Zesty Quotes

Recently, I spent eight days in a car with my co-host from Top Gear James May, who has a notoriously flatulent bottom. But because he was living on army rations the interior was always pine fresh and lemon zesty.

The boat was vacuum-packed with Albanians, four generations to a family: great-grandmother, air-dried like a chilli pepper, deep red skin and a hot temper; grandmother, all sun-dried tomato, tough, chewy, skin split with the heat; getting the kids to rub olive oil into her arms; mother, moist as a purple fig, open everywhere - blouse, skirt, mouth, eyes, a wide-open woman, lips licking the salt spray flying from the open boat. Then there were the kids, aged four and six, a couple of squirs, zesty as lemons.

It was a man's salad, zesty and full of crunch.

In all his spiciness, it was the chili pepper who posed the zesty question to me—how would you learn of what is presently unknown about our vegetal ways of communicating if you are not looking for it and do not even realize that it may exist? Generously, he had also provided the answer—exclude the known to allow yourself to see what unexpected things might happen. And the unexpected is exactly what happened.

This sudden sharpening of our attention doesn’t just apply to pioneering artworks. It can be seen in an ordinary high school classroom. In a recent study, psychologists Connor Diemand-Yauman, Daniel M. Oppenheimer, and Erikka Vaughan teamed up with teachers, getting them to reformat the teaching handouts they used. Half their classes, chosen at random, got the original materials. The other half got the same documents, reformatted into one of three challenging fonts: the dense , the florid , or the zesty . These are, on the face of it, absurd and distracting fonts. But the fonts didn’t derail the students. They prompted them to pay attention, to slow down, and to think about what they were reading. Students who had been taught using the ugly fonts ended up scoring higher on their end-of-semester exams.21 Most of us don’t have

Although Japanese cooking aims to spotlight the natural flavors of ingredients, zesty accents often appear to provide contrast. A blast of pungent wasabi counterposes the oily richness of raw fish. A shake of spicy herbal sansho cuts through the fatty succulence of grilled eel. And a dab of stinging yellow mustard offsets the mild sweetness of boiled greens.

His stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, and the aromas drifting up from the kitchen below reminded him of his mother's masala box, filled with all the spices she used to make their meals- zesty cumin, sweet cinnamon, fragrant bay leaves, savory mustard seeds, rich peppercorn, pungent garam masala, and spicy chilies- they were all tied up in a sense of home.

The typical smell from skin-on pork belly is completely erased by the spices used. All that reaches the tongue... are the mild sweetness of the fats and the zesty richness of the curry!" "It's amazingly delicious!" "After I parboiled, seasoned and pan seared the pork belly... I braised it in a mixture of oyster sauce, soy sauce, Shaoxing wine and other seasonings. I gave it its fragrance with star anise, ginger and Sichuan pepper." Strange. The meat is incredibly heavy and filling... yet this dish is so easy to eat! Why? "IT'S THE RICE! Now I see! She mixed a dash of rock salt and Sichuan-peppercorn oil into the rice! The refreshing scent and tongue-tingling flavor of the peppercorn oil ameliorates the oiliness of the fats... ... but its spiciness makes you want another bite of the sweet meat... it's a chain reaction!

I know all their favorites. It's a knack, a professional secret, like a fortune teller reading palms. My mother would have laughed at this waste of my skills, but I have no desire to probe farther into their lives than this. I do not want their secrets or their innermost thoughts. Nor do I want their fears or gratitude. A tame alchemist, she would have called me with kindly contempt, working domestic magic when I could have wielded marvels. But I like these people. I like their small and introverted concerns. I can read their eyes, their mouths, so easily- this one with its hint of bitterness will relish my zesty orange twists; this sweet-smiling one the soft-centered apricot hearts; this girl with the windblown hair will love the mendiants; this brisk, cheery woman the chocolate brazils. For Guillaume, the florentines, eaten neatly over a saucer in his tidy bachelor's house. Narcisse's appetite for double-chocolate truffles reveals the gentle heart beneath the gruff exterior. Caroline Clairmont will dream of cinder toffee tonight and wake hungry and irritable. And the children... Chocolate curls, white buttons with colored vermicelli, pain d'épices with gilded edging, marzipan fruits in their nests of ruffled paper, peanut brittle, clusters, cracknells, assorted misshapes in half-kilo boxes... I sell dreams, small comforts, sweet harmless temptations to bring down a multitude of saints crash-crash-crashing among the hazels and nougatines....

