Onion John Quotes

We kiss. Her hands are freezing on my face, and she tastes like coffee and the smell of the onion is still stuck in my nose, and my lips are all dry from the endless winter. And it's awesome.

This case is complex. It's got layers to it, Davey. It's a fucking onion... You're a natural-born onion peeler -- the best that ever was.

Hate?” Thorkel said, raising an eyebrow, onions stuck in his beard. “Hate does no one any good,” he shrugged. “Sometimes killing has to be done, but do not do it with hate in your heart. It will eat at you, like maggots laid beneath the skin.

So in our pride we ordered for breakfast an omelet, toast and coffee and what has just arrived is a tomato salad with onions, a dish of pickles, a big slice of watermelon and two bottles of cream soda.

So, it wasn’t until I was living in Mexico that I first started enjoying chocolate mousse. See, there was this restaurant called La Lorraine that became a favorite of ours when John and I were living in Mexico City in 1964–65. The restaurant was in a beautiful old colonial period house with a large courtyard, red tile floors, and a big black and white portrait of Charles de Gaulle on the wall. The proprietor was a hefty French woman with grey hair swept up in a bun. She always welcomed us warmly and called us mes enfants, “my children.” Her restaurant was very popular with the folks from the German and French embassies located nearby. She wasn’t too keen on the locals. I think she took to us because I practiced my French on her and you know how the French are about their language! At the end of each evening (yeah, we often closed the joint) madame was usually seated at the table next to the kitchen counting up the evening’s receipts. Across from her at the table sat a large French poodle, wearing a napkin bib and enjoying a bowl of onion soup. Ah, those were the days… Oh, and her mousse au chocolate was to DIE for!

This is the most common misconception about speechwriting. It came up especially often in the years before I started at the White House, when I wrote for CEOs. “You seem capable,” they would tell me, “but can you really find my voice?” “I think I can manage it,” I’d reply gravely. Left unsaid is that it would be easy, because when it comes to rhetorical styling, 99.9 percent of speeches sound the same. Martin Luther King had a voice. John F. Kennedy had a voice. With all due respect, you probably don’t. What you do have are thoughts. What you need, although you may not know it, is someone to organize them. A good writer can take your ten ideas and turn them into one coherent whole. Where you see two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, and onions on a sesame seed bun, a speechwriter sees a Big Mac.

Roasted Tomato Soup Serves 4-6 This soup is perfect for those cold winter nights when you want to relax with a comforting grilled cheese and tomato soup combo. The slow roasting of the tomatoes gives it tons of flavor. If you have a garden full of fresh tomatoes, feel free to use those instead of the canned variety. Stay away from fresh grocery store tomatoes in the winter, as they are usually flavorless and mealy and won’t give you the best results. This creamy soup also makes a luxurious starter for a dinner party or other occasion. 1 28 ounce can peeled whole tomatoes, drained 1/4 cup olive oil 1 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning 1/2 small red onion, chopped 2 cloves garlic, rough chopped 1/4 cup chicken broth 1/2 cup ricotta cheese 1/2 cup heavy cream Add the tomatoes, olive oil, herbs, and broth to your slow cooker pot. Cover and cook on low for about 6 hours, until the vegetables are soft. Use either a blender or immersion blender to puree the soup and transfer back to slow cooker. Add the ricotta and heavy cream and turn the cooker to warm if you can. Serve warm.

Flaking florentine rounds,' he whispered. 'Peaches in snow-cream.' 'No,' she murmured. 'No more.' 'Meat pies. Mutton balls topped with spinach and walnuts and cumin ground fine...' 'You have no cumin. Mister Fanshawe told me this morning.' 'We have no mutton either,' he said. 'Nor walnuts until next autumn.' The larders were less than half full, he knew. As Christmas drew near the stores sank lower. They would serve spiced cider in place of wine, John told the kitchen. Cold sallets of of sorrel, tarragon and thyme would follow hot ones of skirrets, beets and onions. They would dress lettuce leaves with cider vinegar, salt and oil and dip the endives in oil, mustard and beaten yolks.

A great flood of aromas swamped the noise, thick as soup and foaming with flavors: powdery sugars and crystallized fruit, dank slabs of beef and boiling cabbage, sweating onions and steaming beets. Fronts of fresh-baked bread rolled forward then sweeter cakes. Behind the whiffs of roasting capons and braising bacon came the great smoke-blackened ham which hung in the hearth. Fish was poaching somewhere in a savory liquor at once sweet and tart, its aromas braided in twirling spirals... The silphium, thought John. A moment later it was lost in the tangle of scents that rose from the other pots, pans and great steaming urns. The rich stew of smells and tastes reaching into his memory to haul up dishes and platters.

