggplants with a tiny paintbrush, or sprinkling ground-up bone meal on her roses and zinnias, to keep the ants away. Daisy would help her to put up the vegetables she'd harvested, turning cucumbers into pickles and tomatoes into marinara sauce.
Jennifer Weiner (That Summer)
Vegetables are one of the few foods that every diet philosophy agrees are healthy. That said, vegetables (particularly nonstarchy vegetables) tend to be high in insoluble fiber, which can irritate an inflamed gut. If you have irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), inflammatory bowel disease (IBD), or other digestive disorders, you may benefit from reducing your intake of vegetables that are high in insoluble fiber. These include: •  Greens (spinach, lettuce, kale, mesclun, collards, arugula, watercress, and so on) •  Whole peas, snow peas, snap peas, pea pods •  Green beans •  Kernel corn •  Bell peppers •  Eggplant •  Celery •  Onions, shallots, leeks, scallions, garlic •  Cabbage, bok choy, Brussels sprouts •  Broccoli •  Cauliflower However, vegetables that are higher in soluble fiber and lower in insoluble fiber tend to have a soothing effect on the gut. These include: •  Carrots •  Winter squash •  Summer squash (especially peeled) •  Starchy tubers (yams, sweet potatoes, potatoes) •  Turnips •  Rutabagas •  Parsnips •  Beets •  Plantains •  Taro •  Yuca
Chris Kresser (Your Personal Paleo Code: The 3-Step Plan to Lose Weight, Reverse Disease, and Stay Fit and Healthy for Life)
Be careful when scooping out cooked eggplant, not to pierce the skin
Jenny Allan (40 Top Paleo Recipes: Quick and Easy Paleo Diet Recipes for Weight Loss and Optimum Health)
And then there was his love affair with my best friend, perhaps the only woman he’d ever seen drink several glasses of bai-jiu and smoke a half-pack of cigarettes in a single seating. Each dish that night had a special presentation, a colorful ring of carrots about the twice-fried eggplant, a garland of thinly-sliced chilies haloing the garlicky green beans, a well-placed broccoli head in the fish’s open mouth. She smiled at him when he gave her one of his cigarettes, coyly lighting it with a subtle turn of the wrist, and after she took her first long drag, he motioned us up. Never to be repeated, he brought us back his narrow kitchen, a blackened wok bubbling over a powerful blue fire. Deftly splashing it with alcohol, he flipped the contents into the air and watched the flame dance across her eyes.
Megan Rich (Six Years of A Floating Life: A Memoir)
If somebody were to ask me what it means to me to be American, I'd respond, "It's like eating scrambled eggplant with a dozen 1969 moons sunny side up at noon." If they asked me to clarify, I'd respond, "It feels like I'm just one of 300 million empty stomachs.
Jarod Kintz (This Book is Not for Sale)
Nonetheless, spinach has remained a stranger to most American tables. American annual per capita consumption, only 0.4 pounds by 1977, increased to 1.3 pounds by 2002—lower than that of all other vegetables except artichokes, asparagus, and eggplant.
Andrew F. Smith (The Oxford Companion to American Food and Drink (Oxford Companions))
20 min. Cook Time: 1 hr Yield: 12 servings Ingredients: 2 1-lb. eggplants, cut into cubes 1-¾ t. plus ¾ t. salt, divided 2-½ lbs. peeled tomatoes or 1 28-oz can plus 1 14-oz can petite-diced tomatoes 5 cloves garlic, crushed and chopped ½ t. ground black pepper 1/3 c. fresh basil, chopped ¾ c. parsley,
Vanessa Green (Holiday Recipes with a French Twist: Delicious Recipes that are Great for any Occasion)
the eggplant to sit for 20 min. In a large saucepan, cook the tomatoes, garlic, black pepper, basil, and parsley, uncovered, over medium heat. In a large skillet, sauté the onions and bell peppers in a small amount of olive oil over medium-high heat for 10 min., stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are very lightly browned. Remove the skillet from the heat and transfer the browned vegetables to the tomato mixture. Pat the eggplant dry with a fresh paper towel and add it, along with the zucchini to the tomato mixture. Cover the pot and cook the stew over low-medium heat for 45 min., until the vegetables are tender. Add the white wine and ¾ t. salt and cook for an additional 5 min.
Vanessa Green (Holiday Recipes with a French Twist: Delicious Recipes that are Great for any Occasion)
Vegetables from the nightshade family They contain steroid alkaloids that can lead to increased inflammation, muscle spasm, pain and stiffness.   Alkaloids also interfere with new formation of cartilage and block it from repairing.  Nightshades includes: Tomatoes, Red, Green and Yellow Peppers (not black pepper), Hot Chillies, White Potatoes, Tobacco, Aubergines (eggplants) It is important to mention that edible vegetables in the nightshade family contain low levels experts state there are no studies confirming that the exclusion of nightshade vegetables from the diet improves arthritic symptoms.
