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Dead Toad Scrolls
“Writing my fleshy story consisted of examining the butchered offal of my carnivorous character. Flayed like the catch of the day, I scrutinized the ramified offscourings of my worm-ridden soul, a parasitic host to tumors of self-doubt and lesions of personal insecurities.”
Memoir
Memoir Writing
Essayist
Writing Memoir
Personal Essay
Julie & Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously
“We ate our liver and spinach while watching the right honorable gentlemen of the British House of Commons yelling at each other about the Iraq invasion on C-SPAN. And it was damned good. It was good because it was liver and spinach with cheese, but mostly it was good because I didn't have to make it. Sometimes I want to beat Eric's head repeatedly against a sharp rock, but other times he knows just the right thing to do to make me forget about turning thirty- lull me into a comatose state on the couch with British news shows, then dose me with offal.”
Understanding
Married Life
Offal
Liver
Julie Powell
Pretty Good Number One: An American Family Eats Tokyo
“We ate spiral-wrapped eel meat. We ate guts. We ate liver, which is somehow different from guts. We (mostly Iris) ate two bowls of of crispy fried eel backbones. We ate eel meat wrapped around burdock root and eel fin wrapped around garlic chives. We ate smoked eel that tasted like Jewish deli food. I ate better than anyone, because I was the only member of the family willing to try the offal. All of it was precisely like Oishinbo, down to the eel anatomy chart on the wall. It was like stepping into a book,
Neverending Story
-style, and isn't a Luck Dragon just a big furry eel?”
Meat
Anatomy
Eel
Natura morta : eine römische Novelle
“The offal vendor folded a beef tongue, wrapped it in paper, passed it to a Chinese woman and wiped the sprinkles of blood from the price tag with a damp washcloth.”
Blood
Beef Tongue
A Place at the Table
“Not that I don't treat myself to a Papaya King hotdog sometimes, or maybe a falafel sandwich from a street vendor. And occasionally Gus will take me somewhere nice to "develop my palate," but that's rare. Though I can't afford anything sold at them, I do love wandering through the fancy gourmet markets, especially the one at Bloomingdale's. That place is so amazing, Meemaw. You have never seen so much good stuff in one place. I looked for Schrafft's when I first got here- wanting to eat a butterscotch sundae like the one you told me about- but I think they've all shut down. Mostly I shop at this really cheap grocery store I found in Spanish Harlem. They sell cheap cuts of meat- oxtail, trotters, and pigs' ears- as well as all varieties of offal. (I always think of you, Meemaw, when eating livers, think of you eating them every Sunday after church at The Colonnade.) I like to poke around the Asian markets, too, bringing home gingerroot, lemongrass, fish sauce, dehydrated shrimp, wonton wrappers, dozens of different chilies, and soft little candies wrapped in rice paper that dissolves in your mouth. As a special treat I go to the green market in Union Square on the weekends- which is a farmer's market smack-dab in the middle of downtown. Even though I really can't afford the produce, I'll often splurge anyway, arriving home with one or two perfect things- carrots the color of rubies with bright springy tops, or a little bag of fingerling potatoes, their skins delicate and golden.”
Food Market
Bloomingdales
Spanish Harlem
La Cucina
“We wandered the entire length of the street market, stopping to buy the provisions I needed for the lunch dish I wanted to prepare to initiate l'Inglese into the real art of Sicilian cuisine.
I took l'Inglese around the best stalls, teaching him how to choose produce, livestock, game, fish, and meat of the highest quality for his dishes.
Together we circled among the vegetable sellers, who were praising their heaps of artichokes, zucchini still bearing their yellow flowers, spikes of asparagus, purple-tinged cauliflowers, oyster mushrooms, and vine tomatoes with their customary cries:
"
Carciofi fresci
."
"
Funghi belli
."
"
Tutto economico
."
I squeezed and pinched, sniffed, and weighed things in my hands, and having agreed on the goods I would then barter on the price. The stallholders were used to me, but they had never known me to be accompanied by a man.