This isn’t going to cause problems with a boyfriend or anything, is it?” Shannon looked at him in surprise. Not because of the question itself, but because of the hesitancy she thought she heard in his voice. She turned her concentration back to beating the eggs. “No, no boyfriend.” “Do you date? Any chance this could be another boyfriend doing these things?” Shaking her head from side to side, she told him, “Nope.” Pouring the onions and other ingredients in the pan, she tried not to let her hands shake. John asking about her dating life was a little strange, because she had been imagining dating him for so long. “You do date, though?” She nodded her head, still not looking at him. “Of course I date.” “Why don’t you have a boyfriend, then?” he asked finally. Pouring the eggs into the pan, she paused, then turned to look at him directly. Her heart was almost pounding out of her chest as she debated what to tell him. From the first moment she’d seen him, backlit by the sunlight from the office window, she wanted to know more about him. Six freaking months she’d been mooning after an impossible need. What the hell. “I’m pretty picky in who I date, and I’m waiting for the right guy to ask me.

24. The Rutles, “Cheese and Onions” (1978) A legend to last a lunchtime. The Rutles were the perfect Beatle parody, starring Monty Python’s Eric Idle and the Bonzos’ Neil Innes in their classic mock-doc All You Need Is Cash, with scene-stealing turns by George Harrison, Mick Jagger, and Paul Simon. (Interviewer: “Did the Rutles influence you at all?” Simon: “No.” Interviewer: “Did they influence Art Garfunkel?” Simon: “Who?”) “Cheese and Onions” is a psychedelic ersatz Lennon piano ballad so gorgeous, it eventually got bootlegged as a purported Beatle rarity. Innes captures that tone of benignly befuddled pomposity—“I have always thought in the back of my mind / Cheese and onions”—along with the boyish vulnerability that makes it moving. Hell, he even chews gum exactly like John. The Beatles’ psychedelic phase has always been ripe for parody. Witness the 1967 single “The L.S. Bumble Bee,” by the genius Brit comedy duo Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, from Beyond the Fringe and the BBC series Not Only . . . ​But Also, starring John Lennon in a cameo as a men’s room attendant. “The L.S. Bumble Bee” sounds like the ultimate Pepper parody—“Freak out, baby, the Bee is coming!”—but it came out months before Pepper, as if the comedy team was reeling from Pet Sounds and wondering how the Beatles might respond. Cook and Moore are a secret presence in Pepper—when the audience laughs in the theme song, it’s taken from a live recording of Beyond the Fringe, produced by George Martin.

On this account I feel always, on a Saturday night, as though I also were released from some yoke of labour, had some wages to receive, and some luxury of repose to enjoy. For the sake, therefore, of witnessing, upon as large a scale as possible, a spectacle with which my sympathy was so entire, I used after, on Saturday nights, after I had taken opium, to wander forth, without much regarding the direction or the sistance, to all the markets, and other parts of London, to which the poor resort on a Saturday night, for laying out their wages. Many a family party, consisting of a man, his wife, and sometimes one or two of his children, have I listened to, as they stood consulting on their ways and means, or the strength of their exchequer, or the price of household articles. Gradually I became familiar with their wishes, their difficulties, and their opinions. Sometimes there might be heard murmers of discontent: but far oftener expressions on the countenance, or uttered in words, of patience, hope, and tranquillity. And taken generally, I must say, that, in this point at least, the poor are far more philosophic than the rich - that they show a more ready and cheerful submission to what they consider as irremediable evils, or irreparable losses. Whenever I saw occasion, or could do it without appearing to be intrusive, I joined their parties; and gave my opinion upon the matter in discussion, which, if not always judicious, was always received indulgently. If wages were a little higher, or expected to be so, or the quartern loaf a little lower, or it was reported that onions and butter were expected to fall, I was glad: yet, if the contrary were true, I drew from opium some means of consoling myself. For opium (like the bee, that extracts its materials indiscriminately from roses and from the soot of chimneys) can overrule all feelings into a compliance with the master key. Some of these rambles lead me to great distances: for an opium-eater is too happy to observe the motion of time.

