Raspberry Tea Quotes

What kind of tea do you want?" "There´s more than one kind of tea?...What do you have?" "Let´s see... Blueberry, Raspberry, Ginseng, Sleepytime, Green Tea, Green Tea with Lemon, Green Tea with Lemon and Honey, Liver Disaster, Ginger with Honey, Ginger Without Honey, Vanilla Almond, White Truffle Coconut, Chamomile, Blueberry Chamomile, Decaf Vanilla Walnut, Constant Comment and Earl Grey." -"I.. Uh...What are you having?... Did you make some of those up?

A lie is when you say something happened which didn't happen. But there is only ever one thing which happened at a particular time and a particular place. And there are an infinite number of things which didn't happen at that time and that place. And if I think about something which didn't happen I start thinking about all the other things which didn't happen. For example, this morning for breakfast I had Ready Brek and some hot raspberry milkshake. But if I say that I actually had Shreddies and a mug of tea I start thinking about Coco-Pops and lemonade and Porridge and Dr Pepper and how I wasn't eating my breakfast in Egypt and there wasn't a rhinoceros in the room and Father wasn't wearing a diving suit and so on and even writing this makes me feel shaky and scared, like I do when I'm standing on the top of a very tall building and there are thousands of houses and cars and people below me and my head is so full of all these things that I'm afraid that I'm going to forget to stand up straight and hang onto the rail and I'm going to fall over and be killed. This is another reason why I don't like proper novels, because they are lies about things which didn't happen and they make me feel shaky and scared. And this is why everything I have written here is true.

He loved three things in this life: Vespers, white peacocks, And old maps of America, Didn't love children crying, Raspberries with tea, Or feminine hysteria ...And I was his wife.

We lived for honey. We swallowed a spoonful in the morning to wake us up and one at night to put us to sleep. We took it with every meal to calm the mind, give us stamina, and prevent fatal disease. We swabbed ourselves in it to disinfect cuts or heal chapped lips. It went in our baths, our skin cream, our raspberry tea and biscuits. Nothing was safe from honey...honey was the ambrosia of the gods and the shampoo of the goddesses.

Maroc Metz—as usual in his tailcoat, rimless glasses, gloved hands, and neatly brushed black hair—welcomes the Mesmerizer with boiling-hot tea—Earl Grey, raspberry flavor. He drinks a third of it in one gulp, its heat boosting his prana. The boiling-hot tea doesn’t make him blink away from the Devil’s Book.

He loved three things alone: White peacocks, evensong, old maps of America. He hated children crying, and raspberry jam with his tea, and womanish hysteria. ...And then he married me. 1911

Three things in this world he loved: Evensong, white peacocks And worn maps of America. He didn't like crying children, Tea with raspberry jam Or hysterical women. And I was his wife.

Our life settled into a pulse, a heartbeat, a collection of breaths. In the silence between them, I memorized the cadence of Max's barefoot steps padding down the hallways at night, the way one single muscle in his throat twitched when he was stressed, the whisper of a laugh that always followed one of my quips (however unfunny). I learned that one side of his smile aways started first - the left side, a fraction of a second before the right - and that he loved ginger tea above all else and the list of things he wasn't made for. And, in turn, he quietly memorized me, too. I knew he did, because one day I realized he had long ago stopped asking me how I took my tea and we mysteriously always had a never-ending stock of raspberries, even though I knew he didn't like them.

When it’s that time of the month, try natural remedies to ease your discomfort. For example, drinking raspberry tea eases cramps, and chamomile tea relaxes you. Essential oils, herbal teas, and elevating your legs while lying down are time-proven solutions. A heating pad and sprinkling lavender oil around the room works wonders, too. Get plenty of rest and relax. As my grandmother would say to me, “This too shall pass,” and it always does.

Mr. Roddis: [Outraged at the presence of two apparent burglars (actually his in-laws) having tea in his suburban home] - And they've opened a pot of my raspberry jam." Uncle Fred: [Architect of the above missunderstanding] Ah, then you will be able to catch them red-handed. I should fetch a policman.

The strangest request I have encountered was that of a first-time mother who—just before pushing—asked her husband for a jar of peanut butter and proceeded to eat two heaping table-spoonfuls. She then washed the peanut butter down with nearly a quart of raspberry leaf tea and pushed her baby out. I was impressed.

Lindsey There is the usual hive of activity in the Brannon household this morning. Mrs Brannon is busy making breakfast for her daughter, Lindsey, making it just as she likes it: two slices of toast with home-made raspberry jam, a hard-boiled egg, shell peeled and the egg cut into slices, a cup of fresh Earl Grey tea with one brown sugar and a touch of milk, with a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice on the side – oranges bought from the greengrocer down the road. The same breakfast she has lovingly made for her daughter for over forty years.