Wild strawberries, cherries, oranges and lemons, quinces and melons were all subject to my scrutiny.
The olive sellers, standing behind their huge basins containing all varieties of olives in brine, oil, or vinegar, called out to me:
"Hey, Rosa, who's your friend?"
We made our way to the meat vendors, where rabbits fresh from the fields, huge sides of beef, whole pigs and sheep were hung up on hooks, and offal and tripe were spread out on marble slabs. I selected some chicken livers, which were wrapped in paper and handed to l'Inglese to carry. I had never had a man to carry my shopping before; it made me feel special.
We passed the stalls where whole tuna fish, sardines and oysters, whitebait and octopus were spread out, reflecting the abundant sea surrounding our island. Fish was not on the menu today, but nevertheless I wanted to show l'Inglese where to find the finest tuna, the freshest shrimps, and the most succulent swordfish in the whole market.”
Produce
Seafood
Meat
Market
Fresh
Fruits And Vegetables
Sicilian
Grocery Shopping
Rosa Fiore
L Inglese
One Good Knight
“She felt him shifting himself under her and around her, rearranging himself, until she was being held in a real embrace. She opened blurring eyes to find that he had tucked her between his forelegs with his neck curled around her.
"Shhh-" he said, as she closed her eyes and threw her arms around his warm, soft, slippery neck. "I know, I know. It's all horrible. Just go ahead and cry, Andie. Go ahead and let it out. I think you've been holding it in too long."
She couldn't have stopped the flood now if she'd wanted to, and she really didn't want to. He was right. She'd been holding it in too long. She sobbed against his neck, eyes streaming and burning, throat raw and sore, chest aching. She babbled between the sobs, nothing really coherent, but just-
She'd wanted a mother. She'd wanted to make Cassiopeia proud of her so that she'd 'be' that mother. Show her that even her if her daughter wasn't like 'her,' she was still worth something. Was useful. Could stand at the Queen's side and-
That was all she wanted.
And her mother found her so unworthy that Cassiopeia threw her away to feed a monster, like so much offal.
"Oh, Andie," Peri sighed in her ear. "Oh, my poor girl. It's Cassiopeia that's unworthy of 'you.”
Crying
Comfort
Heartbreaking
Mother And Daughter
Andromeda And Periapt
The Thief Taker
“A few minutes later Agnes had reached the market and was battling through the throng. She stepped over rotting offal and cabbage leaves to prod breasts of pheasant and partridge. She sniffed oysters and herrings and asked the prices of oranges, shouting her requirements over strident cries of "New mackerel!" and "White turnips and fine carrots, ho!" and "Fine China oranges and fresh juicy lemons!" She watched a juggler with blackened teeth catching knives in his mouth, then sampled a corner of gingerbread so spicy tears welled in her eyes. The street child had slipped from her thoughts.
Within the hour, Agnes had arranged deliveries with half a dozen tradesmen whose goods she could not carry, and jotted every item and its price in her notebook for Mrs Tooley's accounts. In her basket she had carefully stowed sweet oranges, Jordan almonds, two dozen pullet eggs, a pickled salmon, half a pound of angelica, the same of glacee cherries.”
Market
Foods
Fruits And Vegetables
Groceries
Grocery Shopping
Agnes Meadowes
Izakaya: Pub Food
“The stewed offal here is
motsunikomi
. It can also be translated as "stewed giblets." It is made by stewing beef or pork giblets with ginger and vegetables, and flavored with either soy sauce or miso.”
Offal
Japanese Food
Giblets
Izakaya: Pub Food
“Ah, chopped horse mackerel."
"Yeah, but it's not just an ordinary chopped horse mackerel."
"Oh?
What?! You're wrapping the chopped horse mackerel in a
dumpling skin?!
And you're going to deep-fry it?!"
"Here you go. Deep-fried chopped horse mackerel dumplings. It's another one of Tatsu's ideas. Eat it with Japanese mustard, ginger and soy sauce."
"So this is another one of your creations, Tatsu.