The fruit of a healthy emotional life comes from recognizing and believing that the old corrupt emotional life has been done away with. If a process is involved, it is only a process of recognizing something that has already taken place. We are not “peeling the onion” so to speak, through an endless removal of layer after layer of sin. Let’s face the facts. The very core of that old man was rotten to the very center. The whole onion needed to be thrown away. Instead, you have to see the process of maturation and Christian growth as one of opening your Christmas presents! You’re not peeling back layers of garbage from 1982. You are plunging into the never-ending joy of discovery. Discovering the glorious gift that has been deposited within you.

These vegetables all have a glycemic index of less than 20 and should be your go-to veggies: Asparagus Bean sprouts Beet greens Broccoli Cabbages Cauliflowers Celery Cucumbers Endive Lettuces Mustard greens Radishes Spinach Swiss chard Watercress These vegetables have a glycemic index of 60 or less and can also be eaten frequently: Beets Brussels sprouts Chives Collards Dandelion leaves Eggplants Kale Kohlrabi Leeks Okra Onions Parsley Peas Peppers Pimento peppers Pumpkins Rutabagas String beans Turnips

The most popular Mediterranean tomato salad, found from Spain to Turkey, is a combination of roughly cut chunks of tomato tossed in a bowl with small pieces of sweet onion (a red salad onion will do nicely, although a specialty onion like the Vidalia is a special treat here), dressed with a good fruity olive oil and some freshly squeezed lemon (or lime) juice, and that grinding of pepper. This, too, should be put aside for an hour or so to let the flavors mingle … and salted only at the last moment.

The wife of one Onion of Roxbury died in great despair

Many years ago, one of my life coaches gave me a metaphor. She compared life’s passage to that of peeling an onion. We continue to remove layer after layer of that onion, revealing new challenges and new realms. Our conscious beliefs reside in layers like those of an onion. As we continue to watch our thoughts and practice self-awareness, we’ll uncover new self-limiting beliefs. As we reveal each limiting belief, we grow as Spiritual Artists, and our creative results deepen.

Among the Indian foods we commonly order are samosa (stuffed bread pocket), urid dal (bean curry), moong dal (lentil curry), pilao (a rice dish), chana masala (garbanzo beans), alu gobi (cauliflower), upma (wheat and vegetables), khichuri (lentils and rice), tel baigan (eggplant curry), and bhindi bhaji (okra and onions).

Popeyes Naked Sandwiches: At any Popeyes, you have the option to get your sandwich “naked,” which means no breading on your meat. 196 Long John Silver’s Side of Crumbs: A free box of batter parts that have fallen off the fish or chicken. It’s a great topping for salads. 197 Dunkin’ Donuts Turbo Hot Coffee: A coffee with an extra shot of espresso in it. 198 Burger King’s Frings: Can’t decide between fries and onion rings? Order the Frings and they’ll give you half and half. 199 McDonald’s Monster Mac: A Big Mac made with eight meat patties. 200 Onions and garlic are both foods that accelerate

I just run faster and hit the slowest of the lead boys. I wink and race by him. He smells like onions and he has big, wet circles in the pits of his shirt. He speeds up, but can only stay with me for a tenth of a mile before he drops back. Then it’s Nick. I cruise next to him. He’s some sort of running god, because he isn’t close to being winded. His stride is long, powerful, and quick. “Hi.” Why I said this, I do not know. He’s cute. Okay. I am a sucker for cute boys and he was nice to Issie. Plus, he has good hair and he isn’t as pale as most Maine males. He looks like he works in the sun, or at least has seen the sun once, maybe many weeks ago. Plus, life is all supposed to be about making love, not war. My dad listened to John Lennon; I know this stuff. “You’re fast,” he says, easy. No huffing. No puffing. No blowing the house down. “So are you.” We run together, keeping pace. The only one ahead of us is Ian, who is loping around the track as if it’s nothing. Nick shrugs at me while he runs, which is really something, because when I’m running full tilt it’s hard for me to speak, let alone break form to shrug. “You can go faster, can’t you?” I huff out. He just gives a little smile again and then his eyes shift into something cold, like gravestones with just the barest information about a life etched onto them. “Zara,” he whisper-says. I lean in closer to hear him. “What?” My voice is not a whisper. It matches the thudding beat of my heart, the bass of the music that blares out of the speakers. “Awesome job, new girl!” Devyn yells, clapping.