Anne Pundak (Eat to Ease Osteoarthritis:: 5 simple steps to reduce pain naturally)
The incredible range of tastes, textures, and versatility of vegetables means there are choices for everyone, from eggplant sliced and baked with olive oil and meaty portobello mushrooms; to a Caprese salad of sliced tomatoes, mozzarella, fresh basil, and olive oil; to daikon radish and pickled ginger alongside fish. Extend your vegetable variety beyond your usual habits. Explore mushrooms such as shiitake and porcini. Adorn cooked dishes with alliums such as scallions, garlic, leeks, shallots, and chives. Vegetables shouldn’t just be for dinner; think about vegetables for any time of day, including breakfast.
William Davis (Wheat Belly: Lose the Wheat, Lose the Weight, and Find Your Path Back To Health)
Both of them had noses like spoiled eggplants. Both of them had two black eyes. Both of them had crusted blood on their lips. Neither one of them
Lee Child (The Affair (Jack Reacher, #16))
OMG girl, it was mental. Your whole body turned this like, really pretty eggplant color and then you just disappeared. One minute you're standing there in all your just-fucked glory, and the next you were gone!” She nodded at me like I had just pulled a rabbit from my ass … which I suppose I sort of had, in a magic show kind of way.
C.M. Stunich (Elements of Mischief (Hijinks Harem, #1))
The dark prince sat astride his black steed, his sable cape flowing behind him. A golden circlet bound his blond locks, his handsome face was cold with the rage of battle, and . . . “And his arm looked like an eggplant,” Clary muttered to herself in exasperation.
Cassandra Clare (City of Bones (The Mortal Instruments, #1))
Chicken and vegetable pakoras, chickpea fritters with delicate spices. Aloo samosas filled with spicy potatoes, peas, and cilantro, with a fiery green sauce. Goat curry. Tandoori chicken. Mutton biryani. White lentil dal with onions and spices, potatoes and eggplant fried with onions and tomatoes, and four kinds of bread, naan, tandoor roti, chapati, and paratha.
Stacey Ballis (Recipe for Disaster)
She made her aubergine napoleons, a beautifully layered dish of smoked mozzarella paired with a nutty, millet flour-coated, sautéed eggplant, finished lightly crispy on the outside and velvety smooth on the inside. She peeled her roasted peppers and laid them out with fresh balls of salty mozzarella, cherry tomatoes, fresh basil, and a sprinkle of balsamic vinaigrette. She broke out a mixture of ground beef, veal, and pork for the rosemary and garlic meatballs, fried up in a cast-iron skillet and set swimming in her red-gravy cauldron.
Brian O'Reilly (Angelina's Bachelors)
Yesterday, I baked a fresh eggplant in the oven with the skin on at 360 ° F for forty minutes. I didn’t do anything except put the eggplant in the oven and turn the oven on. Then I heated a frying pan and added a couple of cups of finely chopped onion, tossing and mixing them with a wooden spoon until they glistened and had a slight tan. I took out the cooked eggplant, sliced it in half, turned it skin-side up (meaty center down), and, using a dish towel, squeezed the skin off, leaving the soft cooked center on the plate. I mixed in the onions, added a tablespoon of Ceylon cinnamon, and it was done. (Sometimes I add some currants and chopped raw onion.)
Joel Fuhrman (The End of Dieting: How to Live for Life)
Hummus is a great dip and easy to make. All you have to do is blend some cooked, boxed, or canned chickpeas with unhulled sesame seeds, scallions, and roasted garlic. Check out the Roasted Eggplant Hummus.
Joel Fuhrman (The End of Dieting: How to Live for Life)
All raw vegetables—Not only are vegetables naturally low in calories, but when you eat them raw, more of the calories stay bound to the fiber and pass through your body without absorption. Even raw carrots are a weight-loss-friendly food. All green vegetables—If they are the color green, go for it. Green vegetables are not just low in caloric density, they are super high in micronutrient density too. Nonstarchy, nongreen cooked vegetables—Include tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, cauliflower, eggplant, and red peppers in your diet.
Joel Fuhrman (The End of Dieting: How to Live for Life)
Not in the mood, Universe,” I shouted. “If you have a message, text me. And no dick pics or eggplant emojis, either.
A.J. Aalto (Blightmare (The Marnie Baranuik Files #5))
In honor of Hunter's homecoming, Mrs. Rouillé had prepared his favorite meal: spit-roasted partridge garnished with lemon, accompanied by creamed eggplant, boiled artichokes, and a steamed macaroni pudding covered with butter and shaved cheese.