Ha ha!
That's a pretty wild taste!
The chopped mackerel is half raw. And the spicy Japanese mustard and ginger sting your nose and wrap up the flavor of the dumpling!"
"
Ha ha
. Just playing around!"
"Playing around, huh..."
"Here. Tatsu's special 'Everything Rice.'"
"Whoa! It's got so many things on it! Curry, omelet,
hayashi
-rice, salted cod roe and nori, three slices of deep-fried pork cutlet with demi-glace sauce and stewed offal.
Ha ha ha
... this is so sumptuous, it's over the top!"
"
Heh heh
. You know how we homeless people collect leftovers and eat 'em all together, right? Interestingly, they kinda taste better than when ya eat 'em on their own."
"I see! You've got a point... this really is a dish that only you could've come up with, Tatsu."
"Just playing around!"
"Playing around!”
Creativity
Playing Around
Japanese Food
Food Combining
Izakaya
The Food of Love
“What sort of pasta are you making?"
"
Pasta con funghi
."
He watched as she took a bowl of strange, round, reddish brown mushrooms out of the larder. The air immediately filled with their rich, earthy scent. Ripe as a well-cellared cheese, but tinged with the odors of leaf mold and decay, it reminded him a little of the smell of offal in his native Roman dishes. "How many kinds of
funghi
do you cook with?" he asked.
"Oh, hundreds. It just depends on what I find in the woods."
"You pick these yourself?"
"Of course."
As the smell of
funghi
combined with the scent of hot butter and garlic in the frying pan, Bruno felt his nostrils flare. And not just his nostrils. The smell was stirring up his blood, awakening sensation in a part of him that had been quiescent for a long time.”
Pasta
Mushrooms
Aphrodisiac
Italian Cooking
Fungi
The Food of Love
“His
antipasto
was the classic Roman
fritto misto
---tiny morsels of mixed offal, including slivers of poached brains and liver, along with snails, artichokes, apples, pears, and bread dipped in milk, all deep-fried in a crisp egg-and-bread-crumb batter. This was to be followed by a
primo
of
rigatoni alla pajata
---pasta served with intestines from a baby calf so young that they were still full of its mother's milk, simmered with onions, white wine, tomatoes, cloves, and garlic. For the
secondo
they would be having
milza in umido
--- a stewed lamb's spleen, cooked with sage, anchovies, and pepper. A bitter salad of
puntarelle al' acciuga
---chicory sprouts with anchovy---would cleanse the palate, to be followed by a simple
dolce
of
fragole in aceto
, gorella strawberries in vinegar.”
Entrails
Offal
Italian Food
Dolce
Seasonings
Antipasto
Above the Bay of Angels
“Page after page of sauces. Page after page of soups. Bisque of snipe à la bonne bouche. Bisque of crab à la Fitzhardinge, which included adding a pint of boiling cream. Puree of asparagus à la St George involved three dozen small quenelles of fowl and half a pint of small fillets of red tongue. Mercy me.
I flicked on. What on earth was ragout of cock's kernels à la soubise, or ragout of ox palates? At the Tilleys' residence, we rarely ate offal. Mr Tilley was fond of liver and bacon, but Mrs Tilley saw offal as food of the lower classes, for those who could afford nothing better. So our meals were good old-fashioned roast beef, leg of lamb, chops and steaks, with thee occasional steak and kidney pie. These recipes looked horribly complicated:
Put about half a pound of cock's kernels, with cold water, into a stewpan, let it stand by the side of a slow fire to remove the little blood they contain, taking care that the water does not become too warm.
I read on.
As soon as they whiten... pat of butter... simmer... drain them on a napkin... small stewpan, with a ragout-spoonful of Soubise sauce and a little Allemande sauce...
”
French Food
Offal
Recipes
Meats
Cookbooks
Vicious: Wolves and Men in America
“Urban Americans lost the tactile experience of raising food. They neither heard the squeals, nor smelled he offal, nor saw the blood, nor tasted the rage when predators swallowed a cherished investment.”