A simple dinner had been prepared. The first course comprised soup a la reine, chicken stew with oysters, fried tripe, and boiled cauliflower; the second course, a wholesome ragout of pig ears, macaroni pie, roast mutton, mushrooms, and cabbage in butter sauce; for dessert there would be jam tartlets and apple pie. Mrs. Tooley had enlisted the help of both Doris and Nancy and they had made a good start. The desserts were prepared, the stew set to simmer, the mutton already darkening to the spit. With an hour left to complete the rest, Agnes rose to the challenge, which she felt better equipped to handle than consorting with thief takers and street rogues. Turning first to the soup, she picked up a pot containing lean beef and a knuckle of veal, onions, carrots, celery, parsnips, leeks, and a little thyme, which had been simmering for most of the morning. She strained it through a muslin cloth, then thickened it with bread crumbs soaked in boiled cream, half a pound of ground almonds, and the yolks of six hard eggs. She licked her little finger thoughtfully and adjusted the seasoning, while issuing a barrage of further instructions to Doris. "Water on for the vegetables, then slice up the ears in strips; then baste the joint- careful, mind- so the fat don't catch on the fire." Cheeks glowing from steam and heat, Agnes wiped a damp hand across her brow, then began on the gravy, adding a pinch of mace and a glassful of claret as the French chef had taught her. She poured the gravy over the sliced ears. "Into the hot cupboard with this, Doris. And then get me the cabbage and cauliflower, please." She basted the mutton with a long-handled spoon, and fried the tripe in a deep pan of lard until it was brown and crisp. She set a pan of mushrooms alongside, and tossed the cabbage leaves in a pan of boiling water and the cauliflower in another. "More cream, Doris. Are the plates warmed?" she called, shaking the mushrooms while tasting the macaroni. "Vegetables need draining. Where are John and Philip?" Without waiting for a reply, she garnished the tripe with parsley and poured the soup into a large tureen.

If you pretend, that God rewarded Ahab or the Ninevites for worshipping their idols, you must prove that God is so far from being highly displeased with ido∣atry, as himself often declares, Deut. xxxii. 16, 17, 21,—26. Judges ii. 14. 2 Kings xvii. 10,—18. Psalm cvi. 19,—40 Jer. xviii. 7, 35, l. 38, &c.—that he is ready to accept and reward the worship of idols, devils, bulls, dogs, cats, saints, leeks, onions, consecrated wafers, &c. if men be sincere in it. Rare doctrine this, for a Presbyterian clergyman, of this enlightened age!

Failures are onions, peppers, olive oil, tomatoes, oregano, and other spices; without these, certainly you cannot make your favorite meal. In this line of logic, failures would be the necessary ingredients to make success deliciously tasty.

He tried to hide behind a bunch of feathers, but Nikulo stopped and glared at him. “Cowering already? You know you don’t have a chance of winning the Blood Dagger.”  The Blood Dagger competition. Talis thought of the sparring competition held once a year and froze, realizing he’d forgotten all about it. Wasn’t it only a few days away? With Mara injured, they had already moved the date, but Talis knew that House Lei and House Storm would never allow Talis and Mara to forfeit to the likes of Nikulo and Rikar, his sparring partner. Claiming rights to hold the Blood Dagger for a year meant far too much to the royal houses, especially since their house had lost claim to the victor’s rights over the last few years. Nikulo’s coffee-brown eyes sparkled as if he were eager to tell a new joke. He waddled close to Talis, holding a porcelain jar in one hand. He yanked up silk pants that kept falling below his protruding belly. He scratched his curly hair and released a smoky fart, blowing the fumes in Talis' direction. Talis coughed, retreating quickly. Nikulo never should have swallowed that last potion he concocted. All his farts smelled like sulfur and spoiled onions.  “Thanks for that, just what I needed.” Talis rubbed his stinging eyes. “What are you doing slumming in Fiskar’s Market? Finding more noxious ingredients for your potions?” Nikulo moved the jar away from Talis. “No… nothing of the sort.” He frowned and pursed his lips. “Why are you holding a feather?” “It’s

Around the little fires where communal stew bubbled there was all manner of talk and only the personal was unmentionable. Adam heard of the development of the I.W.W. with its angry angels. He listened to philosophic discussions, to metaphysics, to esthetics, to impersonal experience. His companions for the night might be a murderer, an unfrocked priest or one who had unfrocked himself, a professor forced from his warm berth by a dull faculty, a lone driven man running from memory, a fallen archangel and a devil in training, and each contributed bits of thought to the fire as each contributed carrots and potatoes and onions and meat to the stew.

