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Quote by Neil Gaiman

“Old but contented, the face of a man who had sipped life’s vinegar and found it, by and large, to be mostly whiskey, and good whiskey at that.”

Quote by Neil Gaiman

Work

American Gods

A richly woven narrative that intertwines mythological figures with contemporary American life, examining themes of identity, culture, and the quest for belonging. more

Author

Neil Gaiman
Neil Gaiman

Neil Gaiman, born on November 10, 1960, is a renowned British author. His works span across various genres including fantasy, horror, and science fiction, with notable titles such as 'American Gods' and 'Good Omens'. Gaiman's writing style is distinctive and has won him a dedicated fan base. more

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“This dish... it's sweet-and-sour pork but with black vinegar. In fact, you could call it "Black Vinegar Pork." The glossy black of the vinegar was used to great effect in the plating, giving the dish a classy and luxuriant appearance. But the moment you put a bite in your mouth... fresh, vibrant green tea explodes in a sea of invigorating green. It is extravagantly delicious. Chef Kuga's Sweet-and-Sour sauce includes not just black vinegar but also balsamic vinegar as well as Chef Mimasaka's smoked soy sauce! It destroys the traditional boundaries of sweet-and-sour pork, creating a dish that's rich, tangy and savory while erasing the pork's thick greasiness to push the taste of the green tea to the forefront! He has completely succeeded in taking the green tea leaves and making them the centerpiece of his dish! But the point most worthy of attention... ... is that this sublime taste experience wasn't created using solely Chinese-cooking techniques. It shows an equally deft use of traditional French techniques!" "What the... French?! But isn't he supposed to be a purely Sichuan-Chinese chef?!" "Yes, yes. I'm gonna explain, so quiet down and listen up, 'kay? See, there's another secret y'all don't know. That sweet-and-sour sauce? I based it on Sauce au Vinaigre Balsamique. That's a balsamic vinegar sauce used in a whole lot of French recipes." "Aha! Now I see. So that's where it came from! French Vinaigre Balsamique sauce is a reduction of balsamic vinegar and Glacé de Viande! It has a light tanginess and thick richness, which must have boosted the deliciousness of the sweet-and-sour pork into the stratosphere!”

“... If I am correct... ... the secret to this sauce is honey and balsamic vinegar ." "Got it one, sir! Both ingredients have a mild sweetness that adds a layer of richness to the dish. The tartness of the vinegar ties it all together, ensuring the sweetness isn't too cloying and giving the overall dish a clean, pure aftertaste. The guide told me that Hokkaido bears really love their honey... ... so I tried all kinds of methods to add it to my recipe!" "Is that how he gave his sauce a rich, clean flavor powerful enough to cause the Gifting? Unbelievable! That's our Master Yukihira!" Something doesn't add up. A little honey and vinegar can't be enough to create that level of aftertaste. There has to be something else to it. But what? "...?! I got it! I know what you did! You caramelized the honey!" CARAMELIZATION Sugars oxidize when heated, giving them a golden brown color and a nutty flavor. Any food that contains sugar can be caramelized, making caramelization an important technique in everything from French cooking to dessert making. "I started out by heating the honey until it was good and caramelized. Then I added some balsamic vinegar to stretch it and give it a little thickness. Once that was done, I poured it over some diced onions and garlic that I'd sautéed in another pan, added some schisandra berries and then let it simmer. After it had reduced, I poured bear stock over it and seasoned it with a little salt... The result was a deep, rich sauce perfect for emphasizing the natural punch of my Bear-Meat Menchi Katsu!" "Oho! You musta come up with that idea while I was relaxing with my cup o' chai! Not bad, Yukihira-chin! Not bad at all! Don'tcha think?" "Y-yes, sir..." Plus, there is no debating how well honey pairs well with bear meat. The Chinese have long considered bear paws a great delicacy... ... because of the common belief that the mellow sweetness of the honey soaks into a bear's paw as it sticks it into beehives and licks the honey off of it. What a splendid idea pairing honey with bear meat, each accentuating the other... ... then using caramelization and balsamic vinegar to mellow it to just the right level. It's a masterful example of using both flavor subtraction and enhancement in the same dish!”

“As Japan recovered from the post-war depression, okonomiyaki became the cornerstone of Hiroshima's nascent restaurant culture. And with new variables- noodles, protein, fishy powders- added to the equation, it became an increasingly fungible concept. Half a century later it still defies easy description. Okonomi means "whatever you like," yaki means "grill," but smashed together they do little to paint a clear picture. Invariably, writers, cooks, and oko officials revert to analogies: some call it a cabbage crepe; others a savory pancake or an omelet. Guidebooks, unhelpfully, refer to it as Japanese pizza, though okonomiyaki looks and tastes nothing like pizza. Otafuku, for its part, does little to clarify the situation, comparing okonomiyaki in turn to Turkish pide, Indian chapati, and Mexican tacos. There are two overarching categories of okonomiyaki Hiroshima style, with a layer of noodles and a heavy cabbage presence, and Osaka or Kansai style, made with a base of eggs, flour, dashi, and grated nagaimo, sticky mountain yam. More than the ingredients themselves, the difference lies in the structure: whereas okonomiyaki in Hiroshima is carefully layered, a savory circle with five or six distinct layers, the ingredients in Osaka-style okonomiyaki are mixed together before cooking. The latter is so simple to cook that many restaurants let you do it yourself on table side teppans. Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki, on the other hand, is complicated enough that even the cooks who dedicate their lives to its construction still don't get it right most of the time. (Some people consider monjayaki, a runny mass of meat and vegetables popularized in Tokyo's Tsukishima district, to be part of the okonomiyaki family, but if so, it's no more than a distant cousin.) Otafuku entered the picture in 1938 as a rice vinegar manufacturer. Their original factory near Yokogawa Station burned down in the nuclear attack, but in 1946 they started making vinegar again. In 1950 Otafuku began production of Worcestershire sauce, but local cooks complained that it was too spicy and too thin, that it didn't cling to okonomiyaki, which was becoming the nutritional staple of Hiroshima life. So Otafuku used fruit- originally orange and peach, later Middle Eastern dates- to thicken and sweeten the sauce, and added the now-iconic Otafuku label with the six virtues that the chubby-cheeked lady of Otafuku, a traditional character from Japanese folklore, is supposed to represent, including a little nose for modesty, big ears for good listening, and a large forehead for wisdom.”