Wolves
Urbanization
Livestock
Violence Against Animals
Urban And Rural America
“This was the neighborhood of the cheap addicts, whisky-heads, stumblebums, the flotsam of Harlem; the end of the line for the whores, the hard squeeze for the poor honest laborers and a breeding ground for crime. Blank-eyed whores stood on the street corners swapping obscenities with twitching junkies. Muggers and thieves slouched in dark doorways waiting for someone to rob; but there wasn't anyone but each other. Children ran down the street, the dirty street littered with rotting vegetables, uncollected garbage, battered garbage cans, broken glass, dog offal — always running, ducking and dodging. God help them if they got caught. Listless mothers stood in the dark entrances of tenements and swapped talk about their men, their jobs, their poverty, their hunger, their debts, their Gods, their religions, their preachers, their children, their aches and pains, their bad luck with the numbers and the evilness of white people. Workingmen staggered down the sidewalks filled with aimless resentment, muttering curses, hating to go to their hotbox hovels but having nowhere else to go.”
Setting
Harlem
Description
Descriptive Prose
A Tale of Two Cities
“Hunger was pushed out of the tall houses, in the wretched clothing that hung upon poles and lines; Hunger was patched into them with straw and rag and wood and paper; Hunger was repeated in every fragment of the small modicum of firewood that the man sawed off; Hunger stared down from the smokeless chimneys, and started up from the filthy street that had no offal, among its refuse, of anything to eat. Hunger was the inscription on the baker's shelves, written in every small loaf of his scanty stock of bad bread; at the sausage-shop, in every dead-dog preparation that was offered for sale. Hunger rattled its dry bones among the roasting chestnuts in the turned cylinder; Hunger was shred into atomics in every farthing porringer of husky chips of potato, fried with some reluctant drops of oil.”
Charles Dickens
Hunger
Personification
French Revolution
Tree of Smoke
“There were stories that the tunnels went for miles. There were monsters down there, blind reptiles and insects that had never seen the light, there were hospitals and brothels, and horrible things, piles of the offal from VC atrocities, dead babies, assassinated priests.”
Vietnam
Mrs. Poe
“Greed and our food supply. It is greed that compels dairymen to skim every bit of goodness from milk to make other products and then to fill the swill left with chalk and sell it at profit. Greed tempts butchers to grind up the meat of sick cows with well ones and mix it into sausage along with offal and dung to extend the amount of 'meat' that they can sell. Greed motivates bakers to use flour devoid of the wheat germ and the nutritious outer husk and to add alum and chlorine to make bread look whiter and to cook faster. Americans are being poisoned, all in the name of profit, producing a weak-minded race of people who are given to lust and desire.”
Truth
Lies
Food For Thought
Greed
Food Industry
Lady Chatterley's Lover
“It seems to me absolutely true, that our world, which appears to us the surface of all things, is really the bottom of a deep ocean: all our trees are submarine growths, and we are weird, scaly-clad submarine fauna, feeding ourselves on offal like shrimps. Only occasionally the soul rises gasping through the fathomless fathoms under which we live, far up to the surface of the ether, where there is true air.”
Soul
Mankind
World
Pasta, Pane, Vino: Deep Travels Through Italy's Food Culture
“The only point that everyone I spoke with in Rome agrees upon is that Armando al Pantheon is one of the city's last true trattorie.
Given the location, Claudio and his family could have gone the way of the rest of the neighborhood a long time ago and mailed it in with a handful of fresh mozzarella and prosciutto. But he's chosen the opposite path, an unwavering dedication to the details- the extra steps that make the oxtail more succulent, the pasta more perfectly toothsome, the artichokes and favas and squash blossoms more poetic in their expression of the Roman seasons.
"I experiment in my own small ways. I want to make something new, but I also want my guests to think of their mothers and grandmothers. I want them to taste their infancy, to taste their memories. Like that great scene in
Ratatouille
."