Would her mother have taken her into the rose garden and taught her all of the names, would she have plucked a blossom and placed it in her daughter's hair? Would she have made rose hip tea for her daughter? Would she have made raspberry leaf tea for Belle when she first began to have her monthly blood? 'So that thirteen-year-old me wouldn't have had to research the possible balms and soothing medicines for it by myself?

Anti-Chlorine/Anti-Fluoride Tea For a powerful detox of chlorine and fluoride from your organs and the rest of your body, blend equal parts of blackberry leaf, raspberry leaf, hibiscus flower, and rose hips. Steep one tablespoon of this herb mixture per cup of hot water for tea.

They were happier now than they would ever be again. A tenpenny tea set made Cam happy for days. She heard them stamping and crowing on the floor above her head the moment they woke. They came bustling along the passage. Then the door sprang open and in they came, fresh as roses, staring, wide awake, as if this coming into the dining-room after was a positive event to them, and so on, with one thing after another, all day long, until she went up to say good-night to them, and found them netted in their cots like birds among cherries and raspberries, still making up stories about some little bit of rubbish-–something they heard, something they had picked up in the garden. They had all their little treasures. . . And so she went down and said to her husband, Why must they grow up and lose it all? Never will they be so happy again. And he was angry. Why take such a gloomy view of life? he said. It is not sensible. For it was odd; and he believed it to be true; that with all his gloom and desperation he was happier, more hopeful on the whole, than she was. Less exposed to human worries––perhaps that was it. He had always his work to fall back on.

So good to meet another- what do you say, 'foodie'? And I was just buying jam." He holds up a single jar of raspberry jam the color of rubies. It is the same jam Mama would buy for us when we stayed in France, the texture runny, little lumps of berries soft on the tongue, tiny seeds sticking between teeth.

It’s nearly nightfall, the vast evening sky as resplendent and intricate as that quilt hanging from the wooden knob on the side of Grandma’s dresser. This sky is like the work of a seamstress, sown tangerine-orange, raspberry-pink, and dappled with cream-white clouds for an extra touch, the finished product so lush and vibrant that I could gape at it for hours.

My wife and I had called on Miss Stein, and she and the friend who lived with her had been very cordial and friendly and we had loved the big studio with the great paintings. I t was like one of the best rooms in the finest museum except there was a big fireplace and it was warm and comfortable and they gave you good things to eat and tea and natural distilled liqueurs made from purple plums, yellow plums or wild raspberries. Miss Stein was very big but not tall and was heavily built like a peasant woman. She had beautiful eyes and a strong German-Jewish face that also could have been Friulano and she reminded me of a northern I talian peasant woman with her clothes, her mobile face and her lovely, thick, alive immigrant hair which she wore put up in the same way she had probably worn it in college. She talked all the time and at first it was about people and places. Her companion had a very pleasant voice, was small, very dark, with her hair cut like Joan of Arc in the Boutet de Monvel illustrations and had a very hooked nose. She was working on a piece of needlepoint when we first met them and she worked on this and saw to the food and drink and talked to my wife. She made one conversation and listened to two and often interrupted the one she was not making. Afterwards she explained to me that she always talked to the wives. The wives, my wife and I felt, were tolerated. But we liked Miss Stein and her friend, although the friend was frightening. The paintings and the cakes and the eau-de-vie were truly wonderful. They seemed to like us too and treated us as though we were very good, well-mannered and promising children and I felt that they forgave us for being in love and being married - time would fix that - and when my wife invited them to tea, they accepted.

A lie is when you say something happened which didn’t happen. But there is only ever one thing which happened at a particular time and a particular place. And there are an infinite number of things which didn’t happen at that time and that place. And if I think about something which didn’t happen I start thinking about all the other things which didn’t happen. For example, this morning for breakfast I had Ready Brek and some hot raspberry milk shake. But if I say that I actually had Shreddies and a mug of tea*3 I start thinking about Coco Pops and lemonade and porridge and Dr Pepper and how I wasn’t eating my breakfast in Egypt and there wasn’t a rhinoceros in the room and Father wasn’t wearing a diving suit and so on and even writing this makes me feel shaky and scared, like I do when I’m standing on the top of a very tall building and there are thousands of houses and cars and people below me and my head is so full of all these things that I’m afraid that I’m going to forget to stand up straight and hang on to the rail and I’m going to fall over and be killed.

