Spinach Leaves Quotes

My meal arrived. It was a bowl of tepid, green curried water with two spinach leaves floating in it. The waiter called it 'vegetable soup'. I called it inedible slop.

At night she began cooking things in the kitchen, things too strange to mention. She steeped oleander in boiling water, and the roots of a vine with white trumpet flowers that glowed like faces. She soaked a plant collected in moonlight from the neighbors’ fence, with little heart-shaped flowers. Then she cooked the water down; the whole kitchen smelled like green and rotting leaves. She threw out pounds of the wet-spinach green stuff into somebody else’s dumpster. She wasn’t talking to me anymore. She sat on the roof and talked to the moon.

1 The summer our marriage failed we picked sage to sweeten our hot dark car. We sat in the yard with heavy glasses of iced tea, talking about which seeds to sow when the soil was cool. Praising our large, smooth spinach leaves, free this year of Fusarium wilt, downy mildew, blue mold. And then we spoke of flowers, and there was a joke, you said, about old florists who were forced to make other arrangements. Delphiniums flared along the back fence. All summer it hurt to look at you. 2 I heard a woman on the bus say, “He and I were going in different directions.” As if it had something to do with a latitude or a pole. Trying to write down how love empties itself from a house, how a view changes, how the sign for infinity turns into a noose for a couple. Trying to say that weather weighed down all the streets we traveled on, that if gravel sinks, it keeps sinking. How can I blame you who kneeled day after day in wet soil, pulling slugs from the seedlings? You who built a ten-foot arch for the beans, who hated a bird feeder left unfilled. You who gave carrots to a gang of girls on bicycles. 3 On our last trip we drove through rain to a town lit with vacancies. We’d come to watch whales. At the dock we met five other couples—all of us fluorescent, waterproof, ready for the pitch and frequency of the motor that would lure these great mammals near. The boat chugged forward—trailing a long, creamy wake. The captain spoke from a loudspeaker: In winter gray whales love Laguna Guerrero; it’s warm and calm, no killer whales gulp down their calves. Today we’ll see them on their way to Alaska. If we get close enough, observe their eyes—they’re bigger than baseballs, but can only look down. Whales can communicate at a distance of 300 miles—but it’s my guess they’re all saying, Can you hear me? His laughter crackled. When he told us Pink Floyd is slang for a whale’s two-foot penis, I stopped listening. The boat rocked, and for two hours our eyes were lost in the waves—but no whales surfaced, blowing or breaching or expelling water through baleen plates. Again and again you patiently wiped the spray from your glasses. We smiled to each other, good troopers used to disappointment. On the way back you pointed at cormorants riding the waves— you knew them by name: the Brants, the Pelagic, the double-breasted. I only said, I’m sure whales were swimming under us by the dozens. 4 Trying to write that I loved the work of an argument, the exhaustion of forgiving, the next morning, washing our handprints off the wineglasses. How I loved sitting with our friends under the plum trees, in the white wire chairs, at the glass table. How you stood by the grill, delicately broiling the fish. How the dill grew tall by the window. Trying to explain how camellias spoil and bloom at the same time, how their perfume makes lovers ache. Trying to describe the ways sex darkens and dies, how two bodies can lie together, entwined, out of habit. Finding themselves later, tired, by a fire, on an old couch that no longer reassures. The night we eloped we drove to the rainforest and found ourselves in fog so thick our lights were useless. There’s no choice, you said, we must have faith in our blindness. How I believed you. Trying to imagine the road beneath us, we inched forward, honking, gently, again and again.

In a tree-shaded pasture, seventeen adult tortoises randomly stood around. As I fed them spinach leaves sold by an opportune vendor, they tolerated my gentle strokes to their boney skullcaps and the warm black skin on their necks. It was as thin and delicate as the skin on a grandmother’s hand. Their obsidian black eyes gleamed with deep wisdom and patience—Dalai Lamas on the half shell. Back

We pass the apartment we rented five years ago, when I swore off Florence. In summer, wads of tourists clog the city as if it's a Renaissance theme park. Everyone seems to be eating. That year, a garbage strike persisted for over a week and I began to have thoughts of plague when I passed heaps of rot spilling out of bins. I was amazed that long July when waiters and shopkeepers remained as nice as they did, given what they had to put up with. Everywhere I stepped I was in the way. Humanity seemed ugly—the international young in torn T-shirts and backpacks lounging on steps, bewildered bus tourists dropping ice cream napkins in the street and asking, “How much is that in dollars?” Germans in too-short shorts letting their children terrorize restaurants. The English mother and daughter ordering lasagne verdi and Coke, then complaining because the spinach pasta was green. My own reflection in the window, carrying home all my shoe purchases, the sundress not so flattering. Bad wonderland. Henry James in Florence referred to “one's detested fellow-pilgrim.” Yes, indeed, and it's definitely time to leave when one's own reflection is included. Sad that our century has added no glory to Florence—only mobs and lead hanging in the air.