Lisa Kleypas (Stranger in My Arms)
Madame Escoffier," he said. In his white apron, he was again the man she loved. The gentle man who only spoke in whispers. "I am sorry," she said. "I am not." He leaned over and kissed her. His lips tasted of tomatoes, sharp and floral. The moment, filled with the heat of a reckless summer, brought her back to the gardens they had grown together in Paris in a private courtyard behind Le Petit Moulin Rouge. Sweet Roma tomatoes, grassy licorice tarragon, thin purple eggplants and small crisp beans thrived in a series of old wine barrels that sat in the tiny square. There were also violets and roses that the 'confiseur' would make into jellies or sugar to grace the top of the 'petit-fours glacés,' which were baked every evening while the coal of the brick ovens cooled down for the night. "No one grows vegetables in the city of Paris," she said, laughing, when Escoffier first showed her his hidden garden, "except for Escoffier." He picked a ripe tomato, bit into it and then held it to her lips. "Pomme d'amour, perhaps this was fruit of Eden." The tomato was so ripe and lush, so filled with heat it brought tears to her eyes and he kissed her. "You are becoming very good at being a chef's wife." "I love you," she said and finally meant it. 'Pommes d'amour.' The kitchen was now overflowing with them.
N.M. Kelby (White Truffles in Winter)
Acres of spice-covered almonds, blackberry and lavender honey, chocolate-covered cherries, their young saleswoman reaching forward with samples, her low-cut shirt selling more than fruit. The seafood shop, crabs lined up like a medieval armory, fish swimming through a sea of ice. Her ultimate goal was at the end of the aisle- a produce stand staffed by an elderly man who, some people joked, had been at the market since its beginning a hundred years before. George's offerings were the definition of freshness, corn kernels pillowing out of their husks, Japanese eggplant arranged like deep purple parentheses.
Erica Bauermeister (The Lost Art of Mixing)
By the time Lillian had turned twelve ears old, cooking had become her family. It had taught her lessons usually imparted by parents- economy from a limp head of celery left too long in the hydrator, perseverance from the whipping of heavy cream, the power of memories from oregano, whose flavor only grew stronger as it dried. Her love of new ingredients had brought her to Abuelita, the owner of the local Mexican grocery store, who introduced her to avocados and cilantro, and taught her the magic of matching ingredients with personalities to change a person's mood or a life. But the day when twelve-year-old Lillian had handed her mother an apple- fresh-picked from the orchard down the road on an afternoon when Indian summer gave over to autumn- and Lillian's mother had finally looked up from the book she was reading, food achieved a status for Lillian that was almost mystical. "Look how you've grown," Lillian's mother had said, and life had started all over again. There was conversation at dinner, someone else's hand on the brush as it ran through her hair at night. A trip to New York, where they had discovered a secret fondue restaurant, hidden behind wooden shutters during the day, open by candlelight at night. Excursions to farmers' markets and bakeries and a shop that made its own cheese, stretching and pulling the mozzarella like taffy. Finally, Lillian felt like she was cooking for a mother who was paying attention, and she played in an open field of pearl couscous and Thai basil, paella and spanakopita and eggplant Parmesan.
Erica Bauermeister (The Lost Art of Mixing)
By the time Lillian had turned twelve years old, cooking had become her family. It had taught her lessons usually imparted by parents- economy from a limp head of celery left too long in the hydrator, perseverance from the whipping of heavy cream, the power of memories from oregano, whose flavor only grew stronger as it dried. Her love of new ingredients had brought her to Abuelita, the owner of the local Mexican grocery store, who introduced her to avocados and cilantro, and taught her the magic of matching ingredients with personalities to change a person's mood or a life. But the day when twelve-year-old Lillian had handed her mother an apple- fresh-picked from the orchard down the road on an afternoon when Indian summer gave over to autumn- and Lillian's mother had finally looked up from the book she was reading, food achieved a status for Lillian that was almost mystical. "Look how you've grown," Lillian's mother had said, and life had started all over again. There was conversation at dinner, someone else's hand on the brush as it ran through her hair at night. A trip to New York, where they had discovered a secret fondue restaurant, hidden behind wooden shutters during the day, open by candlelight at night. Excursions to farmers' markets and bakeries and a shop that made its own cheese, stretching and pulling the mozzarella like taffy. Finally, Lillian felt like she was cooking for a mother who was paying attention, and she played in an open field of pearl couscous and Thai basil, paella and spanakopita and eggplant Parmesan.