I didn't grow up on
amatriciana
and offal, but when I eat them here, they taste like a memory I never knew I had. I keep coming back. For the
cacio e pepe
, which sings that salty-spicy duet with unrivaled clarity, thanks to the depth charge of toasted Malaysian peppercorns Claudio employs. For his
coda alla vaccinara
, as Roman as the Colosseum, a masterpiece of
quinto quarto
cookery: the oxtail cooked to the point of collapse, bathed in a tomato sauce with a gentle green undertow of celery, one of Rome's unsung heroes. For the vegetables: one day a crostini of stewed favas and pork cheek, the next a tumble of bitter
puntarelle
greens bound in a bracing anchovy vinaigrette. And always the artichokes. If Roman artichokes are drugs, Claudio's are pure poppy, a vegetable so deeply addictive that I find myself thinking about it at the most inappropriate times. Whether fried into a crisp, juicy flower or braised into tender, melting submission, it makes you wonder what the rest of the world is doing with their thistles.”
Italy
Seasonal
Rome
Infancy
Artichokes
Italian Cuisine
Olfactory
Reminiscent
Pantheon
Aspects of the Novel
“What the story does do, all it can do, is to transform us from readers into listeners, to whom 'a' voice speaks, the voice of the tribal narrator, squatting in the middle of the cave, and saying one thing after another until the audience falls asleep among their offal and bones. The story is primitive, it reaches back to the origins of literature, before reading was discovered, and it appeals to what is primitive in us. That is why we are so unreasonable over the stories we like, and so ready to bully those who like something else. Intolerance is the atmosphere stories generate.”
Story
Literature
Storytelling
Plot
Em Forster
Forster
Hamlet
“Now I am alone. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! (520)
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wann'd,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!
For Hecuba!
What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, (530)
That he should weep for her? What would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty and appal the free,
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak,
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, (540)
And can say nothing; no, not for a king,
Upon whose property and most dear life
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward?
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across?
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the throat,
As deep as to the lungs? who does me this?
Ha!
'Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be
But I am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall (550)
To make oppression bitter, or ere this
I should have fatted all the region kites
With this slave's offal: bloody, bawdy villain!
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!
O, vengeance!
Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave,
That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,
And fall a-cursing, like a very drab, (560)
A scullion!
Fie upon't! foh! About, my brain! I have heard
That guilty creatures sitting at a play
Have by the very cunning of the scene
Been struck so to the soul that presently
They have proclaim'd their malefactions;
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players
Play something like the murder of my father
Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks; (570)
I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench,
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen
May be the devil: and the devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps
Out of my weakness and my melancholy,
As he is very potent with such spirits,
Abuses me to damn me: I'll have grounds
More relative than this: the play's the thing
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.”
Shakespeare
Hamlet
Soliloquy
“I have often told you that I am that little fish who swims about under a shark and, I believe, lives indelicately on its offal. Anyway, that is the way I am. Life moves over me in a vast black shadow and I swallow whatever it drops with relish, having learned in a very hard school that one cannot be both a parasite and enjoy self-nourishment without moving in worlds too fantastic for even my disordered imagination to people with meaning.”
Relationships
Imagination
Chaos
Working Effectively with Legacy Code
“Legacy code. The phrase strikes disgust in the hearts of programmers. It conjures images of slogging through a murky swamp of tangled undergrowth with leaches beneath and stinging flies above. It conjures odors of murk, slime, stagnancy, and offal. Although our first joy of programming may have been intense, the misery of dealing with legacy code is often sufficient to extinguish that flame.”
Programming
Legacy Code
“In his new will, Typhon had named Phyllis as his only surviving relative & called her his wife.And he thus bequeathed to Phyllis everything he owned, including his flesh, bones & offals. And thus the terrible Typhon had married Phyllis without telling her.[MMT]”
Adult Fiction
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that
That
tion
Tion
Thin
Have
Thơ
very
Life
When
love
Ness
ally
them
people
Come
More
World
Real
Stan
Neve
less
Because
Though
Where
Ying
Itä
Right
Heart
Said