So, when I read of a recent study that found that children are significantly more inclined to eat “difficult” foods like liver, spinach, broccoli—and other such hard-to-sell “but-it’s-good-for-you” classics—when they are wrapped in comfortingly bright packages from McDonald’s, I was at first appalled, and then … inspired. Rather than trying to co-opt Ronald’s all-too-effective credibility among children to short-term positive ends, like getting my daughter to eat the occasional serving of spinach, I could reverse-engineer this! Use the strange and terrible powers of the Golden Arches for good—not evil! I plan to dip something decidedly unpleasant in an enticing chocolate coating and then wrap it carefully in McDonald’s wrapping paper. Nothing dangerous, mind you, but something that a two-and-a-half-year-old will find “yucky!”—even upsetting—in the extreme. Maybe a sponge soaked with vinegar. A tuft of hair. A Barbie head. I will then place it inside the familiar cardboard box and leave it—as if forgotten—somewhere for my daughter to find. I might even warn her, “If you see any of that nasty McDonald’s … make sure you don’t eat it!” I’ll say, before leaving her to it. “Daddy was stupid and got some chocolate … and now he’s lost it…” I might mutter audibly to myself before taking a long stroll to the laundry room. An early, traumatic, Ronald-related experience can only be good for her.

Because this tea kaiseki would be served so soon after breakfast, it would be considerably smaller than a traditional one. As a result, Stephen had decided to serve each mini tea kaiseki in a round stacking bento box, which looked like two miso soup bowls whose rims had been glued together. After lifting off the top dome-shaped cover the women would behold a little round tray sporting a tangle of raw squid strips and blanched scallions bound in a tahini-miso sauce pepped up with mustard. Underneath this seafood "salad" they would find a slightly deeper "tray" packed with pearly white rice garnished with a pink salted cherry blossom. Finally, under the rice would be their soup bowl containing the wanmori, the apex of the tea kaiseki. Inside the dashi base we had placed a large ball of fu (wheat gluten) shaped and colored to resemble a peach. Spongy and soft, it had a savory center of ground duck and sweet lily bulb. A cluster of fresh spinach leaves, to symbolize the budding of spring, accented the "peach," along with a shiitake mushroom cap simmered in mirin, sake, and soy. When the women had finished their meals, we served them tiny pink azuki bean paste sweets. David whipped them a bowl of thick green tea. For the dry sweets eaten before his thin tea, we served them flower-shaped refined sugar candies tinted pink. After all the women had left, Stephen, his helper, Mark, and I sat down to enjoy our own "Girl's Day" meal. And even though I was sitting in the corner of Stephen's dish-strewn kitchen in my T-shirt and rumpled khakis, that soft peach dumpling really did taste feminine and delicate.

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.

Look, I fetched some Fat Hen for you.' Jem offered me a bunch of wilting greens. I reached for the plants, rubbed the leaves with a snap of my finger and thumb and sniffed. They were as fresh as spinach but not so peppery and warm. And wasn't that a faint whiff of cat's piss? Mrs G always said I could sniff a drop of honey in a pail of milk. I used my nose then and saved us all from a night of gripes. 'That's not Fat Hen, you noddle. That's Dog's Mercury. Once I knew a band of tinkers that made a soup of it and near died. If I serve that up to the new mistress I could be hanged for murder.' 'God help us. Give it back here. It's ill-omened.' He hurled the plants towards the hog's trough.

Sal and Henry return with a gust of warm garden air and I settle down to create miniature roses from sugarpaste using tiny ivory spatulas and crimpers. I will have no antique tester bed crowning my cake, only a posy of flowers: symbols of beauty and growth, each year new-blossoming. I let Henry paint the broken pieces with spinach juice, while I tint my flowers with cochineal and yellow gum. As a pretty device I paint a ladybird on a rose, and think it finer than Sèvres porcelain. At ten o'clock tomorrow, I will marry John Francis at St. Mark's Church, across the square. As Sal and I rehearse our plans for the day, pleasurable anticipation bubbles inside me like fizzing wine. We will return from church for this bride cake in the parlor, then take a simple wedding breakfast of hot buttered rolls, ham, cold chicken, and fruit, on the silver in the dining room. Nan has sent me a Yorkshire Game Pie, so crusted with wedding figures of wheatsheafs and blossoms it truly looks too good to eat. We have invited few guests, for I want no great show, and instead will have bread and beef sent to feed the poor. And at two o'clock, we will leave with Henry for a much anticipated holiday by the sea, at Sandhills, on the southern coast. John Francis has promised Henry he might try sea-bathing, while I have bought stocks of cerulean blue and burnt umber to attempt to catch the sea and sky in watercolor.

Irie serves me three ramens, including a bowl made with a rich dashi and head-on shrimp and another studded with spicy ground pork and wilted spinach and lashed with chili oil. Both are exceptionally delicious, sophisticated creations, but it's his interpretation of tonkotsu that leaves me muttering softly to myself. The noodles are firm and chewy, the roast pork is striped with soft deposits of warm fat, and the toppings- white curls of shredded spring onion, chewy strips of bamboo, a perfect square of toasted seaweed- are skillfully applied. Here it is the combination of tare, the culmination of years of careful tinkering, and broth, made from whole pig heads and knots of ginger, that defies the laws of tonkotsu: a soup with the savory, meaty intensity of a broth made from a thousand pigs that's light enough to leave you wanting more. And more. And more.

