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Quote by Donia Bijan

“Men sat behind charcoal braziers turning ears of corn and fanning skewered liver kebabs they slipped sizzling into pockets of lavash bread with a tangle of cilantro and mint. Ribbons of fruit leather, apricot, plum, tamarind, and cherry, draped like laundry from wires strung between awnings.”

Quote by Donia Bijan

Book:The Last Days of Café Leila
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The Last Days of Café Leila

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Donia Bijan

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“Grandma, he had often wanted to say, Is this where the world began? For surely it had begun in no other than a place like this. The kitchen, without doubt, was the center of creation, all things revolved about it; it was the pediment that sustained the temple. Eyes shut to let his nose wander, he snuffed deeply. He moved in the hell-fire steams and sudden baking-powder flurries of snow in this miraculous climate where Grandma, with the look of the Indies in her eyes and the flesh of two warm hens in her bodice, Grandma of the thousand arms, shook, basted, whipped, beat, minced, diced, peeled, wrapped, salted, stirred. Blind, he touched his way to the pantry door. A squeal of laughter rang from the parlor, teacups tinkled. But he moved on into the cool underwater green and wild-persimmon country where the slung and hanging odor of creamy bananas ripened silently and bumped his head. Gnats fizzed angrily about vinegar cruets and his ears. He opened his eyes. He saw bread waiting to be cut into slices of warm summer cloud, doughnuts strewn like clown hoops from some edible game. The faucets turned on and off in his cheeks. Here on the plum-shadowed side of the house with maple leaves making a creek-water running in the hot wind at the window he read spice-cabinet names.”

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Book:Dandelion Wine
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“Cayenne, marjoram, cinnamon." The names of lost and fabulous cities through which storms of spice bloomed up and dusted away. He tossed the cloves that had traveled from some dark continent where once they had spilled on milk marble, jack-stones for children with licorice hands. And looking at one single label on a jar, he felt himself gone round the calendar to that private day this summer when he had looked at the circling world and found himself at its center. The word on the jar was RELISH. And he was glad he had decided to live. RELISH! What a special name for the minced pickle sweetly crushed in its white-capped jar. The man who had named it, what a man he must have been. Roaring, stamping around, he must have tromped the joys of the world and jammed the in this jar and writ in a big hand, shouting, RELISH! For its very sound meant rolling in sweet fields with roistering chestnut mares, mouths bearded with grass, plunging your head fathoms deep in trough water so the sea poured cavernously through your head. RELISH!”

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Book:Dandelion Wine
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“Dina hummed to herself as she pulled out an empty jam jar from a busy cupboard. It was still labeled "Apricot Jam" from the batch her mum had made for her last year--- jam that tasted like bottled sunshine. There wasn't an exact science to the magic, but Dina often found that the best tea blends were ones she put into secondhand jars, ones that had been full of delicious, wonderful things. She clipped her curls out of her face and headed into the pantry. The walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with all manner of jars and boxes, all individually labeled in Dina's messy handwriting. She kept her spices together, along with other baking essentials like fish vanilla, cake flour, and a tin that was labeled "Eye of Newt" but actually contained nutmeg. Her tea selection had several shelves dedicated to it. Aside from the specialty blends she made for the shop, Dina kept a collection of tea and tisane ingredients, which she could mix into more personal blends at a moment's notice. Dina never felt more in her element as a kitchen witch than when she was looking through her pantry. Scott's tea blend needed to be something that encapsulated his energies yet also helped him in some way. A tea to drink in the middle of a long work day, Dina decided. She twirled a curl around her finger as she focused. She hadn't met any of his fellow curators yet, but from what Scott had told her they could be a bit of a handful. So the kind of tea that would help him get through a long meeting. Something to sharpen a tired mind. Dina knew just the thing for it. She scooped up several jars and laid them out on the counter before her. Black tea--- a full-bodied assam, cacao nibs, dried ginger and... it was missing something. Dina stepped back into the pantry and surveyed her shelves with her hands on her hips. She knew that this would need one more ingredient to be perfect for Scott. Lion's mane mushroom? Perhaps a little too earthy. Clove? Too heavy. It would overpower the other flavors. As her eyes skirted over the rows of jars, she spotted it. A small glass jar with a dark red powder in it. Dried beetroot! Perfect! Energizing yet slightly sweet and smooth, and it would make Scott look like he was drinking some kind of red-velvet-themed drink. Which was also his favorite cake flavor.”