Wine talks; ask anyone. The oracle at the street corner; the uninvited guest at the wedding feast; the holy fool. It ventriloquizes. It has a million voices. It unleashes the tongue, teasing out secrets you never meant to tell, secrets you never knew. It shouts, rants, whispers. It speaks of great plans, tragic loves and terrible betrayals. It screams with laughter. It chuckles softly to itself. It weeps in front of its own reflection. It revives summers long past and memories best forgotten. Every bottle a whiff of other times, other places, every one- from the commonest Liebfraumilch to the imperious Vueve Clicquot- a humble miracle. Everyday magic, Joe had called it. The transformation of base matter into the stuff of dreams. Layman's alchemy. Take these six in Jay's cellar, for instance. The Specials. Not wines really meant for keeping, but he kept them all the same. For nostalgia's sake. For a special, yet-to-be-imagined occasion. Six bottles, each with its own small handwritten label and sealed with candle wax. Each had a cord of a different color knotted around its neck; raspberry red, elderflower green, blackberry blue, rose hip yellow, damson black. The last bottle was tied with a brown cord. Specials '75, said the label, the familiar writing faded to the color of old tea.

Scents of raspberry and apricot teased her nose. With a deft hand, she nestled each silky delicacy with care into a cardboard box. Celina had grown up with the aroma of chocolate wafting through her home. As a young woman, her mother had studied at a chocolaterie in Paris before the war, and she had taught Celina how to make handcrafted praliné or truffles, the molded or rounded chocolates filled with delectable centers, such as caramelized nut paste of noisettes or amandes. For her, Celina often chose apricot, cherry, salted caramel, cream liqueurs- or any other filling that might catch her fancy. Lately, she had been experimenting with the delicate flavor of green tea she'd found in San Francisco's Chinatown.

My wife and I had called on Miss Stein, and she and the friend who lived with her had been very cordial and friendly and we had loved the big studio with the great paintings. It was like one of the best rooms in the finest museum except there was a big fireplace and it was warm and comfortable and they gave you good things to eat and tea and natural distilled liqueurs made from purple plums, yellow plums or wild raspberries. These were fragrant, colorless alcohols served from cut-glass carafes in small glasses and whether they were quetsche, mirabelle or framboise they all tasted like the fruits they came from, converted into a controlled fire on your tongue that warmed you and loosened your tongue. Miss Stein was very big but not tall and was heavily built like a peasant woman. She had beautiful eyes and a strong German-Jewish face that also could have been Friulano and she reminded me of a northern Italian peasant woman with her clothes, her mobile face and her lovely, thick, alive immigrant hair which she wore put up in the same way she had probably worn it in college. She talked all the time and at first it was about people and places.

To prevent the growth and spread of cancerous cells in your body, consume more of these foods and drinks: apples, artichokes, blueberries, bok choy, broccoli, green tea, kale, lemons, mushrooms, raspberries, red grapes, red wine, salmon, strawberries, and tomatoes. Also consider eating ingredients commonly used for flavor that have cancer-fighting potential: cinnamon, garlic, nutmeg, parsley, and turmeric.

The small pergola that Michael had built was covered in loops of jasmine, and Lara's flower beds were blazing with color. Blowsy white peonies, dusky purple irises with golden stripes, pale orange poppies with sooty centers. The first tea roses of the year were budding. Elinas, pink petals tipped with crimson, and the ivory Jeanne Moreaus that smelled faintly of lemons. Lara wanted to pick one and put it on the breakfast tray, but Michael hated cut flowers. She went back inside and began to set the tray. Her mother's blue Venetian glass dish filled with raspberries. Orange juice in a white jug. A honey pot with a wooden dipper. Sunshine streamed in through the window, warming the terra-cotta tiles beneath her bare feet. She could not have cut flowers in the house so she had pictures of them instead. Two huge framed Georgia O'Keefe poppy prints. An apron with a pattern of climbing roses. A wooden clock that Phil had given her with a pendulum in the shape of a red rose.