She browned onions and garlic, and from the pot on the windowsill, chopped a few winter-sad leaves of tarragon. The smell was green and strong, and she thought of spring. Spring in Dijon, when she and Al would hike into the mountains with the Club Alpin, the old women forever chiding her tentative steps, her newborn French: la petite violette, violette américaine. She would turn back to Al, annoyed, and he would laugh. Hardly his delicate flower. When they stopped for lunch, it was Mary Frances with the soufflé of calves' brains, whatever was made liver or marrow, ordering enough strong wine that everyone was laughing. The way home, the women let her be. If she wanted calves' brains now, she wouldn't even know where to begin to look or how to pay. She and Al seemed to be living on vegetables and books, tobacco, quiet. She blanched a bunch of spinach and chopped it. She beat eggs with the tarragon, heated the skillet once again. There was a salad of avocados and oranges. There was a cold bottle of ale and bread. Enough, for tonight.

Pasta with Garlic Scapes and Fresh Tomatoes In Italy, you can find a garden anywhere there is a patch of soil, and in many areas, the growing season is nearly year round. It’s common to find an abundant tomato vine twining up the wall near someone’s front stoop, or a collection of herbs and greens adorning a window box. Other staples of an Italian kitchen garden include aubergine, summer squash varieties and peppers of all sorts. Perhaps that’s why the best dishes are so very simple. Gather the fresh ingredients from your garden or local farmers’ market, toss everything together with some hot pasta and serve. In the early summer and mid-autumn, look for garlic scapes, prized for their mild flavor and slight sweetness. Scapes are the willowy green stems and unopened flower buds of hardneck garlic varieties. Roasting garlic scapes with tomatoes and red onion brings out their sweet, rich flavor for a delightful summer meal. 2 swirls of olive oil 10 garlic scapes 1 pint multicolored cherry tomatoes 1 red onion, thinly sliced Sea salt and red pepper flakes, to taste ½ lb. pasta—fettuccine, tubini or spaghetti are good choices 1 cup baby spinach, arugula or fresh basil leaves, or a combination 1 lemon, zested and juiced Toasted pine nuts for garnish Heat oven to 400 ° F. Toss together olive oil, garlic scapes, tomatoes, onion, salt and pepper flakes and spread in an even layer on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Roast for 12–15 minutes, until tomatoes are just beginning to burst. If you have other garden vegetables, such as peppers, zucchini or aubergine, feel free to add that. Meanwhile, cook pasta according to package directions. Toss everything together with the greens, lemon zest and juice. Garnish with pine nuts. Serve immediately with a nice Barolo wine.

Roll out each piece into an eight-inch round. Spread two tablespoons of the beef mixture in the middle of the dough, one tablespoon of spinach, two tablespoons of mozzarella cheese and about

Thaw the frozen spinach then drain by using your hand to squeeze the water out. Chop finely while still in a tight wad. Pat dry and spread out in a bowl. Set aside.

Masala paste 2 teaspoons garam masala or curry powder 2 teaspoons red pepper flakes 2 teaspoons smoked paprika 1 teaspoon cumin seeds, toasted and ground 1 teaspoon coriander seed, toasted and ground 3/4-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and grated 1 tablespoon peanut oil 2 tablespoons tomato paste Salt and pepper A handful of fresh cilantro Curry 11/2 tablespoons peanut oil 1 red onion, diced 1 clove garlic, minced 2 tablespoons masala paste (from above) One 14-ounce/400g can diced tomatoes 1 cup/250ml vegetable stock 7 ounces/200g red lentils, rinsed 7 ounces/200g baby spinach leaves 2 tablespoons unflavored low-fat yogurt Rye Barley Roti (recipe follows), for serving Pulse the masala paste ingredients in a mini food processor till well combined and fairly smooth.

Madame Reynaud pushes parcels of fish and octopus and mussels into Juliette's hands, gives her fresh heavy cream and a handful off eggs that will make up for the things she has to combine them with. Then she urges Juliette out into the garden and tells her to take whatever she likes, plucking dark spinach leaves for her as Juliette takes some chervil and breaks off sorrel. The green and lemon scent of the sorrel fragrances Juliette's palm, helping her to forget the dreadful hospital smells.

In this Asian store, greens functioned as a ‘loss leader’, meaning the items designed to lure customers through the door. The selection of leaves, shoots and pods included ‘Chinese garlic chives, sweet potato vines, baby Chinese broccoli, chrysanthemum greens, snow peas, green beans, baby red amaranth, Malaman spinach, yam tips’ and more, including six types of bok choy. Cowen found that the price of these delicious greens was a fraction of what he would have paid in the nearest Safeway. Green peppers were just 99c a pound, compared with $5.99 at the Safeway. After a month of shopping at Great Wall, Cowen found that he began to enjoy greens far more, and started to choose them almost automatically