Erica Bauermeister (The Lost Art of Mixing)
At only nine in the morning the kitchen was already pregnant to its capacity, every crevice and countertop overtaken by Marjan's gourmet creations. Marinating vegetables ('torshis' of mango, eggplant, and the regular seven-spice variety), packed to the briny brims of five-gallon see-through canisters, sat on the kitchen island. Large blue bowls were filled with salads (angelica lentil, tomato, cucumber and mint, and Persian fried chicken), 'dolmeh,' and dips (cheese and walnut, yogurt and cucumber, baba ghanoush, and spicy hummus), which, along with feta, Stilton, and cheddar cheeses, were covered and stacked in the enormous glass-door refrigerator. Opposite the refrigerator stood the colossal brick bread oven. Baking away in its domed belly was the last of the 'sangak' bread loaves, three feet long and counting, rising in golden crests and graced with scatterings of poppy and nigella seed. The rest of the bread (paper-thin 'lavash,' crusty 'barbari,' slabs of 'sangak' as well as the usual white sliced loaf) was already covered with comforting cheesecloth to keep the freshness in. And simmering on the stove, under Marjan's loving orders, was a small pot of white onion soup (not to be mistaken for the French variety, for this version boasts dried fenugreek leaves and pomegranate paste), the last pot of red lentil soup, and a larger pot of 'abgusht.' An extravaganza of lamb, split peas, and potatoes, 'abgusht' always reminded Marjan of early spring nights in Iran, when the cherry blossoms still shivered with late frosts and the piping samovars helped wash down the saffron and dried lime aftertaste with strong, black Darjeeling tea.
Marsha Mehran (Pomegranate Soup)
There wasn’t a hamburger or hot dog in sight at the family picnic. Trays of lasagna, eggplant parmigiana, swordfish, clams on the half shell, steamed mussels, calamari salads, veal rollatini, stuffed artichokes, and more covered the redwood picnic tables. The tuna casserole and noodle salad brought by the few cousins who had married non-Italians were politely put on a separate picnic table and went untouched.
Laurie Fabiano (Elizabeth Street)
LOW-HISTAMINE SUBSTITUTES Instead of . . . Choose . . . Refined sugar Maple sugar or maple syrup Vinegar-based salad dressing Olive oil with sea salt Cheese Macadamia-nut butter Wheat Rice, oats, or corn (yeast-free) Coffee Chamomile tea Alcohol Smoothies Pepper or chili Seasoning with sea salt and oregano, garlic, sage, or rosemary Wheat cereal Oatmeal with maple syrup Wheat pasta Brown-rice pasta or brown rice Processed milks that contain pesticides, carrageenan, and other additives Macadamia milk (in a blender, blend macadamia nuts or macadamia-nut butter with water; oat milk and rice milk are also healthful and low in histamine, provided they are free of preservatives, carrageenan, and other additives) Spinach or arugula Kale or other lettuces Eggplant Squash A candy bar A brown-rice cake with maple syrup and macadamia-nut butter Canned soups Fresh vegetable soup, made with filtered water, pureed vegetables, garlic, and salt
Doreen Virtue (Don't Let Anything Dull Your Sparkle: How to Break Free of Negativity and Drama)
We believed Harriet had been collected in 1835 by Charles Darwin himself. She was brought to Australia from England in 1841 by Captain Wickham aboard the HMS Beagle. Actually, three giant Galapagos tortoises had been donated to the Brisbane Botanic Gardens, after Darwin realized they did not flourish in England, where he had originally taken them in 1835. How could we determine whether Harriet was one of the Darwin Three? Scott Thomson found a giant tortoise in the collection of the Queensland Museum that had been mislabeled an Aldabran tortoise. Carved on the carapace was the animal’s name. “Tom,” and “1929.” We now had potentially found two of the three Darwin tortoises. Harriet and Tom had been seen together in living memory. The third tortoise was never found and was presumed buried somewhere in the botanic gardens. Harriet lived on. Steve and I became very excited at this news. Our studies and research into Harriet’s history continued for years, and it was amazing to learn what a special resident we had at the zoo. Despite her impressive background, Harriet remained attractively modest. She had a sweet personality like a little dog. She loved hibiscus flowers, and certain veggies were her favorites. Steve carried on a practice that his parents had implemented: Whatever you feed animals should be good enough for you to eat. Thus Harriet got the most beautiful mustard greens, kale, eggplant, zucchinis, and even roses. In return, Harriet gave zoo visitors a rare chance to watch her keepers cuddle and scratch one of the grandest creatures on earth. She was the oldest living chelonian and the only living creature to have met Charles Darwin and traveled aboard the Beagle. And she gave us all something else, too--a lesson in how to live a long life. Don’t worry too much. Take it easy. Stop and munch the flowers. It was a lesson Steve noted and understood but could never quite take to heart. He was a meteor. Harriet was more of a mountain. In this world, we need both.