A long time ago, I collected the flower petals stained with my first blood; I thought there was something significant about that, there was importance in all the little moments of experience, because when you live forever, the first times matter. The first time you bleed, first time you cry — I don’t remember that — first time you see your wings, because new things defile you, purity chips away. your purity. nestled flowers in your belly, waiting to be picked. do you want innocence back? small and young smiles that make your eyes squint and cheeks flare the feeling of your face dripping down onto the grass, the painted walls you tore down, the roads you chipped away, they’ll eat away at you, the lingering feelings of a warm hand on your waist, the taps of your feet as you dance, the beats of your timbrel.’ ‘and now you are like Gods, sparkling brilliant with jewelry that worships you, and you’re splitting in order to create.’ ‘The tosses of your wet hair, the rushes of chariots speeding past, the holy, holy, holy lord god of hosts, the sweetness of a strawberry, knocks against the window by your head, the little tunes of your pipes, the cuts sliced into your fingers by uptight cacti fruits, the brisk scent of a sea crashing into the rocks, the sweat of wrestling, onions, cumin, parsley in a metal jug, mud clinging to your skin, a friendly mouth on your cheeks and forehead, chimes, chirps of chatter in the bazaar, amen, amen, amen, the plump fish rushing to take the bread you toss, scraping of a carpenter, the hiss of chalk, the wisps of clouds cradling you as you nap, the splashes of water in a hot pool, the picnic in a meadow, the pounding of feet that are chasing you, the velvet of petals rustling you awake, a giant water lily beneath you, the innocent kiss, the sprawl of the universe reflected in your eyes for the first time, the bloody wings that shred out of your back, the apples in orchards, a basket of stained flowers, excited chants of a colosseum audience, the heat of spinning and bouncing to drums and claps, the love braided into your hair, the trickles of a piano, smell of myrrh, the scratches of a spoon in a cup, the coarseness of a carpet, the stringed instruments and trumpets, the serene smile of not knowing, the sleeping angel, the delight of a creator, the amusement of gossip and rumors, the rumbling laughter between shy singing, the tangling of legs, squash, celery, carrot, and chayote, the swirled face paint, the warmth of honey in your tea, the timid face in the mirror, mahogany beams, the embrace of a bed of flowers, the taste of a grape as its fed to you, the lip smacks of an angel as you feed him a raspberry, the first dizziness of alcohol, the cool water and scent of natron and the scratch of the rock you beat your dirty clothes against, the strain of your arms, the columns of an entrance, the high ceilings of a dark cathedral, the boiling surface of bubbling stew, the burn of stained-glass, the little joyous jump you do seeing bread rise, the silky taste of olive oil, the lap of an angel humming as he embroiders a little fox into his tunic, the softness of browned feathers lulling you to sleep, the weight of a dozen blankets and pillows on your small bed, the proud smile on the other side of a window in a newly-finished building, the myrtle trees only you two know about, the palm of god as he fashions you from threads of copper, his praises, his love, his kiss to your hair, your father.

She did not like it that Jasper should shoot birds; but it was only a stage; they all went through stages. Why, she asked, pressing her chin on James's head, should they grow up so fast? Why should they go to school? She would have liked always to have had a baby. She was happiest carrying one in her arms. Then people might say she was tyrannical, domineering, masterful, if they chose; she did not mind. And, touching his hair with her lips, she thought, he will never be so happy again, but stopped herself, remembering how it angered her husband that she should say that. Still, it was true. They were happier now than they would ever be again. A tenpenny tea set made Cam happy for days. She heard them stamping and crowing on the floor above her head the moment they awoke. They came bustling along the passage. Then the door sprang open and in they came, fresh as roses, staring, wide awake, as if this coming into the dining-room after breakfast, which they did every day of their lives, was a positive event to them, and so on, with one thing after another, all day long, until she went up to say good-night to them, and found them netted in their cots like birds among cherries and raspberries, still making up stories about some little bit of rubbish - something they had heard, something they had picked up in the garden. They all had their little treasures... And so she went down and said to her husband, Why must they grow up and lose it all? Never will they be so happy again. And he was angry. Why take such a gloomy view of life? he said. It is not sensible. For it was odd; and she believed it to be true; that with all his gloom and desperation he was happier, more hopeful on the whole, than she was. Less exposed to human worries - perhaps that was it. He had always his work to fall back on. Not that she herself was "pessimistic," as he accused her of being. Only she thought life - and a little strip of time presented itself to her eyes - her fifty years. There it was before her - life. Life, she thought - but she did not finish her thought.

Come see the kitchen,” Haven told me, tugging me toward a tiled area with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. “Would you like something to drink?” “Yes, thanks.” She opened the refrigerator. “Mango iced tea, or raspberry basil?” “Mango, please.” I sat on a stool at the island. Jack ripped his attention away from the magazine long enough to protest, “Haven, you know I can’t stand that stuff. Just give me the regular kind.” “I don’t have the regular kind,” his sister retorted, pulling out a pitcher of citrus-colored tea. “You can try some of the mango.” “What’s wrong with tea-flavored tea?” “Quit complaining, Jack. Hardy tried this a few times and he likes it.” “Honey, Hardy would like it if you picked up grass clippings from the yard and brewed them. He’s pussy-whipped.” Haven bit back a smile. “I dare you to say that to his face.” “Can’t,” came the laconic reply. “He’s pussy-whipped, but he could still kick the crap out of me.” My eyes widened as I wondered what kind of man could manage to kick the crap out of Jack Travis. “My fiancé used to be a welder on a drilling rig and he’s tough as hell,” Haven informed me, her eyes twinkling. “Which is a good thing. Otherwise my three older brothers would have run him off by now.” “We’ve done everything short of giving him a medal for taking you on,” Jack retorted.