Ghosh would leave home early morning and hang around Shobhabazar sabzi market watching people. One day, he saw a burly man in a red T-shirt riding a Royal Enfield Bullet. When the gentleman stopped at the entrance of the market, half a dozen women rushed to him. In fact, they had been waiting for him to arrive. To each of them, the man gave Rs 500 and collected Rs 5, simultaneously. He came back late afternoon, this time wearing a blue T-shirt. The same women—who were vegetable sellers in the market—returned the money, Rs 500 each. Ghosh watched the ritual with curiosity for a few days. Every morning, the women would buy sackfuls of cauliflowers, tomatoes, brinjals and spinach outside the Sealdah railway station, from the farmers who would come mostly from Lakshmikantapur, South 24 Parganas, and Barasat, North 24 Parganas. One evening, when those women were about to leave the market after settling the moneylender’s dues, he could not resist asking them why they were paying so much interest to this man. His calculation was fairly simple: on Rs 500, they were paying Rs 5 as interest for half a day. This translated into 1 per cent interest for half a day, and 730 per cent a year! But the women told Ghosh a different story. They were not paying any interest; rather, they were just buying a cup of tea for the moneylender. Moreover, they were earning enough to afford this. ‘Will a bank give us money?’ the group of women asked him in a chorus. How else would they get money without documentation and a guarantor? Besides, they were saving time and travel cost as the money was being given to them at their doorsteps (in this case, the market).

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 teenager brought us a small white plate with a square slab of white cheese doused in a clear liquor. He used a lighter and after several tries flames leapt up, surely singeing the hair on his fingers, then died down to a cool, stovetop blue before going out, leaving the cheese prettily browned and crisp. I wrote, Saganaki---scary but fun. "Oh!" I said. "I forgot about the booze, Charlotte. That was insensitive of me." "It's all burned off," she said. "Besides, if I'm going to blow thirty-two years of sobriety and get drunk, it won't be on flaming Greek cheese!" We scooped it onto warm, puffy pita bread. "If I closed my eyes, I could be in Patmos right now," said Belinda. A bowl of cunning little meatballs appeared with its snow-white yogurt and fish-egg dip. Another plate held three plump, golden triangular spinach pies.

French Minted Pea Soup Serves: 3 10 ounces frozen green peas 1 small onion, chopped 1 clove garlic, chopped 3 tablespoons VegiZest*, or other no-salt seasoning, adjusted to taste 3 cups water 1 bunch fresh mint leaves (save a few leaves for garnish) 3 regular dates, pitted ½ cup raw cashews ½ tablespoon Spike no-salt seasoning, or other no-salt seasoning, to taste 4 teaspoons fresh lemon juice 4 cups shredded romaine lettuce or chopped baby spinach 2 tablespoons fresh snipped chives Simmer peas, onions, garlic, and seasonings in water for about 7 minutes. Pour pea mixture into a high-powered blender or food processor. Add remaining ingredients except for the lettuce and chives. Blend until smooth and creamy. Add lettuce or spinach and let it wilt in hot liquid. Pour into bowls and garnish with chives and mint leaves. PER SERVING: CALORIES 313; PROTEIN 14g; CARBOHYDRATE 45g; TOTAL FAT 11.4g; SATURATED FAT 1.9g; SODIUM 153mg; FIBER 11.6g; BETA-CAROTENE 4496mcg; VITAMIN C 39mg; CALCIUM 192mg; IRON 9mg; FOLATE 210mcg; MAGNESIUM 156mg; ZINC 3mg; SELENIUM 8.1mcg

Golden Austrian Cauliflower Cream Soup Serves: 4 1 head cauliflower, cut into pieces 3 carrots, coarsely chopped 1 cup coarsely chopped celery 2 leeks, coarsely chopped 2 cloves garlic, minced 2 tablespoons VegiZest* or other no-salt seasoning blend, adjusted to taste 2 cups carrot juice 4 cups water ½ teaspoon nutmeg 1 cup raw cashews 5 cups chopped kale leaves or baby spinach Place all ingredients except cashews and kale in a pot. Cover and simmer for 15 minutes or until the vegetables are just tender. In a food processor or high-powered blender, blend half of the soup liquid and vegetables with the cashews until smooth and creamy and return to the pot. Finely chop the kale or spinach and add to the pot; simmer for 10 more minutes. PER SERVING: CALORIES 369; PROTEIN 15g; CARBOHYDRATE 48g; TOTAL FAT 16.7g; SATURATED FAT 1.6g; SODIUM 238mg; FIBER 18.1g; BETA-CAROTENE 17,409mcg; VITAMIN C 104mg; CALCIUM 359mg; IRON 4.5mg; FOLATE 233mcg; MAGNESIUM 149mg; ZINC 2.4mg; SELENIUM 3.5mcg

From Shanghai, Meyer had sent seeds and cuttings of oats, millet, a thin-skinned watermelon, and new types of cotton. The staff of Fairchild's office watched with anticipation each time one of Meyer's shipments were unpacked. There were seeds of wild pears, new persimmons, and leaves of so-called Manchurian spinach that America's top spinach specialist would declare was the best America had ever seen. Meyer had delivered the first samples of asparagus ever to officially enter the United States. In 1908, few people had seen a soybean, a green legume common in central China. Even fewer people could have imagined that within one hundred years, the evolved descendants of soybeans that Meyer shipped back would cover the Midwest of the United States like a rug. Soybeans would be applied to more diverse uses than any other crop in history, as feed for livestock, food for humans (notably vegetarians), and even a renewable fuel called biodiesel. Meyer also hadn't come empty-handed. He had physically brought home a bounty, having taken from China a steamer of the Standard Oil Company that, unlike a passenger ship, allowed him limitless cargo and better onboard conditions for plant material. He arrived with twenty tons, including red blackberries, wild apricots, two large zelkova trees (similar to elms), Chinese holly shrub, twenty-two white-barked pines, eighteen forms of lilac, four viburnum bushes that produced edible red berries, two spirea bushes with little white flowers, a rhododendron bush with pink and purple flowers, an evergreen shrub called a daphne, thirty kinds of bamboo (some of them edible), four types of lilies, and a new strain of grassy lawn sedge.