Terri Irwin (Steve & Me)
Finally, an eggplant-purple van rounds the corner. It’s a Dodge Caravan, straight from 1999. Sparrow’s driving and going about seven miles per hour. He has no idea how many guys at the trailer park drove one of these suckers. All it needs is a light bar and a volunteer firefighter sticker across the back, and I’d swear we were standing on a dirt road in upstate New York. I
M.R. Pritchard (Nightingale Girl)
I weave through LA's famous Farmers Market, which is really more of an outdoor food court, and now I'm a few minutes late. And the place is packed and there's still the uncertainty about where to meet when I look down and realize I'm wearing yellow pants. Yellow pants. Really? Sometimes I don't know what I'm thinking. They're rolled at the cuff and paired with a navy polo and it looks like maybe I just yacht my yacht, and I'm certain to come off as an asshole. I thin about canceling, or at least delaying so I can go home and change, but the effort that would require is unappealing, and this date is mostly for distraction. And when I round the last stall--someone selling enormous eggplants, more round than oblong, I see him, casually leaning against a wall, and something inside my body says there you are. 'There you are.' I don't understand them, these words, because they seem too deep and too soulful to attach to the Farmers Market, this Starbucks or that, a frozen yogurt place, or confusion over where to meet a stranger. They're straining to define a feeling of stunning comfort that drips over me, as if a water balloon burst over my head on the hottest of summer days. My knees don't buckle, my heart doesn't skip, but I'm awash in the warmth of a valium-like hug. Except I haven't taken a Valium. Not since the night of Lily's death. Yet here is this warm hug that makes me feel safe with this person, this Byron the maybe-poet, and I want it to stop. This--whatever this feeling is--can't be a real feeling, this can't be a tangible connection. This is just a man leaning against a stall that sells giant eggplants. But I no longer have time to worry about what this feeling is, whether I should or shouldn't be her, or should or should't be wearing yellow pants, because there are only maybe three perfect seconds where I see him and he has yet to spot me. Three perfect seconds to enjoy the calm that has so long eluded me. 'There you are.' And then he casually lifts his head and turns my way and uses one foot to push himself off the wall he is leaning agains. We lock eyes and he smiles with recognition and there's a disarming kindness to his face and suddenly I'm standing in front of him. 'There you are.' It comes out of my mouth before I can stop it and it's all I can do to steer the words in a more playfully casual direction so he isn't saddled with the importance I've placed on them. I think it comes off okay, but, as I know from my time at sea, sometimes big ships turn slowly. Byron chuckles and gives a little pump of his fist. 'YES! IT'S! ALL! HAPPENING! FOR! US!' I want to stop in my tracks, but I'm already leaning in for a hug, and he comes the rest of the way, and the warm embrace of seeing him standing there is now an actual embrace, and it is no less sincere. He must feel me gripping him tightly, because he asks, 'Is everything okay?' No. 'Yes, everything is great, it's just...' I play it back in my head what he said, the way in which he said it, and the enthusiasm which only a month had gone silent. 'You reminded me of someone is all.' 'Hopefully in a good way.' I smile but it takes just a minute to speak. 'In the best possible way.' I don't break the hug first, but maybe at the same time, this is a step. jenny will be proud. I look in his eyes, which I expect to be brown like Lily's but instead are deep blue like the waters lapping calmly against the outboard sides of 'Fishful Thinking.' 'Is frozen yogurt okay?' 'Frozen yogurt is perfect.
Steven Rowley (Lily and the Octopus)
Often in the morning he drove a long hour or more to the markets in the city, there to behold what would determine the day’s special. With the crates of fresh selections snuggled into his station wagon, his thoughts on the ride back confronted the culinary equivalent of the writer’s blank page. Sometimes his head swirled with exciting ideas; other mornings he was in a panic upon returning with the same old eggplant and squash and zucchini and nothing but the dullness of the word ratatouille standing by to mock him.
Nancy Zafris (The Home Jar: Stories)
Most of the garden was devoted to the usual things- lettuces, onions, cabbage, and eggplant- ordinary ingredients for good, honest meals. But then there were the chef's other plants, the ones that made the cooks cross themselves and kiss their thumbnails whenever they were forced to handle them. Take love apples, to start with. Their poisonous reputation was as well known as that of hemlock, and the cooks protested loudly the day the chef put in his seedlings. What if their roots contaminated the onions? What if their fumes caused swoons or fits? What if the odd, tangy smell of their leaves attracted disgruntled ghosts from the nearby dungeons? It took repeated assurances, the installation of a wire enclosure, and the fact that nothing catastrophic followed their planting to keep the staff from uprooting the love apples behind the chef's back. Even so, one cook quit, and another developed a twitchy eye and started nipping at the cooking sherry. After the love apples, the chef put in beans- another rarity from the New World- and then potatoes. Once, he tried something he called maize, but the plants failed, so instead he bought sacks of dried maize from an unknown source. In a giant stone mortar, he ground the dried maize down to a coarse yellow meal from which he made one of his exotic specialties- polenta.