Buy This: Unknown Almond Milk Apple Bananas Blueberries Chia Seed Cinnamon Cocoa Powder Coconut Oil Green Tea Hemp Seed Kale Pitted Cherries Raspberries Spinach

Two old maids who wanted to hire me had asked me to tea, so I’d treated my nails to a fresh coat of raspberry pink and put on a hat that matched and a Smith & Wesson that didn’t.

The day before she'd died, the three of them were in the hospital room, and her grandmother had said, "What I wouldn't give for one more June day." She wanted to talk with her friends on the porch, eat a bowl of raspberries with whipped cream on top, grill out, stay up late playing cards with the two of them. And the weather would be warm, not hot. Big cloud, blue sky weather. Lena had excused herself, went to get tea, and hoped that at the end of her own life, she would only want one more good, but not special, day.

I sampled soft cheesecake, served elegantly spilling out of a highball glass turned on its side, with bits of huckleberry compote, crushed walnuts, and lemon foam. The white miso semifreddo, two fine slices of olive oil cake, which sat on a bed of crushed almonds alongside raspberry sorbet. And lastly, the über-rich chocolate ganache cake, which was similar to the dish I'd had years earlier at p*ong, but was now paired with green tea ice cream, crackly caramel crunches, and malted chocolate bits.

The waiter talks us through the selection of confectionery. There's a white chocolate mousse cake infused with fresh mint and topped with raspberry purée, organic truffles made with my favorite Madagascar beans flavored with jasmine tea, passion fruit and limes sundried on trees in Iran.

You do know scones are not donuts, right?" Nina wasn't one to pass up any baked goods, but a donut was a donut. No scone would do. "This is not your white, British-royals high tea, my friend. This is Highland Park high tea. It opened a month ago, and I think we're about to have our whole world rocked." The Jam's exterior was black-and-white---- if you blinked you'd miss it. But when they went inside Nina immediately spotted a colorful mural of dinosaurs seated on velvet cushions, eating donuts and drinking out of porcelain cups. A pristine glass display case on the opposite wall featured rows and rows of endless donuts--- a happy welcoming committee of frosting and dough. "We'll be having tea for two," Jasmine said at the counter. "And for my donut, could I get the Swirly Rosewater, please?" As soon as she saw the names and flavors of the donuts, she instantly knew two things: one, she was going to love these, and two, Leo would absolutely hate them. Nina suddenly felt sympathy for Leo any time a contestant created a unique flavor pairing on the show. She raced to find the donut her friend had ordered in the case, and landed on a frosted pink cake donut that had a lemon rosewater glaze topped with roasted pistachios. "You live your life in pink, Jas." "No better color. So from what I read online, the deal is that instead of scones, they do vegan donuts---" Nina's eyes narrowed, and Jasmine glared right back. "Don't judge. What are you going to get?" "I need chocolate," Nina said. She scanned the rows in search of the perfect solution. "May I recommend our Chocolate from the Crypt donut?" the saleswoman suggested from behind the display. Her sharp bangs and blunt ponytail bobbed as she explained, "It's our fall-themed donut--- chocolate cake with a chocolate glaze, and it's got a kick from the cayenne pepper and cinnamon we add in." "Oh, my donut," Nina said. In the case was an absolutely gorgeous chocolate confection--- the cayenne and cinnamon flakes on the outside created a black-and-orange effect. "I am sold." "You got it." The saleswoman nodded and rang them up. A narrow hallway covered in murals of cartoon animals drinking tea led them to the official tearoom. Soaring ceilings revealed exposed beams and brick walls, signaling that the building was likely older and newly restored. Modern, barrel-back walnut chairs were clustered around ultrasleek Scandinavian round tables. Nina felt like she'd followed Jasmine down a rabbit hole and emerged into the modern interpretation of the Mad Hatter's tea party. "This is like..." Nina began. "It's a fun aesthetic." "I know, right?" Jasmine replied as they sat down. "It makes me feel like I'm not cool enough to be here, but glad I got invited." Nina picked up the prix fixe high tea menu on the table. The Jam's version of finger sandwiches were crispy "chicken" sliders, potato-hash tacos and mini banh mi, and in lieu of scones, they offered cornbread with raspberry jam and their signature donuts. "And it's all vegan...?" "Yes, my friendly carnivore, and hopefully delicious.