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“Ouvi, que não vereis com vãs façanhas, Fantásticas, fingidas, mentirosas, Louvar os vossos, como nas estranhas Musas, de engrandecer-se desejosas: As verdadeiras vossas são tamanhas Que excedem as sonhadas, fabulosas, Que excedem Rodamonte e o vão Rugeiro E Orlando, inda que fora verdadeiro. Por estes vos darei um Nuno fero, Que fez ao Rei e ao Reino tal serviço, Um Egas e um Dom Fuas, que de Homero A cítara par' eles só cobiço; Pois polos Doze Pares dar-vos quero Os Doze de Inglaterra e o seu Magriço; Dou-vos também aquele ilustre Gama, Que para si de Eneias toma a fama.”

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“But at the end of three days the Brahman arrived in an Indian boat, and went to the captain-major's ship, and came on board, and made a great salutation to the captain-major, saying : " Sir, as I bring you a good message, I did not ask leave to come on board. The Zamorim sends you this letter. Order it to be read, and give me an answer, as I wish to return imme-diately." The captain-major asked him of what race he was. He said that he was a Nair and a Brahman. The captain-major ordered a scribe of the King of Cochym, who was in the ship, reckoning cargo, to read the letter, and he read it. The captain-major then sent the Brahman, with the letter, to the King of Cochym, in the skiff, and the Indian boat with the rowers remained at the ship. When the King heard the letter, he laughed to himself without answering anything, and sent it back to the ship. The captain-major summoned before him the rowers of the Indian boat, and ordered them to sit down on the ground, and told them not to get up, or he would order them to be executed; and he ordered their hands to be tied together, and told them to look well at everything. He then ordered the Brahman to be taken by the arms by two Negroes, that he might not fling himself into the sea, and said to him: " Brahman, tell me what the Zamorim ordered you to do." He replied that the King had not told him anything, except to deliver that letter and return immediately with the answer. The captain-major told him to swear by the head of the Zamorim that he spoke the truth, and he would not swear. Then he ordered him to be tied to the bits, and sent for an iron shovel full of embers, and ordered them to be put close to his shins, until large blisters rose upon them, whilst the interpreter snouted to him to tell the truth about what he came for, and what orders he had received, but he would not speak. The captain-major let him remain thus, and the fire was brought closer by degrees, until he could not bear it, and he said ho would speak the truth, and he confessed all that the King had said to him, and had ordered him to look and see; and he said that now that he had spoken the truth, let him order him to be killed, since he would not return to Calecut, for if they did not kill him, he should kill himself by his own hands. The captain-major questioned him why he would not return to Calecut, and would kill himself in order not to go thither. He said: "I do not deserve to live since I have discovered the King's secret." The captain-major said: " If, then, you will kill yourself, who will carry the answer to the King?" He replied, the Negro boatmen would carry it. Then the captain-major ordered the Negroes of the Indian boat to be unbound, and a white cloth to be given to each of them, telling them to row hard and return quickly. He then ordered the upper and lower lips of the Brahman to be cut off, so that all his teeth shewed, and he ordered the ears of a dog on board the ship to be cut off, and he had them fastened and sewn with many stitches on the Brahman instead of his, and he sent him in the Indian boat to return to Calecut.”

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Book:The three voyages of Vasco da Gama and his viceroyalty from the Lendas da India. Accompanied by original documents
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