rich, ripe, dark, deep, zippy, zesty, wicked, wonderful, delicious, delightful, delectable and even electable (if he could vote), vibrant, vivacious, seductive, addictive, oh-so-very-attractive, nourishing, flourishing, rather ravishing, beautiful, buttery, sometimes bittersweet but never bitter, gorgeous and worth gorging on, berry-ish, cherry-ish, meaty yet fruity, elemental yet complex, mellow yet electric, soothing yet energizing, earthy yet heavenly, melt-in-your-mouth pleasure of chocolate?

What is life? It is a series of arrangements that each of us makes in order to slow down the deterioration process as much as possible. Everybody faces the same decisions as they advance in age—behavior that was fun when you were younger (excessive drug and alcohol intake, indiscriminate sexual encounters with the powerfully magnetic and questionably sane, residing in shitholes with hygiene-averse scumbags) can’t continue when you get older or else the death march gets accelerated. Mature people learn over time how to structure their lives in such a way that the likelihood of dying is minimized. Eventually the menu of fun items that won’t instantly kill you is reduced to a small selection of spicy entrees, then a zesty appetizer or two, then a glass of water and a spoon (because forks and knives could cut your terrifyingly translucent skin, you decrepit old coot). I

When we first started dating, my talent in the kitchen was a turn-on. The prospect of me in the kitchen, wearing a skimpy apron and holding a whisk in my hand- he thought that was sexy. And, as someone with little insight into how to work her own sex appeal, I pounced on the opportunity to make him want and need me. I spent four days preparing my first home-cooked meal for him, a dinner of wilted escarole salad with hot bacon dressing, osso bucco with risotto Milanese and gremolata, and a white-chocolate toasted-almond semifreddo for dessert. At the time, I lived with three other people in a Columbia Heights town house, so I told all of my housemates to make themselves scarce that Saturday night. When Adam showed up at my door, as the rich smell of braised veal shanks wafted through the house, I greeted him holding a platter of prosciutto-wrapped figs, wearing nothing but a slinky red apron. He grabbed me by the waist and pushed me into the kitchen, slowly untying the apron strings resting on my rounded hips, and moments later we were making love on the tiled kitchen floor. Admittedly, I worried the whole time about when I should start the risotto and whether he'd even want osso bucco once we were finished, but it was the first time I'd seduced someone like that, and it was lovely. Adam raved about that meal- the rich osso bucco, the zesty gremolata, the sweet-and-salty semifreddo- and that's when I knew cooking was my love language, my way of expressing passion and desire and overcoming all of my insecurities. I learned that I may not be comfortable strutting through a room in a tight-fitting dress, but I can cook one hell of a brisket, and I can do it in the comfort of my own home, wearing an apron and nothing else. Adam loved my food, and he loved watching me work in the kitchen even more, the way my cheeks would flush from the heat of the stove and my hair would twist into delicate red curls along my hairline. As the weeks went by, I continued to seduce him with pork ragu and roasted chicken, creamed spinach and carrot sformato, cannolis and brownies and chocolate-hazelnut cake.