Across the street from the bed-and-breakfast, I open a small café where residents can sip cocoa lattes, eat raspberry tarts baked in Valentine's Town, and savor orange whipped toffees that Helgamine and Zeldaborn complain get stuck in their few remaining teeth--yet they keep coming back for more. Wolfman and Behemoth sit together every afternoon sharing a pot of black rose tea, delicately holding their cups between clawed and too-large fingertips, nibbling on coconut macaroons. I even sell my sleeping tonic at the café--in a much milder dose than what I brew for the Sandman, who still stops by for a refill now and then--in scents of lavender and chamomile, herbs harvested from Dream Town.

You’ve taken the last of my Marmalade Surprises!” cries Mrs. Quoad, having now with conjuror’s speed produced an egg-shaped confection of pastel green, studded all over with lavender nonpareils. “Just for that I shan’t let you have any of these marvelous rhubarb creams.” Into her mouth it goes, the whole thing. “Serves me right,” Slothrop, wondering just what he means by this, sipping herb tea to remove the taste of the mayonnaise candy—oops but that’s a mistake, right, here’s his mouth filling once again with horrible alkaloid desolation, all the way back to the soft palate where it digs in. Darlene, pure Nightingale compassion, is handing him a hard red candy, molded like a stylized raspberry . . . mm, which oddly enough even tastes like a raspberry, though it can’t begin to take away that bitterness. Impatiently, he bites into it, and in the act knows, fucking idiot, he’s been had once more, there comes pouring out onto his tongue the most godawful crystalline concentration of Jeez it must be pure nitric acid, “Oh mercy that’s really sour,” hardly able to get the words out he’s so puckered up, exactly the sort of thing Hop Harrigan used to pull to get Tank Tinker to quit playing his ocarina, a shabby trick then and twice as reprehensible coming from an old lady who’s supposed to be one of our Allies, shit he can’t even see it’s up his nose and whatever it is won’t dissolve, just goes on torturing his shriveling tongue and crunches like ground glass among his molars.

Artichokes Avocados Bean sprouts Beans, green Bok choy Broccoli Brussels sprouts Cabbage, green Celery Cucumbers with skin Grapes, green Green peas Kiwi, green Leafy greens Lettuce Limes Melons, honeydew Okra Olives, green Peppers, green Snow peas Watercress Zucchini with skin Red Beets Blood oranges Cabbage, red Cherries Cranberries (fresh or frozen without sugar) Grapefruit, pink or red Grapes, red Onions, red Peppers, red Plums, red Pomegranates Radicchio Radishes Raspberries, red Rhubarb Rooibos tea Strawberries Tomatoes Watermelons Blue/Purple/Black Aronia berries (grown throughout North America and Europe) Black currants Black mulberries Blackberries Blueberries Boysenberries Dates Eggplants Elderberries Figs, purple Grapes, black or purple Huckleberries Kale, purple Marionberries Olives, black Plums, black Prunes Purple heirloom carrots Purple yams or potatoes (remember these are starchy—and these must be pigmented all the way through in order to count in this category) Raisins Raspberries, black Yellow/Orange Apricots Cantaloupe Carrots Ginger root Grapefruit, yellow Kiwi, golden Lemon Mangoes Muskmelons Nectarines Oranges Papayas Peaches Peppers, orange and yellow Persimmons Pineapples Pumpkins Squash, summer and winter Starfruit Sweet potatoes and yams Tangerines Turmeric root

Angels waltz around like in one of my daydreams, glitter-dusted as the faeries I was warned about as a child. They're mystic, with spindly limbs and gossamer hair and skin that glows. Their wings unfurl behind them, some gilded and others adorned with pale pink shimmer. They flutter across the flower-filled glade, twirling like falling feathers. A few of the angels thread starlight into garlands or coax the flowers to bloom. A train of them braid baby's breath into one another's hair. Others lay fruit in front of what looks like shrines--- seashells brimming with water and floating petals that gleam with reflections of the moon. It's like something out of a storybook. Lanterns are strung between the evergreens, casting their light over a long table. On top of a silk tablecloth, candelabras drip with wax and flowers are strewn about--- cerise roses, vibrant marigolds, velvet violets, and pale bluebells. Fresh fruit spills out of a giant shell like a cornucopia--- mangoes, peaches, guavas, champagne grapes and deep red cherries. Dark wine fills crystal cups. Rose-jam tarts with wild raspberries and hibiscus petals pile alongside tea cakes piped with custard and sugared primroses. In the center of the feast is a roasted duck glazed with honey and decorated with slices of pineapple. The smell of buttered potatoes lingers in the air, fragrant with hints of rosemary and garlic.

