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Radishes Quotes

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Radishes Quotes

“Round and round the blade went, producing petals that opened one on top of the other, white against the red. Ribbons fell from the knife's edge, curling around her crossed legs. And so it went until all twenty were done, the radishes cleared of their perky heads, their bodies floating in a bowl of chilled water like a delicate bouquet. No longer ordinary root vegetables, they were now brilliant roses carved to blooming age. The radish roses made pretty garnishes on the many cheese and herb plates that went out during the hungry hours of afternoon. They were also tangible, not to mention edible, proof of one of Bahar's greatest talents to date: hands that were extraordinarily agile, and arms of immense strength.”

“The waiter returned with a pre-appetizer amuse-bouche, a soup spoon filled with diced radishes, shortbread crumbs, and a black pepper gastrique. After the waiter left, Michael Saltz said, "They're trying. Hard." The radishes had been pickled, articulating their peppery bite and giving them a sharpened edge. The shortbread grounded the bite with a bready, buttery mouthful and the black pepper-vinegar sauce finished it with an elegant and seductive wisp of sweet, salty, and spicy.”

“Otoha picked up her spoon and took a bite. It was typical curry and tasted good. At first it seemed mild, but then it got spicier, with a unique aroma. I could really get to like this, she thought. "It's good, isn't it?" Miami whispered. "Sure is." The carrots and onions cut in small cubes she recognized, but there was another vegetable, likewise stewed to translucency, she didn't. When she tasted it, it felt like it would easily fall apart. "What is this?" Otoha asked. "This vegetable is so soft and fresh..." She'd never seen this sort of vegetable in curry before. "That's daikon radish." "Seriously? Daikon?" Daikon in curry--- now that was a first. It worked, surprisingly. "When Mr. Kinoshita was scouted for this job, the owner made it a condition that he re-create and serve several recipes from novels and essays the owner chose. Since Mr. Kinoshita's an excellent cook as well as barista." "What else is in this?" Otoha asked. "It's savory, as if there's meat, but I don't see any." The small cubes of vegetables were front and center, with torn-off scraps of some kind of meat hidden beneath. But this, too, must lend the curry its unique flavor. She raised her spoon and stared at it intently. "Ah---!" "You get it?" "It's corned beef!" Otoha exclaimed.”

“Two years ago, I was saying as I planted seeds in the garden, "I must believe in these seeds, that they fall into the earth and grow into flowers and radishes and beans." It is a miracle to me because I do not understand it. The very fact that they use glib technical phrases does not make it any less a miracle, and a miracle we all accept. Then why not accept God's miracles?”

“It's a critical fallacy of our times ... that a writer should 'grow,' 'change,' or 'develop.' This fallacy causes us to expect from children or radishes: 'grow,' or there's something wrong with you. But writers are not radishes. If you look at what most writers actually do, it resembles a theme with variations more than it does the popular notion of growth.”

“The organic gardener does not think of throwing away the garbage. She knows that she needs the garbage. She is capable of transforming the garbage into compost, so that the compost can turn into lettuce, cucumber, radishes, and flowers again...With the energy of mindfulness, you can look into the garbage and say: I am not afraid. I am capable of transforming the garbage back into love.”

“I don't like to leave what I'm going to eat in other people's hands, so I'll pack my own lunch. I chop up a salad with lots of greens - everything from spinach, baby spinach, arugula, cucumber, avocado, radish, cauliflower, and green olives to parsley and cilantro, all chopped really fine - with a piece of wild salmon. I even bring my own tea in a Thermos.”

“Granana doesn't understand what the big deal is. She didn't cry at Olivia's funeral, and I doubt she even remembers Olivia's name. Granana lost, like, ninety-two million kids in childbirth. All of her brothers died in the war. She survived the Depression by stealing radish bulbs from her neighbors' garden, and fishing the elms for pigeons. Dad likes to remind us of this in a grave voice, as if it explained her jaundiced pitilessness: "Boys. Your grandmother ate pigeons."”

“Hello, Harry!” she said. “Er — my name’s Barny,” said Harry, flummoxed. “Oh, have you changed that too?” she asked brightly. “How did you know — ?” “Oh, just your expression,” she said. Like her father, Luna was wearing bright yellow robes, which she had accessorized with a large sunflower in her hair. Once you got over the brightness of it all, the general effect was quite pleasant. At least there were no radishes dangling from her ears.”

“The first gatherings of the garden in May of salads, radishes and herbs made me feel like a mother about her baby - how could anything so beautiful be mine. And this emotion of wonder filled me for each vegetable as it was gathered every year. There is nothing that is comparable to it, as satisfactory or as thrilling, as gathering the vegetables one has grown.”