I took the stairs two at a time, excited to have company today. When I opened the door I gasped and stood there in shock a moment before saying, “Patti, it’s awesome!” She had decorated with my school colors. Royal blue and gold streamers crisscrossed the ceiling, and balloons were everywhere. I heard her and the twins come up behind me, Patti giggling and Marna oohing. I was about to hug Patti, when a movement on the other side of the room caught my eye through the dangling balloon ribbons. I cursed my stupid body whose first reaction was to scream. Midshriek, I realized it was my dad, but my startled system couldn’t stop its initial reaction. A chain reaction started as Patti, then both the twins screamed, too. Dad parted the balloons and slunk forward, chuckling. We all shut up and caught our breaths. “Do you give all your guests such a warm welcome?” Patti’s hand was on her heart. “Geez, John! A little warning next time?” “I bet you’re wishing you’d never given me that key,” Dad said to Patti with his most charming, frightening grin. He stared at her long enough to make her face redden and her aura sputter. She rolled her eyes and went past him to the kitchen. “We’re about to grill,” she said without looking up from the food prep. “You’re welcome to stay.” Her aura was a strange blend of yellow and light gray annoyance. “Can’t stay long. Just wanted to see my little girl on her graduation day.” Dad nodded a greeting at the twins and they slunk back against the two barstools at the counter. My heart rate was still rapid when he came forward and embraced me. “Thanks for coming,” I whispered into his black T-shirt. I breathed in his clean, zesty scent and didn’t want to let him go. “I came to give you a gift.” I looked up at him with expectancy. “But not yet,” he said. I made a face. Patti came toward the door with a platter of chicken in her hands, a bottle of BBQ sauce and grilling utensils under her arm, and a pack of matches between her teeth. Dad and I both moved to take something from her at the same time. He held up a hand toward me and said, “I got it.” He took the platter and she removed the matches from her mouth. “I can do it,” she insisted. He grinned as I opened the door for them. “Yeah,” he said over his shoulder. “I know you can.” And together they left for the commons area to be domesticated. Weird.

I love you, Quade,” she says, once the kiss is done and with his warmth still in her. “Always have.” “See, I knew—” She cracks him one on the arm before he can finish. It can’t always be kisses and dancing, after all. Sometimes you’ve got to keep things zesty. Sharp. Tough, like love is. She’s pretty sure her love for him is tough all right. It let her run to him, after all. “Okay, maybe I didn’t know. But I knew this much—I’ve loved you since the first day you punched me in the face. And I’ll love you ’til the last.

Zesty Pork Party Dip   I love the hot sausage used in this dip. It’s an easy recipe that goes great with the big game.   Prep Time: 10 Minutes Cook Time: 15 Minutes   Ingredients   1  – Package (16oz) Hot Pork Sausage 1 – 8oz bar Cream Cheese 1 – 10oz Can Diced Tomatoes with Green Chile Peppers (such as Rotel) 1/4 – Cup Chopped Onions   Cooking Instructions Sauté sausage and onions in a medium skillet over medium heat until browned. Crumble sausage into bits. Drain grease, and return to skillet. Stir in the cream cheese, and diced tomatoes.   Serving Tips Serve in a bowl, with tortilla chips. Tastes even better if kept in a warming dish to stay hot during the party!

As the years have gone by, I’ve realized how Mia has helped me to grow spiritually. I have seen firsthand how she lives out Romans 5:3-5. The physical suffering Mia has experienced has produced in her incredible perseverance, character, and hope. In Romans 5:6-8, the apostle Paul reveals the person who has suffered the most for all of us--Jesus Christ. “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (verse 8, emphasis added). It is the ultimate expression of God’s love, a gift freely offered to you and to me. Mia has handled her challenges much better than the rest of us. I believe it is difficult to live with circumstances that you have very little control over, but she seems to do it with lots of laughs and a zesty personality that people are drawn to. When innocent people suffer, it motivates the rest of us to stop complaining and start living unselfishly. Those who display courage inspire us to live life to the fullest. May you be encouraged through Mia’s journey. Thank you, Missy, for all you do for our family and also for writing this book. Without you I could not be me--but God knew that, didn’t He? I love you. Jase.