Betty returns in a couple of minutes, setting down our pots of tea and two towers of treats. There are small tea cakes dressed as mini presents, tarts in the shape of flowers, chocolate-covered strawberries sprinkled with edible pearls, macarons decorated with pressed violets, and a tray of scones accompanied by tiny finger sandwiches. She explains each tea before leaving us to indulge. Aphrodite's Ambrosia--- a blend of caramel, rose hips, white chocolate, and raspberry. Midsummer Moondrop--- a confection of violets, butterfly pea flower, and sugar plums. I lift the porcelain cup to my lips, hand painted with tiny cornflowers and gold leaf. The sweet, dark blend relaxes my muscles like a dreamspell.

Raspberry iced tea for Irving, water for Tom, a soda for me, and Hans insisted that I bring Mr. Addison a nice chilled root beer." She handed them over, then leaned against Rick's arm as she popped the tab of her Diet Coke and took a drink. "Anything yet?" she whispered. "Not so far," Richard answered, careful not to move. Sometimes he felt like a hunter trying to lure a deer into a trap. Don't move, or she'll remember you're there and run away .

I’ll…be okay,” Danica asserted. “I was just…dizzy.” She accepted held standing, but once she was up, her balance seemed to return quickly; she rested one hand on my arm, though I sensed that touch was more from habit than weakness. A’isha looked from one of us to the other, and her expression slid from worried to startled to amused. “Little hawk, you’ve never been faint before,” the dancer said. “It’s hot in here, and I’ve been tired and nervous,” Danica argued. “Perhaps this was too much.” She tucked her head down, suddenly realizing that she had fainted in front of an audience. “Bring her to rest, Zane,” A’isha ordered, apparently not daunted by the fact that she was addressing her king. Inside the nest, no one ever was. “I hear your sister’s mate makes an excellent raspberry-ginger tea. I suggest you get the recipe. Now off with you.” A’isha’s hinted meaning suddenly dawned on me, and I could not help pulling Danica against me to kiss her. “Is she right?” I asked, my mind tumbling with too many thoughts to put into words. “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Danica responded, leaning against me. “I hate raspberry tea.” I tried not to laugh; Danica’s innocence asserted itself at odd moments, and right now nothing could keep me from grinning. “Danica, Danica…

I've been eating my version of Herme's Ispahan macaron all week, trying to get it right." "Eating what?" "Ispahan. It's a rose macaron, with raspberry insertion... that berry jelly in the middle.

Voila. Macarons. These ones I made yesterday for a party tonight, so they should be delicious." He is right, of course; they are perfect. The first one I taste is dark chocolate with a center that is firmer than I had expected but that melts on my tongue in seconds. The second one is raspberry, the ganache retaining the roughness and texture of the fruit. The almond paste is stronger in this one, nuttier; blended together with the raspberry, it tastes of autumn. The last macaron is passion fruit. I know the shells are unflavored, but it tastes as though the entire sweet- the shells, the ganache, the scent- is alive with the zest of passion fruit before it even enters my mouth. Then, acidic on the tongue and rounding off a heavy sweetness. The perfume of the passion fruit macaron is like a bunch of lilies, assaulting and exotic. I close my eyes for a second, savoring each one.

When everyone arrived at the formal garden, lunch had been laid out on the terrace by unseen hands. Bowls of strawberries and frosty buckets of champagne waited beside iced platters of salmon and dill, sliced cold flank steak and a salad composed of all the kitchen garden's earth-bound magic. A tiered cake stand held scores of macarons- pistachio, chocolate, raspberry and more exotic lavender and vanilla, thyme and honey, rose and tea, each topped with the corresponding herb or flower.

Then he dived back into the storage compartment and came back up with a hamper containing a small bottle of milk for the tea, a basket of peeled hard-boiled eggs, ham sliced so thin it was nearly transparent, crumbling sharp cheese, crusty bread, a cold raspberry tart, and several crisp apples, all served on China plates.