Jane ordered the short ribs. The meat fell apart as soon as she touched it and she ate each bite with a little bit of the mashed potatoes, which were salty, creamy perfection. If Mike was there, she knew he would've substituted steamed spinach for the potatoes, and just thinking about it made her sad. She always suspected that Mike didn't like Sullivan's. He would never admit this, but he made comments that hinted at it. The food, he said, was too heavy. The decor was too dark. "I always leave Sullivan's smelling like a French fry," Mike said once, years earlier. It was an offhand comment, but it had offended her just the same. "My whole family smells like French fries," she said. It was true---the air of Sullivan's was always filled with the smell of oil from the fryers in the back and it clung to your coat and hair long after you were gone. Jane never minded this---it reminded her of her grandfather; it smelled like home.

Week One Shopping List Vegetables 2 red bell peppers 3 jalapeño peppers 2 medium cucumbers 1 small head green cabbage 7 medium carrots 1 head cauliflower 4-inch piece fresh ginger 4 butter or Bibb lettuce leaves 1 pound fingerling potatoes 5 cups fresh spinach 6 medium tomatoes 3 cups cherry tomatoes 4 medium zucchini Herbs 1 bunch fresh basil 1 bunch fresh cilantro 1 bunch fresh flat-leaf parsley Fruit 1 large apple 5 bananas 2 pints fresh blueberries (or 1 pound frozen) 3 lemons 2 limes Meat and Fish 1 whole chicken, about 4 pounds 4 pork chops 1½ pounds flank steak 1 pound peeled and deveined shrimp Dairy 6 ounces whipped cream cheese 26 eggs 8 ounces feta cheese 14 ounces goat cheese 1 pint plain Greek yogurt 6 ounces sour cream Miscellaneous 3¼ cups plus 2 tablespoons unsweetened almond milk 16 corn tortillas 3 cups salsa verde or tomatillo salsa 2 (12-ounce) packages silken tofu 4 whole-wheat tortillas 2 whole-wheat pita breads 1 loaf of whole-grain bread

Let’s take a quick look at all the monsters after me: – Endermen who teleport and hit me! – Zombies who try to smash through my door! – Creepers who explode like walking bombs! – Slimes who want to sting me (and even worse, leave a spinach taste in my mouth)! – And NOW, skeletons who want to skewer me like a shish-kabob!   It

The nice thing about this menu is that it will keep fine for tomorrow. I decide to finish the potatoes, cutting the top off and scooping out the fluffy interiors, leaving a quarter-inch-thick shell. I mix the scoopings with butter, sour cream, cheddar cheese and chives, add a splash of milk to keep smooth, and restuff the potato shells, sprinkling a mixture of shredded cheddar and fried shallots on top, and pop them in the fridge. All I will have to do tomorrow is cook the beef, reheat the spinach, and bake the potatoes.

In ten minutes I am at the massive Whole Foods on Kingsbury. I go to the salad bar. I fill containers with carrots, celery, sliced onions, shredded cabbage, chopped tomatoes. Garbanzo beans and corn. Shredded chicken, peas, chopped cauliflower, and broccoli. Baby spinach leaves. Cooked barley. I check out, with my three salad bar containers, and head back toward home. I stop at La Boulangerie and pick up a baguette. I get home and don't even take my coat off. I get out one of my big stock pots, and dump all three containers into the pot. From the pantry, a jar of Rao's marinara. From the freezer, a container of homemade chicken stock. I don't even bother to thaw it, I just plop it like an iceberg into the pot. Salt, pepper, and pepper flakes for heat. I crank the heat to medium, give it a stir and leave it.

ripe medium tomatoes, cored, cut into 1-inch pieces 1 pound fresh mozzarella, cut into ½-inch cubes 4 packed cups coarsely chopped fresh baby spinach leaves 1½ teaspoons kosher salt ¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil 3 tablespoons red-wine vinegar 1 teaspoon dried oregano     Toss together the tomatoes, mozzarella, spinach, and salt in a large serving bowl.

1. Classic Pine-Mint Smoothie This recipe is indeed a classic. Simple and reliably delicious and good for a newbie to green smoothies. Two cups is a lot of pineapple so it’s best to use a sweet(ish) one. If it’s too acid or sour then add more leaves and some sweetener. You could add dried figs or apricots or soft dates. See notes on the pages just before the recipes. 1 cup water 2 cups pineapple (fresh or frozen) 1 avocado 1 cup mint leaves 1 cup of spinach leaves or other mild green Ice and extra water to get to your desired temperature and consistency.

