欧宝娱乐

“...but if there is one universal truth in the human experience, it is that a finely honed scone-eating palate does not just develop overnight.”
― Jennifer Lynn Barnes, The Inheritance Games

“If you had any ingredients at your disposal, what would you make?"
"You said it was a small dinner?"
"Yes," he affirmed.
"In that case, I would begin with a gustatio of salad with peppers and cucumbers, melon with mint, whole-meal bread, soft cheese, and honey cake." I tried to draw on my memory of one of the last meals I'd made for Maximus.
Apicius licked his lips. "Yes, yes, go on."
"Then pomegranate ice to cleanse the palate, followed by a cena prima of saffron chickpeas, Parthian chicken, peppered morels in wine, mussels, and oysters. If I had more time, I would also serve a stuffed suckling pig. And to close, a pear patina, along with deep-fried honey fritters, snails, olives, and, if you have it on hand, some wine from Chios or Puglia."
"Perfect. Simple and the flavors would blend nicely at the beginning of the meal.”
― Crystal King, Feast of Sorrow

“It wasn't tuna ventresca that drew diners to this community over others, nor was it heritage beef. It was the final bottle of a 1985 Cannonau, salt-crusted from its time on the Sardinian coast. Each diner had barely a swallow. My employer bid us not to swallow, not yet, but hold the wine at the back of the throat till it stung and warmed to the temperature of blood and spit, till we wrung from it the terroir of fields cracked by quake and shadowed by smog; only then, swallowing, choking, grateful, did we appreciate the fullness of its flavor. His face was ferocious and sublime in this moment, cracked open; I saw it briefly behind the mask. He was a man who knew the gradations of pleasure because he knew, like me, the calculus of its loss.
To me that wine was fig and plum; volcanic soil; wheat fields shading to salt stone; sun; leather, well-baked; and finally, most lingering, strawberry. Psychosomatic, I'm sure, but what flavor isn't? I raised my glass to the memory of my drunk in the British market. I imagined him sat across the table, calmed at last, sane among the sane. He would have tasted in that wine the starch of a laundered sheet, perhaps, or the clean smooth shot of his dignity. My employer decanted these deepest longings, mysterious to each diner until it flooded the palate: a lost child's yeasty scalp, the morning breath of a lover, huckleberries, onion soup, the spice of a redwood forest gone up in smoke. It is easy, all these years later, to dismiss that country's purpose as decadent, gluttonous. Selfish. It was those things. But it was, also, this connoisseurship of loss.”
― C Pam Zhang, Land of Milk and Honey

“I, like, added curry spices to the tomatoes and then firmed it with sodium alginate.
Then there's the mousse I made with powdered, freeze-dried foie gras blended with turmeric. The white dollop in the middle is a puree of potatoes and six different types of cheese.
Once your mouth has thoroughly cooled from those items, you should totally try the piecrust arches.
Oh! I flash froze it first, so it should have a very light, fluffy texture.
I kneaded coriander and a few other select spices into the pie dough. It'll cleanse your palate and give your tongue a break.
This dish is all about "Thermal Sense," y'know.
Molecular gastronomy teaches about the various contrasting temperature sensations foods and spices have.
I took those theories and put them together into a single dish.”
― Yuto Tsukuda, 食戟のソーマ 7 [Shokugeki no Souma 7]

“She shrugged her shoulders, then shifted her attention to the hand-labeled glass jars of honey. "Which one do you want to use?"
"Something mild to go with the cheese."
"The milkweed blossom?"
Isabel nodded. "We're probably the only ones who'll notice."
"The different flavors of honey have always been obvious to me," Jamie said.
"Not to me. I've had to train my palate. Same with wines. But I'm not a natural, but I love the alchemy of pairing flowers. If you were twenty-one and not pregnant, I'd give you a taste of this nice new sauvignon blanc from Angel Creek. It's going to go perfectly with the appetizers." She turned off the heat under the fried marcona almonds and gave the pan a shake.
"One sip," Jamie insisted, nibbling a bit of the goat cheese and honey on a cracker.
"One, young lady." Isabel poured a bit of the chilled white wine in a goblet and held it out to her.
Jamie savored a tiny sip, and smiled blissfully. "You're right. It's delicious."
Isabel took back the goblet. "Look at me, corrupting a minor.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Beekeeper's Ball

“She was such a scrawny, ugly little thing, and anyway she was sick; her crystalline blue eyes were watery, and she complained a lot. Father tried to point out that 'all' Bernice's Siamese complained a lot, and they all looked ugly to the untrained eye: skinny as snakes, with peevish, triangular faces, ears all out of proportion. Vivian thought J.C. just needed to fill out a bit. She took the cat to the kitchen and let her perch on the kitchen stool, fed her little tidbits as she went about her work. J.C. developed an eclectic and discriminating palate over the next few weeks. She liked goat cheese but not feta, she accepted slivers of toasted garlic but not raw, she ate ratatouille and minced coq au vin and went ecstatic over chicken in aspic.”
― Susan Gilbert-Collins, Starting from Scratch

“I might be young, but cooking has always come easily to me," I said, hoping my voice didn't waver. I raised my eyes again, but not my head. "I have always had an intense palate. When flavors blend well, it is like harmony in the mouth. I think about how the components can come together to make each dish sing.”
― Crystal King, Feast of Sorrow