Elle Newmark (The Book of Unholy Mischief)
I was curious about the foreign foods I would come to know as chorizo, fire-roasted piquillo peppers, La Mancha saffron sealed in blue clay jars, Serrano ham, and pickled eggplant. That kitchen smelled like a cross between my maestro's kitchen and Borgia's. It had the clean airiness I was accustomed to, but a tang of briny olives and smoked meats flavored the air.
Elle Newmark (The Book of Unholy Mischief)
Most of the ingredients she cooked with came from the tiny farm immediately behind the restaurant. It was so small that the Pertinis could shout from one end of it to another, but the richness of the soil meant that it supported a wealth of vegetables, including tomatoes, zucchini, black cabbage, eggplant and several species that were unique to the region, including bitter friarielli and fragrant asfodelo. There was also a small black boar called Garibaldi, who despite his diminutive size impregnated his harem of four larger wives with extraordinary diligence; an ancient olive tree through which a couple of vines meandered; a chicken or two; and the Pertinis' pride and joy, Priscilla and Pupetta, the two water buffalo, who grazed on a patch of terraced pasture no bigger than a tennis court. The milk they produced was porcelain white, and after hours of work each day it produced just two or three mozzarelle, each one weighing around two pounds- but what mozzarelle: soft and faintly grassy, like the sweet steamy breath of the bufale themselves. As well as mozzarella, the buffalo milk was crafted into various other specialties. Ciliègine were small cherry-shaped balls for salads, while bocconcini were droplet-shaped, for wrapping in slices of soft prosciutto ham. Trecce, tresses, were woven into plaits, served with Amalfi lemons and tender sprouting broccoli. Mozzarella affumicata was lightly smoked and brown in color, while scamorza was smoked over a smoldering layer of pecan shells until it was as dark and rich as a cup of strong espresso. When there was surplus milk they even made a hard cheese, ricotta salata di bufala, which was salted and slightly fruity, perfect for grating over roasted vegetables. But the cheese the Pertinis were best known for was their burrata, a tiny sack of the finest, freshest mozzarella, filled with thick buffalo cream and wrapped in asphodel leaves.
Anthony Capella (The Wedding Officer: A Novel of Culinary Seduction)
The pizzas keep coming: parmigiana di melanzane, planks of eggplant mixed with tomato and Parmesan, roasted in the wood-fired oven until dense and sticky with flavor, then used to crown a pillow-soft disc of dough; la pinsa conciata, a poetic union of pork lard and fig jam and an ancient goat cheese once on the brink of extinction; calzone con scarola riccia, a featherweight shell of blistered impasto stuffed with wilted escarole and anchovy and a tickle of dried chili.
Matt Goulding (Pasta, Pane, Vino: Deep Travels Through Italy's Food Culture)
Gian Pero Frau, one of the most important characters in the supporting cast surrounding S'Apposentu, runs an experimental farm down the road from the restaurant. His vegetable garden looks like nature's version of a teenager's bedroom, a rebellious mess of branches and leaves and twisted barnyard wire. A low, droning buzz fills the air. "Sorry about the bugs," he says, a cartoonish cloud orbiting his head. But beneath the chaos a bloom of biodynamic order sprouts from the earth. He uses nothing but dirt and water and careful observation to sustain life here. Every leaf and branch has its place in this garden; nothing is random. Pockets of lettuce, cabbage, fennel, and flowers grow in dense clusters together; on the other end, summer squash, carrots, and eggplant do their leafy dance. "This garden is built on synergy. You plant four or five plants in a close space, and they support each other. It might take thirty or forty days instead of twenty to get it right, but the flavor is deeper." (There's a metaphor in here somewhere, about his new life Roberto is forging in the Sardinian countryside.) "He's my hero," says Roberto about Gian Piero. "He listens, quietly processes what I'm asking for, then brings it to life. Which doesn't happen in places like Siddi." Together, they're creating a new expression of Sardinian terreno, crossing genetic material, drying vegetables and legumes under a variety of conditions, and experimenting with harvesting times that give Roberto a whole new tool kit back in the kitchen. We stand in the center of the garden, crunching on celery and lettuce leaves, biting into zucchini and popping peas from their shells- an improvised salad, a biodynamic breakfast that tastes of some future slowly forming in the tangle of roots and leaves around us.