Keep in mind that we harvest many of the crops continuously, if possible. For example, a leaf lettuce is not allowed to wait until it forms a large, mature head, but with a pair of scissors and a salad bowl you can continuously trim the leaves from such things as lettuce, chives, beets, Swiss chard, spinach, parsley, and even onion tops. As long as you don’t take too much at one time, the plant will easily survive and thrive. Filling your salad bowl each day should not diminish the garden in any way. In fact, right after you harvest you’ll find it hard to notice where you got everything and if anything is missing.

If you want to control anyone give them hungers, from heads their brains shift to stomach, Even if they are PhD holders, they'll be bought just for two leaves of spinach.

Almonds Allspice, dried Amla berries, dried Apples Artichokes Asparagus Bay leaves, dried Basil, dried Black beans Black chokeberries Black elderberries Black pepper, dried Blackberries Black tea Blueberries Broccoli Capers Caraway seeds, dried Cayenne pepper, dried Celery leaves, dried Cherries Chives, dried Chili, dried Cinnamon bark, dried Clove, dried Cocoa powder Coffee beans Cumin, dried Curry powder Dandelion leaves, dried Dark chocolate Dill, fresh or dried Fennel leaves, dried Fennel seeds, dried Ginger, fresh or dried Green mint, dried Green olives, with stone Green tea Hazelnut Kalamata olives, with stone Lavender, dried Mustard seed, dried Nutmeg, dried Oregano, fresh or dried Paprika, dried Peaches Pecans Peppermint, dried Pistachios Plums Pomegranate, whole Red lettuce Red onion Rose flower, dried Rosemary, fresh or dried Saffron, dried Shallots Spinach Strawberries Tempeh Thyme, dried Turmeric, dried Vanilla seeds Walnuts White beans Wild marjoram leaves, dried

5 kale leaves 2 handfuls of spinach 1 cucumber 1 chunk of ginger 3 celery stalks 2 Golden Delicious apples

This is spinach ohitashi." "Ha! Here it is! And the red part of the root has been finely chopped and placed upon the leaves and stem...!" "The redness of the root looks so pretty on the green leaves and stem." "Hmm. Roots are crunchy, but they don't have any bad texture to them. It's been boiled to perfection, and the dashi... Hmm, it's got something in it... Dashi made katsuobushi with soy sauce, and there's a very slight secret flavor added to it... the plum..." "Yes. A very slight amount of the umezu I got from making the umeboshi. You sure do have a keen sense of taste, Kyōgoku-san... Grilled young taro. It's a little early for them, but I love the refreshing taste of these small taro. The skin has been grilled, so you can peel it off very easily. They taste good with just salt... ...but they're irresistible with salted sea urchin." "Ooh! The refreshing taste of the small taro and the rich flavor of the sea urchin matches perfectly!

Becoming a mother if -- and this is a critical if -- you have enough money for help does not mean stripping the membranes and being born anew; it means a series of tiny innumerable tasks added to your life that in the short run mean little but in the long run amount to something. It means coming home from work two hours earlier than you did before because that's when the sitter gets off. It means cooking dinners every night because, after all, you don't have just yourself to feed. It means learning about couscous, high-iron rice, organic spinach, nontoxic pots, thing you never thought of, little addendums to your brain, insignificant in isolation but, collectively, it takes up space. Being a mother means going to the pet store for three hours on Sundays so your girl can see the birds. It means learning and seeing colors anew -- there's purple, there's red, say red, red, red and so you see red as though for the first time, blood in the eye, brightness. Being a mother means knowing the luxuriousness of giving comfort, bringing the slack body up, holding her close; she melts into your form, which is, when all is said and done, still your form. Like so much in life, being a mother is entirely undramatic, filled with small pleasures and multiple inconveniences that only over weeks and months leave marks of any significance. You look back and say, "I know things I did not know before. I love like I did not love before, but how, or when, this happened, is really all a mystery, steps in smoke." Being a mother is a lot like growing up. When, or how, did you become an adult? What was the precise moment you lost your childhood? No one can say. It's all so permeable.

To recover an intuitive sense of what will be in season throughout the year, picture a season of foods unfolding as if from one single plant. Take a minute to study this creation—an imaginary plant that bears over the course of one growing season a cornucopia of all the different vegetable products we can harvest. We’ll call it a vegetannual. Picture its life passing before your eyes like a time-lapse film: first, in the cool early spring, shoots poke up out of the ground. Small leaves appear, then bigger leaves. As the plant grows up into the sunshine and the days grow longer, flower buds will appear, followed by small green fruits. Under midsummer’s warm sun, the fruits grow larger, riper, and more colorful. As days shorten into the autumn, these mature into hard-shelled fruits with appreciable seeds inside. Finally, as the days grow cool, the vegetannual may hoard the sugars its leaves have made, pulling them down into a storage unit of some kind: a tuber, bulb, or root. So goes the year. First the leaves: spinach, kale, lettuce, and chard (here, that’s April and May). Then more mature heads of leaves and flower heads cabbage, romaine, broccoli, and cauliflower (May–June). Then tender young fruit-set: snow peas, baby squash, cucumbers (June), followed by green beans, green peppers, and small tomatoes (July). Then more mature, colorfully ripened fruits: beefsteak tomatoes, eggplants, red and yellow peppers (late July–August). Then the large, hard-shelled fruits with developed seeds inside: cantaloupes, honeydews, watermelons, pumpkins, winter squash (August–September). Last come the root crops, and so ends the produce parade. Plainly these don’t all come from the same plant, but each comes from a plant, that’s the point—a plant predestined to begin its life in the spring and die in the fall. (A few, like onions and carrots, are attempting to be biennials, but we’ll ignore that for now.) Each plant part we eat must come in its turn—leaves, buds, flowers, green fruits, ripe fruits, hard fruits—because that is the necessary order of things for an annual plant. For the life of them, they can’t do it differently. Some minor deviations and a bit of overlap are allowed, but in general, picturing an imaginary vegetannual plant is a pretty reliable guide to what will be in season, wherever you live. If you find yourself eating a watermelon in April, you can count back three months and imagine a place warm enough in January for this plant to have launched its destiny.

