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The Adoption

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Zidrou

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“SALSA VERDE. A sauce made primarily of finely minced Italian parsley and cured anchovies... it is often a garnish for grilled meat or vegetable dishes... and is considered a staple sauce in Italian cuisine. "What was he thinking? This was supposed to be a Japanese dish! Making something Italian means he automatically fails!" "No, he does not. This salsa wasn't made from cured anchovies. Instead, it primarily uses uruka, a specific type of shiokara sauce made from sweetfish. *Shiokara is salted, fermented fish viscera.* Uruka typically requires over a week to make. However, this is an "instant" version, is it not?" "Correct! Wash sweetfish viscera and boil them in saké for two minutes. Then flavor with soy sauce, salt and mirin. The result is a quickly made, yet still rich and appropriately bitter, uruka. "Instant uruka?!" "I didn't know that was possible!" "That wasn't the only place he was creative. Instead of parsley, he minced Japanese perilla leaves and green onion to give it a bright green color and refreshing kick. And since garlic is hardly used in traditional Japanese cuisine, he chose yuzukosho, a seasoning made from chili peppers, yuzu fruit peels and salt, to give it a distinctly Japanese flavor." "Exactly. With instant uruka as its base... ... I made a Japanese-style salsa verde!”

ItalianSauceJapaneseSeasoningTakumi AldiniSalsa Verde
Book:Food Wars!: Shokugeki no Soma, Vol. 3
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“I peered at the bowl, which was piled high with shrimp and vegetables, little cubes of what looked like meat or fish. The broth was a beautiful golden color, with little circles of orange oil floating on the surface, near the edge of the bowl. My heart rate slowed, oblivion averted. "More chances at wishes. But also, this looks damn good." I realized I was still holding the spoon with the dumpling, the steam not wafting out like a volcano anymore. So I closed my eyes and readied myself for another bite. This time the heat took a step back and allowed everything else to come forward. The savory richness of pork, a bite of ginger and scallions, the broth. Oh, man, the broth. I hadn't ever tasted anything quite like this before. I chewed the dumpling, which was starchy but also managed to melt away, letting its texture dominate. For a moment, I wanted to reach for something beyond the flavor, but failed. Would I recognize the taste of magic, if magic even had a taste? Then I let the flavor itself take over.”

BrothDumplingDim Sum
Book:Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love
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“That's too bad, Anneliese, the house is really spectacular. Anneke is a true talent." "It will be a new standard-bearer for the neighborhood," Caroline says. "I have no doubt," my mother says in a way that implies the opposite. And I? Snap. "You have every doubt, although I can't imagine why. Exactly what did you want from me, except for me not to exist? I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment, but for the love of god, why on earth did you even come here? Surely with all your experience over these many years and many husbands, you have figured out how to avoid me, why did you come this time? Why did you not just tell Alan I wasn't going to be in town and save us all the fucking painful charade?" Hedy reaches out and holds my hand, giving it a squeeze in a way that clearly says, "You go, girl." And not, "You might want to shut up now." "This is why I avoided coming here, to face your accusations. You never wanted me, Anneke, not from the moment you were born. You wouldn't take the breast; I had to bottle-feed you from day one. You never wanted to be near me, always running off, playing by yourself, going into other rooms when I came near. When I would travel, never a card or a letter. Never once did you ever tell me you missed me when I called or when I returned. I did the best I could, Anneke, but it was never good enough." And then I start to laugh. Because the whole thing is so ridiculous. "I didn't take the BREAST? You're mad at me because I didn't SUCKLE? You didn't travel, Anneliese, you LEFT. For months and years on end. You left me with your bitter, judgmental mother to go off with an endless string of men, and always made clear how uncomfortable you were on your rare visits home. Even when you married Joe and we were together for those three years, you weren't really there, were you? Not like a real mother. Do you know why I may never have kids of my own? Not because I can't or don't want to, but because I'm so afraid of being like you. Of being another in a long line of self-absorbed, cold, aloof bitches who are incapable of providing a loving home. And I will never forgive you for that. For making me think I shouldn't be a mother. But you know what? I'm beyond it. I'm beyond needing your approval or validation. So let me be clear about something, Mommy. Take whatever you need from this evening, because it is the last time you are welcome in my life. Fuck you." "Hear, hear," Hedy says under her breath.”

Mother IssuesAnneke Stroudt
Book:Recipe for Disaster
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“She's my mother. How do you say no to family?" Marie gets a dark look on her face. "There's a difference between relatives and family. You can be related to someone; that is an accident of genetics. Relatives are pure biology. But family is action. Family is attitude. That woman..." Marie's voice drips with venom. "Is NOT your family. WE are your family. That woman is just your relative." Hedy's mouth drops, and Caroline's eyes fly open so wide I think they might get stuck. "Don't hold back there, Marie," Hedy says, finding her voice. "I'm sorry, but..." Marie's eyes fill with tears. "Oh no!" Caroline leans over and takes Marie's hand. Marie shakes it off. "I hate her. I hate that she had the best daughter on the planet and never appreciated her and wasn't ever there for her and never once did anything for her. You guys don't know. She was the most self-absorbed narcissistic cold person..." "She gave me Joe." "But..." she says. I raise my hand. "She. Gave. Me. JOE. Whatever other bullshit happened, the most important thing in my life growing up was Joe. He made me who I am, he helped me find my calling, he was a gift, and everything else is just beyond my ability to get upset about." "You could get a little upset," Caroline says. "It takes nothing away from Joe, and how important he was to you, to acknowledge that your mother failed you in almost every way," Hedy says. "I think you should tell her to go fuck herself," Marie says, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms like a petulant child. I don't know that I've ever seen her so furious. "You guys don't get it, I was THERE. I MET HER. Wanna know how she screws in a lightbulb? Holds it up in the air and lets the universe just revolve around her." This makes the three of us bust out laughing. "Oh, Marie, I love you. Thank you for being so on my side." It does mean the world to me that my oldest friend is so protective.”

True FriendshipMother IssuesAnneke Stroudt
Book:Recipe for Disaster
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“Morty: Hey, gang, come on! Look it, just `cause we're losing doesn't mean it's all over. Phil: Cut the crap, Morty. I mean, the Mohawks have beaten us the last twelve years, they're gonna beat us again. Tripper: That's just the attitude we don't need. Sure, Mohawk has beaten us twelve years in a row. Sure, they're terrific athletes. They've got the best equipment that money can buy. Hell, every team they're sending over here has their own personal masseuse, not masseur, masseuse. But it doesn't matter. Do you know that every Mohawk competitor has an electrocardiogram, blood and urine tests every 48 hours to see if there's any change in his physical condition? Do you know that they use the most sophisticated training methods from the Soviet Union, East and West Germany, and the newest Olympic power Trinidad-Tobago? But it doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter. IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER. I tell you, IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER! IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER! IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER! The group: IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER! IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER... Tripper: And even, and even if we win, if we win, HAH! Even if we win! Even if we play so far over our heads that our noses bleed for a week to ten days. Even if God in Heaven above comes down and points his hand at our side of the field. Even if every man, woman and child held hands together and prayed for us to win, it just wouldn't matter, because all the really good looking girls would still go out with the guys from Mohawk cause they've got all the money! It just doesn't matter if we win or we lose. IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER!”

Meatballs
Author:Bill Murray
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