Red pepper is the theme, but there's no sign of it in the noodles or broth. Does that one little dollop of paste on the side really have the oomph to compensate for that?" "It's harissa, a seasoning blend said to have originated in Northern Africa. The ingredients generally include paprika, caraway seeds, lemon juice and garlic, among other things. But the biggest is a ton of peppers, which are mashed into a paste and blended with those other spices." Oh! That's the same thing Dad made when he visited the dorm. I think I remember him saying it came from somewhere in Africa. "The ramen's broth is based on Chicken Muamba, another African recipe, where chicken and nuts are stewed together with tomatoes and chilies. This broth forms a solid backbone for the entire dish. Its zesty flavor amplifies the super-spicy harissa to explosive proportions!" "That's gotta be sooo spicy! Whoa! Are you sure it's a good idea to dump that much of it in all at once?!" "Hoooo!Thanks to the mellow, full-bodied and ever-so-slight astringency of that mountain of peanuts he infused into the broth... ... adding the harissa just makes the spiciness and richness of the overall dish grow deeper and more complex with each drop! Extra-thick cuts of Char Siu Pork, rubbed with homemade peanut butter before simmering! And the slightly thicker-than-usual wavy noodles! They soak up the broth and envelop the ultra-spiciness of the harissa... all together, it's addicting! Its deliciousness so intense that my body cries out from its heat! African Ramen... how very intriguing! A dish that never before existed anywhere in the world, but he's brought it to vibrant life!

Trust me, it could be worse. The last mission I was party to was called Operation Zesty Walrus.

She quickly jumped back in with her favorite part of cooking, the smells that would infuse the restaurant from open to close. Nutty olive oil , zesty herbs, briny oysters, lusty chocolate, pungent cheese, crisp greens, fresh citrus, bracing vinegar.

Pour ingredients into bottle and shake vigorously for 1 minute or until mixed. For best results, spray liberally in areas where fairy is not wanted. Will repel fairies and most flying insects for 23 years. Excess can be refrigerated and stored for up to 7 days for use as a zesty vinaigrette salad dressing.

Here was where this Nought truly lived. Quath had sensed its raw, sticky pull in a jolting instant of profound surprise. The mind’s upper layers were mild and obliging, like cool, smooth corridors beneath the linear engagements of the conscious—while far below, in chambers walled and ramified with bony purpose, lurked a complex, ropy labyrinth of strange power. Or minds. Quath was not even sure the Nought was a single intelligence. Its highest echelons had seemed to be more like a passive stage than a directing entity. There, on a broad, level area above the syrupy seethe, factions of the undermind warred. An abyss yawned. Instincts spoke quietly, effectively, never falling silent. Emotions flared prickly hot—heckling, yearning, always calling the higher intelligence away from its deliberations. Zesty hormones surged—not to carry wedges of information or holistic images, as in Quath, but to flood the bloodstream with urgent demands. Organs far from the brain answered these chemical heralds, pumping other hormones into the thumping flow, adding alkaline voices to the babble. Ideas rose like crystalline towers from this swamp, glimmering coolly—but soon were spattered with the aromatic chemical murk, blood on glass. These elements merged and wrestled, struggling armies rushing together in flurries, fermenting, spinning away into wild skirmishes. Lurid splashes festooned the brittle ramparts of analytical thought. A churning mire lapped hungrily at the stern bulwarks of reason, eroding worn salients even as fresh ones were built. Yet somehow this interior battle did not yield mere confusion and scattered indecision. Somehow a single coherent view emerged, holding the vital, fervent factions in check. Its actions sampled of all the myriad influences, letting none dominate for long. Quath marveled at the sheer energy behind the incessant clashings, and at the same time felt a mixture of recognition laced by repulsion. This Nought’s inner landscape was far more complex than it should be. No wonder it had not attained the technological sophistication of the podia!—it labored forward in a howling storm, its every sharp perception blunted by fraying winds of passion.