Matt Goulding (Pasta, Pane, Vino: Deep Travels Through Italy's Food Culture)
I ain't inspired any more, Sherm; there was this painting I saw in the museum in Amsterdam. It was called 'Christ Preaching in the House of Mary and Martha.' And the whole foreground of the picture, maybe three-fourths of the canvas, is a kitchen in one of them Dutch houses, and there's a cook plucking chickens. All around her there's dead rabbits, pheasants, turkeys, ducks, sides of beef, six kinds of fish, clams, oysters, potatoes, apples, eggplant, kohlrabi, rutabaga, carrots, Swiss chard, and God knows what else. Food, food, food. And where's Christ? Well, way back in a little alcove off the kitchen, there He is, with the women, preaching. Who cares about Him, when everyone wants to stuff their gut with rabbit and turkey? Who hears His sermon, when there's lots of roast duck and fried oysters?" "What in the world has that to do with our survey?" asked Wettlaufer. "Sherman, you and me and this survey and these people like Huguettte Roux and Willem Kruis--we're preaching way back in the corner to two people. But most of the world is in that kitchen drooling over those rabbits and geese!
Gerald Green (The Legion Of Noble Christians Or, The Sweeney Survey)
eggplants, kiwis, lotus fruit, and pomegranates. At the back of the store, behind a counter with an old-fashioned cash register, stood a middle
Rick Riordan (The Heroes of Olympus: Books I-III (The Heroes of Olympus, #1-3))
He's on to sashimi now, fanning and curling slices of snapper and fugu into white roses on his cutting board. Before Toshio can plate the slices, Shunichi reaches over and calmly replaces the serving plate his son has chosen with an Edo-era ceramic rectangle more to his liking. Three pieces of tempura- shrimp, eggplant, new onion- emerge hissing and golden from the black iron pot in the corner, and Toshio arranges them on small plates with wedges of Japanese lime. Before the tempura goes out, Shunichi sneaks in a few extra granules of salt while Toshio's not looking. By now Dad is shadowing his son's every move. As Toshio waves a thin plank of sea cucumber eggs over the charcoal fire, his dad leans gently over his shoulder. "Be careful. You don't want to cook it. You just want to release its aroma." Toshio places a fried silverfish spine on a craggy ceramic plate, tucks grated yuzu and sansho flowers into its ribs, then lays a sliver of the dried eggs over the top. The bones shatter like a potato chip, and the sea cucumber detonates in my mouth.
Matt Goulding (Rice, Noodle, Fish: Deep Travels Through Japan's Food Culture)
I went to bed early, believing that sleep would shorten the days until he arrived. But each night I woke around two o’clock, to stare at the ceiling and the thin line of light from the hallway under the door and the white curtains stirring in the sullen September air. Dining Alone, Mary Cantwell [from the book Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone]
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Then I sailed, rather than walked, out and if I had left a wake I wouldn’t be surprised. Mary Cantwell, Dining Alone [from the book Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone]
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Since then I’ve dined alone a lot because I’ve traveled a lot and wouldn’t think of incarcerating myself in a hotel room, captive to room service and fears I’ve read about but do not understand. Why should it take courage, as I’m told it sometimes does, to treat oneself as generously as one would a guest?
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
That was when I decided that my own walk-up flat, my own script-cluttered room with the let-down bed, was the place for me. “Never be daunted in public” was an early Hemingway phrase that had more than once bolstered me in my timid twenties. I changed it resolutely to “Never be daunted in private.” A Is for Dining Alone, M.F.K. Fisher
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
It’s not that I fancy my own company so much as I enjoy the company of complete strangers. I like the communal anonymity of watching people as they go about their lives, and a restaurant is a good place to do this. Out to Lunch, Colin Harrison
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
The best table in any restaurant, so far as I’m concerned, is in a corner next to a window. From that spot I can be entertained by the infinite variety of the street or the enclosed drama of the restaurant itself. There’s always a lot to see. Out to Lunch, Colin Harrison
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
But, and there was no cavil here, I felt firmly then, as I do this very minute, that snug misanthropic solitude is better than hit-or-miss congeniality. A Is for Dining Alone, M.F.K. Fisher
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
I still face a final, cold truth: eating alone isn’t natural. Life’s greatest sensual pleasure (or at least its most consistently attainable) should be shared. I happen to believe that humans were born to feed one another. The meal is our celebration of nurturance, our secular communion. Does this mean that I starve myself when I can’t find company? Not quite. What I do, though, is put off eating until I’m ravenous. I also deny myself the richest possibilities. I don’t throw that pat of butter into the pan (though I wish to). I scrimp on the smoked shrimp. It’s a little deal I make with myself, just in case someone shows up later. Then I sit down with my quesarito and a glass of sweet juice and, when I can bear the hunger no longer, I go to town. Que Será Sarito: An (Almost) Foolproof Plan to Never Ever Eat Alone Again, by Steve Almond
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
What does an introvert do when he’s left alone? He stays alone. —Jeremy Jackson, Beans and Me
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Eating alone is not nature’s way. Babies never eat alone. They can’t. Children don’t, unless they’re in tragic circumstances. Old people eat alone regularly and it’s dreadful. No wonder they lose their appetites. My theory (and I have several solo dinners behind me to back it up) is that to compose a happy character, and thus contribute to making the world a nice place to live in, you’ve either got to be fed (that is, by someone other than yourself who cares about you), which feels good and means that you’re part of something larger than yourself; or, you’ve got to be the person feeding (that is, other people—not just dogs!—that you care about). The Lonely Palate, Laura Calder