The rain went on, and I began to think that this was what we had been preparing for - and how I congratulated myself, each time I unblocked a gutter or a drain, on our resilience. I put on my wellingtons and Grandy's old sou'wester and went out to check the garden, to pick the last of the autumn raspberries, to pull the leaves of the perpetual spinach. I let the chickens out to scratch in the wet earth and then called them back into the scullery, and I thought how fine it was to be so well prepared. I didn't think about the supermarket vans, which still came monthly. I didn't think about the things we used but couldn't make: the sugar, the milk, the bottles of olive oil. I didn't think about the doctors and the hospitals that would be there if we wanted them. I didn't think about all the mechanical things, the fridge and the generator, the lights with their bulbs, the taps that turned. I didn't think about that vest net which, invisible, imperceptible, held us up.

For the better part of a decade, I figured I was better off being slightly unhealthy and leaving the active pursuit of body-related matters alone. This all changed once I joined the Peace Corps, where it was impossible to think too much about my appearance, and where health was of such immediately importance that it was always on my mind. I developed active tuberculosis while volunteering and, for some stress- or nutrition-related reason, started to shed my thick black hair. I realized how much I had taken my functional body for granted. I lived in a mile-long village in the middle of a western province in Kyrgyzstan: there were larch trees on the snowy mountains, flocks of sheep crossing dusty roads, but there was no running water, no grocery store. The resourceful villagers preserved peppers and tomatoes, stockpiled apples and onions, but it was so difficult to get fresh produce otherwise that I regularly fantasized about spinach and oranges, and would spend entire weekends trying to obtain them. As a prophylactic measure against mental breakdown, I started doing yoga in my room every day. Exercise, I thought. What a miracle!

To our surprise and delight, dinner was stupendous. Served in our room at the low polished wood table, it exuded a freshness and artistry we had not seen since leaving Kyoto. The sashimi- sea bream, squid, and skipjack- tasted as clean as a freshly sliced apple. Rusty-red miso soup had a meaty fortifying flavor enhanced with cubes of tofu and slithery ribbons of seaweed. The tempura, served in a basket of woven bamboo, shattered to pieces like a well-made croissant. Hiding inside the golden shell was a slice of Japanese pumpkin, a chunk of tender white fish, an okra pod, a shiitake mushroom cap, and a zingy shiso leaf. Pale yellow chawan-mushi also appeared in a lidded glass custard cup. With a tiny wooden spoon we scooped up the ethereal egg and dashi custard cradling chunks of shrimp, sweet lily buds, and waxy-green ginkgo nuts. In a black lacquer bowl came a superb seafood consommé, along with a knuckle of white fish, tuft of spinach, mushroom cap, and a tiny yellow diamond of yuzu zest. A small lacquer bucket held several servings of sticky white rice to eat with crunchy radish pickles and shredded pressed cabbage. A small wedge of honeydew melon concluded the meal.

This is Giselda’s recipe: Acquacotta from the Maremma Ingredients: Two or three large onions; green vegetables (like cabbage or spinach); tomatoes; one egg per person, toasted bread, some grated pecorino cheese. Put a generous amount of good olive oil from the Maremma into a big pan. Add two or three large onions sliced up and gently fry them. Then turn down the heat and cook until the onions almost go mushy. Add tomatoes cut into pieces and continue to cook, adding herbs such as basil, and some chopped-up celery. When this has all cooked add water (but if there is good broth available, this is better). Boil for fifteen minutes. Fry some toasted slices of bread in a frying pan and sprinkle grated pecorino cheese on top. Add one egg per person (making sure they don’t all join together, so break them into the pan gently). After about one or two minutes, when the eggs begin to set, remove the pan from the fire. Pour the soup into dishes and put the bread and egg on top. We all LOVED the scrummy sweet Fritelle di San Giuseppe that we finished off supper with. Ingredients: Two glasses of water; two dessert spoons of very good olive oil; three dessert spoons of sugar; 250 grams of wheat flour; two whole eggs; one sachet of vanilla sugar (one gram); a pinch of salt; half a teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda, the grated zest of one lemon. In a pan, heat up water, sugar, salt, grated lemon zest and the oil. When it is boiling, remove from the heat and add all the flour immediately and all in one go. Stir very well and until well mixed (this will take about ten minutes). Leave the mix to cool down and then add both eggs one at a time. Mix well. ONLY AT THIS STAGE, add the bicarbonate of soda and vanilla and mix again for another two or three minutes. Pour plenty of oil into a frying pan and heat to boiling point and throw in the mix little by little (about the size of a large walnut). Fry – if the mixture has been properly prepared, it will swell in size immediately – and turn it with a fork so it cooks evenly. Remove from the heat and toss it in sugar immediately and then put on a cloth (to absorb extra fat) and eat when still warm and never cold!