Why southerners are so sugar-fixated may be a mystery, but it is an indisputable fact. We are a breed who makes marmalades of zucchini, tomatoes, onions, and even watermelon rinds.

Albany was, as Onions would have said, the ‘swankiest’ address a single man about town could have. A beautiful, exclusive apartment building on the north side of Piccadilly. It was an address that would have suited such as Lord Peter Wimsey or Albert Campion,

5 × 5 × 5 Daily Worksheet—Preferred Foods List Choose one item from each defense category to eat each day. Defense: Angiogenesis Antiangiogenic Almonds Anchovies Apple peel Apples (Granny Smith, Red Delicious, Reinette) Apricot Arctic char Arugula Bamboo shoots Barley Beer Belgian endive Bigeye tuna Black bass Black beans Black plums Black raspberries Black tea Blackberries Blueberries Blueberries (dried) Bluefin tuna Bluefish Bok choy Bottarga Broccoli Broccoli rabe Cabbage Camembert cheese Capers Carrots Cashews Cauliflower Caviar (sturgeon) Chamomile tea Cherries Cherries (dried) Cherry tomatoes Chestnuts Chia seeds Chicken (dark meat) Chile peppers Cinnamon Cloudy apple cider Cockles (clam) Coffee Cranberries Cranberries (dried) Dark chocolate Eastern oysters Edam cheese Eggplant Emmenthal cheese Escarole Fiddleheads Fish roe (salmon) Flax seeds Frisee Ginseng Gouda cheese Gray mullet Green tea Guava Hake Halibut Jamón iberico de bellota Jarlsberg cheese Jasmine green tea John Dory (fish) Kale Kimchi Kiwifruit Licorice root Lychee Macadamia nuts Mackerel Mangoes Manila clams Mediterranean sea bass Muenster cheese Navy beans Nectarine Olive oil (EVOO) Onions Oolong tea Oregano Pacific oysters Peaches Pecans Peppermint Pine nuts Pink grapefruit Pistachios Plums Pomegranates Pompano Proscuitto di Parma Pumpkin seeds Puntarelle Radicchio Rainbow trout Raspberries Red black-skin tomatoes Redfish Red-leaf lettuce Red mullet Red wine (Cabernet, Cabernet Franc, Petit Verdot) Romanesco Rosemary Rutabaga Salmon San Marzano tomatoes Sardine Sauerkraut Sea bream Sea cucumber Sencha green tea Sesame seeds Soy Spiny lobster Squash blossoms Squid ink Stilton cheese Strawberries Sultana raisins Sunflower seeds Swordfish Tangerine tomatoes Tardivo di Treviso Tieguanyin green tea Tuna Turmeric Turnips Walnuts Watermelon Yellowtail (fish)

Defense: Regeneration Anchovies Apple peel Apples (Granny Smith, Red Delicious, Reinette) Apricots Arctic char Bamboo shoots Barley Beer Belgian endive Bigeye tuna Bitter melon Black bass Black chokeberry Black plums Black raspberries Black tea Blackberries Blueberries Blueberries (dried) Bluefin tuna Bluefish Bottarga Capers Carrots Caviar (sturgeon) Celery Chamomile tea Cherries Cherries (dried) Chestnuts Chia seeds Chile peppers Chinese celery Cockles (clam) Coffee Collard greens Concord grape juice Cranberries Cranberries (dried) Dark chocolate Eastern oysters Eggplant Escarole Fiddleheads Fish roe (salmon) Flax seeds Frisee Ginseng Goji berries Grapes Gray mullet Green beans Green tea Hake Halibut John Dory (fish) Kale Kiwifruit Lychee Mackerel Mangoes Manila clams Mediterranean sea bass Mustard greens Nectarines Olive oil (EVOO) Onions Oregano Pacific oysters Peaches Peanuts Peppermint Persimmon Pistachios Plums Pomegranates Pompano (fish) Pumpkin seeds Puntarelle Purple potatoes Radicchio Rainbow trout Raspberries Razor clams Red-leaf lettuce Red mullet Red wine (Cabernet, Cabernet Franc, Petit Verdot) Redfish Rice bran Rosemary Saffron Salmon Sardine Sea bass Sea bream Sea cucumber Sesame seeds Soy Spinach Spiny lobster Squash blossoms Squid ink Strawberries Sultana raisins Sunflower seeds Swiss chard Swordfish Tardivo di Treviso Thyme Truffles Tuna Turmeric Walnuts Wasabi Watercress Whole grains Yellowtail (fish)