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
We were just turning to leave when she batted though the pantry door wearing an apron. “Come in!” she said. “I’ve just baked myself a birthday cake!” (The fact that she was turning ninety that day makes this all the more admirable.) The Lonely Palate, Laura Calder
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Epicurus said that we should look for someone to eat and drink with before looking for something to eat and drink. I agree: for society’s sake if not your own, never eat alone if you can avoid it. The Lonely Palate, Laura Calder
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
The instant noodles that I ate alone in Ithaca might have been identical to the instant noodles of my childhood, but the taste, so to speak, was entirely different. The reasons for this, of course, were obvious. My mother was not there. My sister was not there. Instant Noodles, Rattawut Lapcharoensa
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
I stuffed my face until I couldn’t eat another bite. I was full. I was empty. I was learning how to survive. Jami Attenburg, Protective Measures
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
The food barely filled me. I could have eaten forever, and I wouldn’t have felt a thing. Jami Attenburg, Protective Measures
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
It’s fine. I’m here with someone. Me. Jami Attenburg, Protective Measures
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Serving the single diner I feel like a voyeur, and also guilty if I wonder why he or she is alone. After all, why is anyone alone, finally? Erin Ergenbright, Table for One
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
July 25, 2019 0 Minutes I stuffed my face until I couldn’t eat another bite. I was full. I was empty. I was learning how to survive. Table for One, Erin Ergenbright
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
The food barely filled me. I could have eaten forever, and I wouldn’t have felt a thing. Protective Measures, Jami Attenburg
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
I truly believe that a meal is the culmination of an entire journey from birth to death to table; a journey that includes, and is colored by, every person involved—not least the person who eats it. Table for One, Erin Ergenbright
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
But in practice, eating alone feels wrong. I’m so accustomed to eating with people, and serving people who are eating with people, that the social aspect of it seems inextricable from any other step on that journey from farm to table. Without the shared appreciation, a meal might as well not exist, like a book with no one to read it except the author. Table for One, Erin Ergenbright
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Serving the single diner I feel like a voyeur, and also guilty if I wonder why he or she is alone. After all, why is anyone alone, finally? Table for One, Erin Ergenbright
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
There are people who bring books to restaurants, and who hide behind them, blind and deaf to everything beyond their pages. They hide behind menus, too, and order carelessly, and they never glance at the other diners. Maybe they’re afraid the glance will reveal a hunger that has nothing to do with food. Or maybe they are so ashamed of being companionless that they court invisibility. Dining Alone, Mary Cantwell [from the book Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone]
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
I went to bed early, believing that sleep would shorten the days until he arrived. But each night I woke around two o’clock, to stare at the ceiling and the thin line of light from the hallway under the door and the white curtains stirring in the sullen September air. Dining Alone, Mary Cantwell
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Then I sailed, rather than walked, out and if I had left a wake I wouldn’t be surprised.” — Mary Cantwell, Dining Alone
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Since then I’ve dined alone a lot because I’ve traveled a lot and wouldn’t think of incarcerating myself in a hotel room, captive to room service and fears I’ve read about but do not understand. Why should it take courage, as I’m told it sometimes does, to treat oneself as generously as one would a guest? Dining Alone, Mary Cantwell
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
It took me several years of such periods of being alone to learn how to care for myself, at least at table. I came to believe that since nobody else dared feed me as I wished to be fed, I must do it myself, and with as much aplomb as I could muster. A Is for Dining Alone, M.F.K. Fisher
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
Naturally there have been times when my self-made solitude has irked me. I have often eaten an egg and drunk a glass of jug-wine, surrounded deliberately with the trappings of busyness, in a hollow Hollywood flat near the studio where I was called a writer, and not been able to stifle my longing to be anywhere but there, in the company of any of a dozen predatory or ambitious or even kind people who had not invited me. That was the trouble: nobody did. A Is for Dining Alone, M.F.K Fisher
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)
In the deep sauté, she has made a stew: eggplant and tomatoes, onions and summer squash, a sort of ratatouille, tiella, samfina, pisto, there are as many names for it as countries, and she has stopped caring for all the names of things. She has made stew, and there are ripe peaches and cream for dessert, a few bottles of wine to choose from.
Ashley Warlick (The Arrangement)
Out of a can, yes. I mean, seriously, what did he think? I told him we were poor—my family, my mother’s family—I’m sorry, but isn’t it common knowledge that poor means canned, and canned means food in a poor family? And you’re damn glad to have it, too: that’s right. Now shut up and eat.
Jenni Ferrari-Adler (Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone)