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Quote by Suman Pokhrel

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Suman Pokhrel
Suman Pokhrel

Suman Pokhrel, born on September 21, 1967, is a Nepalese poet whose works are known for their profound emotions and critical reflections on social realities. more

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“Keep praying, Keep believing!”

“Elliot, that was amazing." The meal has been spectacular. We started with a salad of fennel, golden beets, and grapefruit. He did a veal roast with a classic shallot-cognac pan sauce, smooth with butter and brightened with thyme and parsley, the meat perfectly cooked, still rosy in the middle, with a great crisp brown sear on the outside. An interesting dish of fregola, toasted pearl pasta that is one of my favorite ingredients, cooked with sweet corn he charred on the grill, and chives. And simple steamed asparagus. Everything cooked perfectly, well seasoned, and full of soul.”

“She'd decided on a recipe for that evening's dinner that her father used to love- veal braciole with a piccata sauce. It was thinly sliced veal rolled around a little Parmigiano, parsley, and ham, then lightly browned in olive oil. Angelina had bought that nice prosciutto from Sacco's and this seemed like the perfect way to showcase it. She wanted to add some extra zing, so in addition to a squeeze of lemon juice and capers, she was planning to enrich the sauce with dry vermouth and top it with a garnish of fresh-grated lemon zest. She'd serve the veal over linguine dressed in extra-virgin olive oil and butter with lots of cracked pepper, and a side of baby asparagus.”

“Angelina simmered the veal shanks all afternoon in homemade chicken stock and vermouth, with shallots, garlic, and dried herbs. She made fresh egg noodles and an antipasto of spicy pickled vegetables she had put up herself the week before. When the veal had fully imparted its subtle but unmistakable flavor to the braising liquid, and the meat was beginning to bid a bond farewell to the bones, Angelina retrieved and strained the pan juices, reducing them before carefully adding eggs and cream for a thick and lustrous sauce that she brightened with a squeeze of lemon before she ladled it all over big platters of egg noodles and garnished the dishes generously with parsley and capers.”

“All of a sudden the veal is in front of me and the smell of it is intoxicating. I could pick it up in my hands and bite right to the bone, like the wild animal I have become. But no. I look at it, study it. I analyze how it's been cooked, prod it with the tip of my knife, then make an incision: pink blood- some water, a bit of juice, nothing really- oozes out and blends with the brown sauce where Chinese artichokes drift past green beans so fine they look like chive stems, only firmer.”

“Chef Ferrero had taken charge of the main dish himself. Tender veal cutlets had been dipped in beaten eggs and seasoned flour, then lightly seared and served in a dark brown sauce. The presentation was completed with a sprinkle of lavender leaves and marigold petals- green and gold, like a spring morning- and served with a loaf of crusty bread rather than the customary glazed onions.”

“There is no such creature as a “farm animal,” except human beings, who have spent considerable time farming down through history. Other species, such as turkeys and pigs, are exploited on farms, by humans. As such, they are “farmed” animals. Similarly, there is no such thing as a “veal calf” or a “lab animal,” though there are millions of calves and mice who are systematically exploited by ranchers, experimenters, and consumers. There is also no such thing as seafood, only sea creatures who are exploited by others for food or profit.”