“She lifted a piece of sourdough bruschetta slathered with seafood and a light-colored sauce. She bit carefully into the creation.
Her mouth exploded with flavor. Prawns and lobster swimming in the most delectable sauce. Buttery and layered, with whisky and leeks and onions and simple herbs.
Sophia moaned.
There was more than just one bite on this plate. Thank God. Not strictly a true amuse-bouche, but Sophia didn't care.
Was it bad form to lick the plate in a cooking competition? This drab little plate had miraculously fixed her taste bud deficiency. Unbelievable. The moment had just shifted from black-and-white to color, like a scene from the Wizard of Oz. Who had created this dish? Someone with a sophisticated palate but no eye for visual presentation.
The last plate beckoned, but she already knew it was a lost cause. There was no way it could best that seafood stew. It was a lovely crepe, packed with grilled eggplant and goat cheese. And now that Sophia's taste had been awakened from hibernation, she was able to enjoy every bite.
But it still wasn't enough to out-shine the prawns.
Those prawns sang to her, and they needed her. They demanded color and brightness. The sauce was bold and rich. That plate clamored for the balance of her garden. She could imagine a prickly little salad to offer texture and bite, to complement that exquisite sauce.
Those prawns needed her.”
― Penny Watson, A Taste of Heaven

“We stop for a snack, a couple of slices of prosciutto, some cheese, and the heel of a loaf of Italian bread. Because I'm training Chloe to have a sophisticated palate, I do not heed the butcher's maxim that prosciutto di Parma shouldn't be wasted on someone who has no teeth. Besides, she has four. Not that she needs them, anyway. The meat really does melt in your mouth.”
― Meredith Mileti, Aftertaste: A Novel in Five Courses

“In the thirty years sine Yanik had tied an apron around her belly and shown Nina how to separate eggs, she had explored countless recipes, decoded the subtleties of Persian food, its ancient alchemy of sweet and sour, hot and cold, its deference to plants and herbs, soliciting Naneh Goli's palate to measure and fine-tune. What triumph to turn out a pot of rice with a golden potato tadig- that magical crust beneath the steamed rice.”
― Donia Bijan, The Last Days of Café Leila

“Time to choose a palate cleanser. I hope you like sorbet?"
So they were done with the personal. "If you make it, I'm sure I'll like it."
He did, though he preferred the cucumber-mint to the tomato and watermelon that she put in front of him. Both the lamb shank and the quail were great, but they agreed that lamb said spring more than summer and chose the quail.”
― Carla Laureano, The Saturday Night Supper Club

“Between ourselves, I think they use too many rich sauces. One never gets the true flavor of the meat or vegetable. Her Majesty's favorite accompaniment to roast beef is a horseradish cream sauce that is so hot the meat must taste like paper. Most of the vegetables the queen eats are made into purees. And her meat is often turned into ragouts and terrines. Some dishes mix too many flavors. The queen loves butter and cream with everything. So bad for her." And I grinned.
He nodded as if he understood. "So you have a palate that appreciates the taste of good ingredients?"
"I do."
"And how did you develop this?"
"I must have inherited it from my father, who had lived well and appreciated fine food. I was apprenticed to a good cook who produced simple English fare- pork chops, roast lamb, roast pheasant, chicken, sole, lobster. There was a sauce to accompany them, but it never overwhelmed the flavor of the meat or fish.”
― Rhys Bowen, Above the Bay of Angels

“I began to delight in surprising adults with my refined palate and disgusting my inexperienced peers with what I would discover to be some of nature's greatest gifts. By the age of ten I had learned to break down a full lobster with my bare hands and a nutcracker. I devoured steak tartare, p?tés, sardines, snails baked in butter and smothered with roasted garlic. I tried raw sea cucumber, abalone, and oysters on the half shell. At night my mother would roast dried cuttlefish on a camp stove in the garage and serve it with a bowl of peanuts and a sauce of red pepper paste mixed with Japanese mayonnaise. My father would tear it into strips and we'd eat it watching television together until our jaws were sore, and I'd wash it all down with small sips from one of my mother's Coronas.
Neither one of my parents graduated from college. I was not raised in a household with many books or records. I was not exposed to fine art at a young age or taken to any museums or plays at established cultural institutions. My parents wouldn't have known the names of authors I should read or foreign directors I should watch. I was not given an old edition of Catcher in the Rye as a preteen, copies of Rolling Stones records on vinyl, or any kind of instructional material from the past that might help give me a leg up to cultural maturity. But my parents were worldly in their own ways. They had seen much of the world and had tasted what it had to offer. What they lacked in high culture, they made up for by spending their hard-earned money on the finest of delicacies. My childhood was rich with flavor---blood sausage, fish intestines, caviar. They loved good food, to make it, to seek it, to share it, and I was an honorary guest at their table.”
― Michelle Zauner, Crying in H Mart

“A successful dish, as my cooking school teachers always used to say, must hit all the targets of se, xiang, wei, xing – colour, fragrance, flavour and form. It should first delight the eyes with its beauty, then the nose with its scent, the tongue with its tastes and the palate with its material qualities. Kougan – literally 'mouthfeel' – is an essential part of the enjoyment of eating, which is an all-embracing sensory experience.”
― Fuchsia Dunlop, Invitation to a Banquet: The Story of Chinese Food