Zesty hormones surged—not to carry wedges of information or holistic images, as in Quath, but to flood the bloodstream with urgent demands. Organs far from the brain answered these chemical heralds, pumping other hormones into the thumping flow, adding alkaline voices to the babble. Ideas rose like crystalline towers from this swamp, glimmering coolly—but soon were spattered with the aromatic chemical murk, blood on glass. These elements merged and wrestled, struggling armies rushing together in flurries, fermenting, spinning away into wild skirmishes. Lurid splashes festooned the brittle ramparts of analytical thought. A churning mire lapped hungrily at the stern bulwarks of reason, eroding worn salients even as fresh ones were built. Yet somehow this interior battle did not yield mere confusion and scattered indecision. Somehow a single coherent view emerged, holding the vital, fervent factions in check. Its actions sampled of all the myriad influences, letting none dominate for long. Quath marveled at the sheer energy behind the incessant clashings, and at the same time felt a mixture of recognition laced by repulsion. This Nought’s inner landscape was far more complex than it should be. No wonder it had not attained the technological sophistication of the podia!—it labored forward in a howling storm, its every sharp perception blunted by fraying winds of passion. But by the same stroke, it had a curious way of skating on the surface of these choppy, alchemical crosscurrents. Some balance and uncanny steadiness came from that. It was much like the way they walked—falling forward, then rescuing themselves by catching the plunge with the other leg. This yielded a rocking cadence that echoed the precarious nature of the being itself. Not a single mind… and not multiple, interlocking intelligences, such as Quath.

By adding vegetables like carrots, potatoes and zucchini, you were able to create seven separate pâtes of different colors. And each pâte has been cooked in a way to maximize the deliciousness of each vegetable. I'm impressed you were able to complete all that work in so little time." "You made two separate sauces too. A sweet and tangy sudachi gelée... ... and a refreshing green herb sauce centered on shiso... and mixed with other fragrant herbs to make a pesto." "Wow! Seasoning a European terrine with distinctly Japanese flavors like sudachi and shiso... what a fresh idea!" "Mmmm! The sautéed zucchini together with the herb sauce is so invigoratingly zesty and tasty! Exquisite!" "The tangy sudachi sauce goes well with the mildly sweet tomatoes too." "Seven different pâtes with two different sauces means there are fourteen flavors to enjoy. I'm already excited to try various combinations!" "Me too. It seems the colorful rainbow stripes aren't only pleasing to the eye... they also manage to be equally pleasing to the palate!

Then my answer is Double-No with a side order of Nope-Nuh-Uh and a couple sauce packets of Extra-Zesty Fuck-No Dressing.

The truth is that religious freedom as a stimulus to zesty conversation, to inner awareness, or to any sort of spiritual redefinition was a bland disappointment.

I am rising from the pitfall where I crashed and burned. I am the dark. I am the light. I'm honest. Intuitive. I let feelings wash over me. I'm set in my ways. I'm obsessive. Aggressive. I like to be correct. I'm compassionate. Intimate. Dedicated. I'm wise. Still a child. I'm zesty. I'm temperamental. My heart is on my sleeve. I bury it deep like a treasure. There are days in the sun and some sleepless nights. I have laughter; I have tears. I show my courage; I offer my fear. Inside me is an enigma, a mystic moon with all its phases. My pulses are as vast and bewildering as tides. Out to the ocean, then retreating to the shore. To where they belong.

It was stamped FOR YOUR EYES ONLY: OPERATION PUNGENT MUSKRAT. It also had a thick wax seal embossed with the logo of the CIA. My heart pounded. It was always exciting to get an FYEO dossier. And yet . . . “Operation Pungent Muskrat?” I asked, failing to hide the disappointment in my voice. “I know, it’s a lousy name,” the president said. “But I assure you, this is an extremely important mission. From what I understand, the Agency used to give their all missions very exciting names like Operation Cobra Strike and Operation Lightning Blast, but by now all those have been used up and we’re kind of left with the dregs. Trust me, it could be worse. The last mission I was party to was called Operation Zesty Walrus.

Spicy, I can do that,” I reply nonchalantly while moving to the back of the large room. “Like Tuscan garlic chicken on a bed of fettuccine? Or a zesty crescent casserole with Italian sausage instead of ground beef? He walks closer, his every step measured, careful. “Like something decadently rich and flavorful. Sinful.