in the middle. You have to be strong and leave well alone.’ ‘Oh, but suppose it’s a bit too hot and the cakes burn?’ Libby wailed. ‘My mother is a really good cook. It would be awful to give her burnt cake; don’t you think perhaps . . . ?’ ‘Oh, Libby, use your loaf,’ Matthews implored. ‘You can cut burnt off, but there’s nothing you can do if it goes all slimy in the middle and I must say,’ he added, beginning to pile utensils into the yellow bowl, ‘the mixture tastes absolutely delicious. I think raw cake is even nicer than the cooked sort.’ He intercepted Libby’s longing glance towards the oven and chuckled. ‘You start the washing up and I’ll dry, then we’ll put all the things away, and by the time we’ve done that, the cake will very likely be cooked.’ The cake was a great success; Libby lovingly clapped the two halves together with raspberry jam in between, and wrote Welcome, Mummy and Daddy in her very best writing. Icing had not been available since the beginning of the war, but a piece of white card propped up on top of the cake was the next best thing. However, it was only Neil who came striding across the yard halfway through Thursday afternoon. Libby and Matthew had been hanging about the lane all day but as luck would have it had gone back to the house to lay the table for high tea when their visitor arrived. Neil gave a shout, stood his suitcase and bag down and caught Libby as she

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)

Defense: Immunity Acerola Aged garlic Apple peel Apples (Granny Smith, Red Delicious, Reinette) Apricots Arugula Bamboo shoots Barley Belgian endive Black plums Black raspberries Black tea Blackberries Blackberries (dried) Blueberries Blueberries (dried) Bok choy Broccoli Broccoli rabe Broccoli sprouts Cabbage Camu camu Capers Carrots Cauliflower Chamomile tea Chanterelle mushrooms Cherries Cherries (dried) Cherry tomatoes Chestnuts Chia seeds Chile peppers Coffee Collard greens Concord grape juice Cranberries Cranberries (dried) Cranberry juice Dark chocolate Eggplant Enoki mushrooms Escarole Fiddleheads Flax seeds Frisee Ginseng Goji berries Grapefruit Green tea Guava Kale Kimchi Kiwifruit Licorice root Lychee Maitake mushrooms Mangoes Morel mushrooms Mustard greens Nectarines Olive oil (EVOO) Onions Orange juice Oranges Oyster mushrooms Pacific oysters Peaches Peppermint Plums Pomegranates Porcini mushrooms Pumpkin seeds Puntarelle Radicchio Raspberries Razor clams Red-leaf lettuce Red wine (Cabernet, Cabernet Franc, Petit Verdot) Romanesco Rosemary Rutabaga Saffron Sauerkraut Sesame seeds Shiitake mushrooms Spinach Squash blossoms Squid ink Strawberries Sultana raisins Swiss chard Tardivo di Treviso Truffles Turmeric Turnips Walnuts Watercress White button mushrooms

That all you got, Bert?” said Mary Poppins, and she said it so brightly you could hardly tell she was disappointed at all. “That’s the lot,” he said. “Business is bad today. You’d think anybody’d be glad to pay to see that, wouldn’t you?” And he nodded his head at Queen Elizabeth. “Well—that’s how it is, Mary,” he sighed. “Can’t take you to tea today, I’m afraid.” Mary Poppins thought of the raspberry-jam-cakes they always had on her Day Out, and she was just going to sigh, when she saw the Match-Man’s face. So, very cleverly, she turned the sigh into a smile—a good one with both ends turned up—and said: “That’s all right, Bert. Don’t you mind. I’d much rather not go to tea. A stodgy meal, I call it—really.” And that, when you think how very much she liked raspberry-jam-cakes, was rather nice of Mary Poppins. The Match-Man apparently thought so, too, for he took her white-gloved hand in his and squeezed it hard. Then together they walked down the row of pictures. “Now, there’s one you’ve never seen before!” said the Match-Man proudly, pointing to a painting of a mountain covered with snow and its slopes simply littered with grasshoppers sitting on gigantic roses. This time Mary Poppins could indulge in a sigh without hurting his feelings. “Oh, Bert,” she said, “that’s a fair treat!” And by the way she said it she made him feel that by rights the picture should have been in the Royal Academy, which is a large room where people hang the pictures they have painted. Everybody comes to see them, and when they have looked at them for a very long time, everybody says to everybody else: “The idea—my dear!” The next picture Mary Poppins and the Match-Man came to was even better. It was the country—all trees and grass and a little bit of blue sea in the distance, and something that looked like Margate in the background. “My word!” said Mary Poppins admiringly, stooping so that she could see it better. “Why, Bert, whatever is the matter?” For the Match-Man had caught hold of her other hand now, and was looking very excited.

A pile of raspberry-jam-cakes as high as Mary Poppins’s waist stood in the centre, and beside it tea was boiling in a big brass urn. Best of all, there were two plates of whelks and two pins to pick them out with.

I sit down, placing the basket Laina gave me onto the table, and take in the spread before us. All of it is bright pink. Hibiscus and rose hip tea, Persian Love Cake with sugared petals and green pistachios, strawberries-and-cream finger sandwiches, peach macarons with raspberry jam, and guava shortbread.