The fact is, I’m scared of relinquishing my identity. But surely anxiety about losing my identity doesn’t make sense: I’ve already experienced what that feels like. Shaking off all the layers of self that I’d accumulated in my lifetime, like the layers of an onion, was a necessary step to passing through the doorway into the Light. All that was left was a name that no longer belonged to me and I’d shrugged that off too. So why should I feel anxious now? Isn’t this what I crave? To get closer to the state I was in inside the Light. Or was losing my ego actually a traumatic experience? Seventeen years spent constructing my identity and when I relinquished it, I was left only with the knowledge of how flimsy and insubstantial it all is. The scaffolding we build for ourselves is rickety, it has no foundation and it’s so easily demolished. Is that why I felt like an alien when I came back to earth? Or why, finding myself surrounded by crowds in the high street, I’d felt as fragile as a moth? Or why I suffered panic attacks in the lecture theatre packed full of other students? I can see a pattern again. I suppose it can’t be healthy in this life to abandon your identity all in one go as I’d been forced to, flying towards the doorway of Light. There are reasons we all spend years insulating ourselves from each other in the first place: survival. Some people grow thicker and thicker layers of shell simply to stop others getting through. I’m trying to do the opposite: to remain open.

Blue Mosque Goat’s Cheese Tart SERVES 2 READY IN 25 MINUTES My goat’s cheese tart is a twist on the classic Turkish snack borek. I have made one large tart instead of fiddly individual portions, and stuffed it with chilli, spring onions, olives, walnuts, tarragon, goat’s cheese and paprika.

How best to state his case. In a game of stakes and odds, Onions held a full corpse to his one arm – he didn’t even have a pair.

The thing about songwriting,” John Dogg was saying to someone, “is that you can address things obliquely, but no matter. You can’t get away from the content that is the essence of the form. All songs are about unrequited love.” “Except ‘Green Onions,’ ” Ronnie said. “Which isn’t about love at all.

PROTEIN SOUP This soup is very easy to digest and can be eaten all year long. You could live on it alone for quite some time if need be. I recommend it especially for anyone with digestive difficulties like gas, malabsorption of food, or chronic fatigue. This soup makes a great medicine to rebuild the body without digestive difficulties, and so is ideal for babies, women after giving birth, the elderly, or anyone in a weakened condition. Spicing beans with onions, hing (asafetida), cumin, fennel, cayenne, salt, pepper, and cardamom helps produce less gas. INGREDIENTS 1 cup split yellow mung beans 2 cups white basmati rice 1 inch fresh gingerroot, chopped 1 small handful fresh cilantro leaves, chopped 2 tbs. ghee (clarified butter) 1 tsp. turmeric 1 tsp. coriander powder 1 tsp. cumin powder 1 tsp. whole cumin seeds 1 tsp. mustard seeds 1 tsp. kosher or rock salt* 1 pinch hing (asafoetida) 7–10 cups water *Bragg Liquid Aminos can be added after cooking for flavor or to replace salt. Wash beans and rice together until water runs clear. In a large pot on medium heat mix ghee, mustard seeds, turmeric, hing, ginger, cumin seeds, cumin powder, and coriander powder, and stir together for a few minutes. Add rice and beans and stir again. Add the water and salt and bring to a boil. Boil for 10 minutes. Turn heat to low, cover pot, and continue to cook until rice and beans become soft (about 30–40 minutes). Add the cilantro leaves just before serving.

And there were also some terrible accidents. Charles Mackay, in Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds, his classic book on speculation (and other departures from reason), tells gleefully a story first told in Blainville’s Travels, that of a young sailor who, for bringing word of a shipment of goods from the Levant, was rewarded by a merchant with a fine red herring for his breakfast. Presently the merchant, who was much involved in the tulip speculation, found missing a bulb of a Semper Augustus worth some 3,000 florins, an unimaginable $25,000 to $50,000 today. When he sought out the sailor to question him, the latter was discovered contentedly finishing the onion, as he had supposed it to be, along with the fish.