Many cuisines worldwide use gingerroot; it is featured particularly in Asian cooking and pairs well with garlic in savory sauces and dressings. Ginger contributes a zesty, pungent flavor and has been valued since ancient times for its ability to soothe nausea and gastrointestinal distress.

Everywhere I look, everywhere I turn: salad. Potato salad. Pasta salad. Tuna salad. Ham salad. There aren't any leafy green ones, although some, like my aunt's beloved cottage cheese lime Jell-O salad, are decidedly green. No, the bowls lining the tables and windowsills are filled with the kinds of salads I grew up with in Michigan, most containing some combination of proteins and carbs, the ingredients bound up with a spoonful of mayonnaise or its zesty cousin, Miracle Whip, my mother's all-time favorite condiment. She told me she'd never met a recipe that couldn't be improved by a spoonful of Miracle Whip. That, and maybe a dash of rum.

Ice cold ginger beer – that feisty, zesty stuff that brings tears to your eyes and make you sneeze.

Durban has the largest Indian population outside of India! The Afro-Indian Culture that ensued has become a strong influence on the people of South Africa who have adopted many of the Indian traditions. This is especially true of how food is prepared! Of course rice is the preferred carb and considered a stable with most meals. An Indian curry stew is an exciting taste treat. Relatively simple to make, fresh garlic and ginger pulp are lightly fried along with chilies, onions and a zesty curry powder. Added to this are chopped tomatoes and finally the meat, seafood or vegetable of your choice. After slow simmering, the spicy stew is served with steamed rice and perhaps a hot and spicy chili sauce condiment called a sambal. Sweet and sour condiments called chutney are made of unripe mangoes, raisins, limes, sliced bananas and other fruit.. Of course Major Grey's Chutney can be bought ready-made and is considered by many as the best of all chutneys. Many of the curried foods thought of as Indian are actually of Indonesian origin and are also popular on the Malaysian Peninsular and in many other eastern countries.

Lightning Blast, but by now all those have been used up and we’re kind of left with the dregs. Trust me, it could be worse. The last mission I was party to was called Operation Zesty Walrus.” That made me feel a little better. I tried to crack open the secure seal on the file. Only, the seal turned out to be a lot more secure than I’d expected. I struggled with it for a few seconds but made no progress. “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Cyrus muttered, then snatched the dossier back from me and tried to open it himself. It turned out he couldn’t do it either. President Stern put a hand over his mouth, trying to hide the fact that he was laughing. Cyrus threw the dossier on the floor. “You know what? We don’t need to open this blasted thing anyhow. I know everything that’s in it. The headline being this: We have reliable intel that SPYDER is planning to assassinate the president.” I sat up in my seat, worried for the president; if any organization could determine how to get around all his security and take him out, it was SPYDER. I was also worried because I was with the president. If SPYDER decided to kill him right then, they’d have killed me, too. “What kind of intel?” “We’ve picked up chatter on various

Zest…is that a nice way to say rambunctious enthusiasm?

Eden plates the shrimp stew and adds a bit of orange zest on top for a hit of refreshing citrus. The shrimp--- now a beautiful bright red amidst roasted garlic and fennel--- radiates steam. The soup itself is more of a sauce, hearty and thick and zesty. Next is the coq au vin. She's prepared a smaller batch in light of the fast serving time. It's as traditional as they come, but Eden honestly can't think of any way to make it 'her rendition.' She's added a side of white rice and places a savory chicken thigh atop of the mound, broth soaking into each individual grain. The mousse is a pain in the ass, but Eden doesn't give up. As much as she loves to eat desserts, she has a hell of a time preparing them. Eden just doesn't have the patience. Mousse itself takes forever to whip up to the right consistency, and considering the fact that she has a million other things to worry about, she can't get it quite the way she likes. She tops it off with a healthy dose of whipped cream, sprinkling bits of hard chocolate overtop to cover up the fact that it isn't the prettiest thing to look at.