Dr. Cabot’s Liver Healing Soup Recipe Serves 6 - 8 8 cups water miso and/or tamari to taste 3 tablespoons of cold pressed olive oil 2 sweet potatoes, chopped 3 tomatoes, chopped 2 carrots, chopped 2 leeks, washed and sliced 1 bunch spinach (fresh or frozen), chopped 2 stalks of celery (including the tops), chopped 2 large brown onions, chopped 1 inch (2.5cm) finely chopped and peeled ginger root 2 cloves garlic, minced (optional) 1 bunch sliced kale or beet greens 1 cup cooked beans or lentils Add small amounts of celery seed, turmeric, pepper and miso (or tamari) to taste optional added extra ingredients: 2 - 3 fresh artichoke hearts 2 cups shiitake mushrooms fresh or reconstituted sliced 1 whole reishi mushroom (remove when cooked) ¼ cup arame or wakame seaweed chopped Although these 4 ingredients are traditionally very good for the liver and the immune system, not everyone likes these things, so if they really do not appeal to you, leave some or all of them out. In a large saucepan add the oil and bring to a moderate to high heat. Add the celery (plus tops), ginger root, turmeric, tomato, potato, carrots, onions, celery seed and garlic and some pepper. Stir continuously so the vegetables do not stick to the bottom. When the vegetables begin to brown, carefully add the water with miso/tamari to taste. Bring to the boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer. Add the lentils/beans and stir. If using these, add the seaweed, mushrooms and artichoke hearts. Simmer for about 2 hours. Add the kale and beet greens 15 minutes before you serve. If present, remove the reishi mushrooms. Stir in the miso/tamari to taste. Serve alone or with a side salad and one slice crusty wholemeal bread.

Olive Garden Catering Menu (Updated for 2025) When it comes to catering for special occasions, Olive Garden has long been a favorite choice for its delicious Italian cuisine and family-style dining. Whether you’re planning a wedding, birthday, corporate event, or casual gathering, Olive Garden’s catering menu offers a variety of mouthwatering options to please every guest. Here’s an updated look at the Olive Garden catering menu for 2025, so you can plan your next event with ease. What’s New on the 2025 Olive Garden Catering Menu? Olive Garden has made some exciting updates to its catering menu for 2025. With a focus on fresh ingredients, diverse flavors, and convenience, they’ve added new dishes and enhanced classic favorites to ensure everyone leaves the table satisfied. Here are some of the standout additions: Family-Style Appetizers: Now featuring options like crispy calamari platters and stuffed mushrooms for a crowd. New Entrée Choices: Expanded options include Chicken Marsala, Shrimp Scampi, and a vegetarian-friendly Eggplant Parmigiana. Customizable Pasta Bar: Build your own pasta station with a variety of noodles, sauces, and protein add-ons, perfect for tailoring to guests’ preferences. Olive Garden Catering Menu Highlights The 2025 catering menu is designed to accommodate events of all sizes and includes: Appetizers: Start your meal with crowd-pleasers like Breadsticks with Alfredo Sauce, Spinach-Artichoke Dip, or a classic Antipasto Platter. Entrées: Chicken Alfredo Lasagna Classico Five Cheese Ziti al Forno Spaghetti with Meat Sauce Sides: Complement your main courses with options like Garlic Mashed Potatoes, Fresh Steamed Vegetables, and, of course, their signature Salad and Breadsticks. Desserts: Satisfy your sweet tooth with Tiramisu, Chocolate Lasagna, or Cannoli. Why Choose Olive Garden Catering? Olive Garden catering offers several advantages: Convenience: With delivery and setup services available, catering with Olive Garden is stress-free. Variety: Their extensive menu ensures there’s something for everyone, including vegetarians and gluten-sensitive diners. Affordability: Catering packages are reasonably priced and designed to serve groups of various sizes. How to Order Olive Garden Catering Browse the Menu: Visit their official website or contact your local Olive Garden for the latest catering options. Plan Ahead: Place your order at least 24-48 hours in advance to ensure availability. Customize Your Order: Tailor your selections to match your event’s theme or dietary preferences. Pick Up or Deliver: Choose whether you’ll pick up your order or have it delivered directly to your event. Final Thoughts Whether you’re hosting a small gathering or a large celebration, Olive Garden’s updated 2025 catering menu offers something for every occasion. With their commitment to quality, variety, and convenience, it’s no wonder Olive Garden remains a go-to choice for catering Italian cuisine. Explore the menu today and make your next event unforgettable with Olive Garden’s delicious offerings.