“But more than that, what's up with this rice?! It's mellow and mild, without the first hint of any vinegary tang! This isn't your normal sushi rice!" "Exactly! For this recipe, I used red vinegar. The vinegar used in sushi rice is typically rice vinegar made from a blend of rice and wheat or corn that is fermented. But red vinegar is made from fermented sake lees! By the time Edomae sushi- sushi as we know it today- first became popular in the 1820s, red vinegar was already a condiment... But since the brewing and aging process can take up to five or six years, it has become a luxury vinegar in the present day Isn't that right, Senpai?!" "You are correct!" Oh, I get it! Because of how it's made, red vinegar has less sugar and a mellower flavor! Plus, mixing it with rice won't make the rice as tough, leaving the finished sushi rice soft and fluffy! But that also makes balancing the flavors of the sushi rice and its toppings a much more delicate task.”

“I follow her into the kitchen where she begins unloading the two brown paper bags onto the butcher-block island. I stand there watching as she pulls out a huge, freshly smoked mozzarella, which, by the way she handles it, I can tell is still warm. She sets it down on the cutting board along with the loaf of ciabatta. While I'm considering my next line of questioning, Renata explains, "Jake called to tell me he forgot to show you the postcard I sent out last week listing some new specialty vinegars I'm offering. He asked me to tell you he's interested in sampling some of the blood orange." I stand there looking puzzled, having been only momentarily distracted by the salad possibilities afforded by the aforementioned specialty vinegars. Perhaps a mild goat cheese, encrusted in herbs, baked and drizzled with a fruity olive oil and blood orange vinaigrette.”

“I have for you braised and fried chicken feet, served with buffalo sauce, a salad of cauliflower rubble and grated celery, and a blue cheese mascarpone cream." Luke's face lit up as he saw the chicken feet, the exact opposite expressions of Lenore and Maz, who looked very much as if they were at an actual graveyard and had seen an actual claw shoot up from the grave. "It reminds me of dakbal," he breathed, and he sounded for a moment as if it were just the two of us sitting side by side in that Korean speakeasy, shoulder touching shoulder. Unconsciously, I took a step toward him. "My halmoni used to make dakbal as a snack when we visited her in Korea. She'd steam them first, then panfry them until they were charred, and then there was the secret sauce she made, all garlicky and gingery and tingling with gochugaru..." As he trailed off, I could almost taste his grandmother's chicken feet. The chew of the meat after the crisp of the char. The caramelization of the sugars on the skin, and the nose-running spiciness of the sauce. "I didn't know you were Korean," said Maz. That broke the mood. I stepped back, clearing my throat. Meanwhile, Lenore Smith was crunching away. "I was worried about eating these fried chicken feet right after that deep-fried noodle kugel, but this bracing, vinegary salad underneath really cuts through the fat and the richness," she said, swallowing. "I love the chicken feet, but I almost love this salad more. Is that crazy?" "Yes," Luke said. "The chicken feet are delicious. Cooked so that they're tender and also crunchy on the outside, and that sauce is the perfect amount of spicy and vinegary.”

“Part of owning your power is being a spiritual warrior in life. The will to live is really the will to fight. Yoga teaches that life is not only a school but also a battlefield. You are trying to get to the top of a mountain. Progress entails taking three steps forward and slipping back two until the top is reached. This is the nature of life for everyone on the spiritual path. The most important thing is not to be a quitter. Paramahansa Yogananda, the great Indian sage, said, “A saint is a sinner who never gave up.” Part of owning your power is to keep plugging away.”

“I turned to my kitchen to put the final touch on my dish--- a splash of black aged vinegar to the broth. The acidity provided a better balance in the overall flavor. Black pieces of the desert silkie floated like ebony islands against the rich cinnabar shade of the hot pot broth. Amidst the bubbling broth, the vegetables--- deep green leaves with orange, dark pink, and light green blossoms--- created a kaleidoscope of tropical colors. It told a visual story of Lupong surrounded by the turbulent Singing Sea--- how the humble Peninsula was a vibrant place, despite the Continent's view that it was a desolate backwater. It was the defiant testament that we existed. Our sovereignty was important, and the Empress had no right to invade our land and our home. This dish was a reminder that winning the peaches of immortality would mean freedom for the Peninsula. I wanted the Empress to eat my defiance.”