欧宝娱乐

“You can be the ripest, juiciest peach in the world, and there's still going to be somebody who hates peaches.”
― Dita Von Teese

“Sunrise paints the sky with pinks and the sunset with peaches. Cool to warm. So is the progression from childhood to old age.”
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

“Peach pits are poisonous. This is not a mistake. Girlhood is growing fruit around cyanide. It will never be your for swallowing.”
― Brenna Twohy, Swallowtail

“Here is something that Peach, one of the Casserole Queens, says about men and women and love. You know that scene in Romeo and Juliet, where Romeo is standing on the ground looking longingly at Juliet on the balcony above him? One of the most romantic moments in all of literary history? Peach says there's no way that Romeo was standing down there to profess his undying devotion. The truth, Peach says, is that Romeo was just trying to look up Juliet's skirt.”
― Deb Caletti, Honey, Baby, Sweetheart

“Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?”
― T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and Other Poems

“Stand up to hypocrisy. If you don't, the hypocrites will teach. Stand up to ignorance, because if you don't, the ignorant will run free to spread ignorance like a disease. Stand up for truth. If you don't, then there is no truth to your existence. If you don't stand up for all that is right, then understand that you are part of the reason why there is so much wrong in the world.”
― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem

“When I was younger, I would cling to life because life was at the top of the turning wheel. But like the song of my gypsy girl, the great wheel turns over and lands on a minor key. It is then that you come of age and life means nothing to you. To live, to die, to overdose, to fall in a coma in the street... it is all the same. It is only in the peach innocence of youth that life is at its crest on top of the wheel. And there being only life, the young cling to it, they fear death鈥� And they should! ...For they are 'in' life.”
― Roman Payne, The Wanderess

“A peach, slightly unbalanced, so that it listed to one side, its hue the color of an early sunrise. Had George remembered their conversation at the party and left the peach for her to eat? Strange. For a moment she thought it might be a trompe l'oeil work of art, some fantastic piece of glass. She leaned over and sniffed. The blooming perfume was unmistakable. She touched it with the tip of her finger. The peach was not quite ripe, but it was real.
The next day, she checked the kitchen as soon as she arrived. The peach lay there still, blushing deeper in the window light. She bent to smell, and the perfume was headier then before, a scent of meadows and summers home from school. Still unripe. Was George waiting to eat this beauty?”
― Allegra Goodman, The Cookbook Collector

“PEACH BLOSSOM AT DALIN TEMPLE

Across the world this June, the petals all have fallen,
But the mountain temple's peach blossom has just begun to bloom.
I regretted so much that spring had gone without a trace,
I didn't know that it had only moved up here.”
― Bai Juyi

“Oh, is that right? You know, a lioness will protect her cub by baring her teeth, by roaring, using her claws to defend her cub if she feels she has to - this mother, has other means. You are standing in the way of my daughter's best interests. If you try to pick our peach from our family tree, you will be picking a fight. Do you understand me?”
― Steven L. Sheppard, The Untold Story Of Pyramus And Thisbe

“Because this tea kaiseki would be served so soon after breakfast, it would be considerably smaller than a traditional one. As a result, Stephen had decided to serve each mini tea kaiseki in a round stacking bento box, which looked like two miso soup bowls whose rims had been glued together. After lifting off the top dome-shaped cover the women would behold a little round tray sporting a tangle of raw squid strips and blanched scallions bound in a tahini-miso sauce pepped up with mustard. Underneath this seafood "salad" they would find a slightly deeper "tray" packed with pearly white rice garnished with a pink salted cherry blossom. Finally, under the rice would be their soup bowl containing the wanmori, the apex of the tea kaiseki. Inside the dashi base we had placed a large ball of fu (wheat gluten) shaped and colored to resemble a peach. Spongy and soft, it had a savory center of ground duck and sweet lily bulb. A cluster of fresh spinach leaves, to symbolize the budding of spring, accented the "peach," along with a shiitake mushroom cap simmered in mirin, sake, and soy.
When the women had finished their meals, we served them tiny pink azuki bean paste sweets. David whipped them a bowl of thick green tea. For the dry sweets eaten before his thin tea, we served them flower-shaped refined sugar candies tinted pink.
After all the women had left, Stephen, his helper, Mark, and I sat down to enjoy our own "Girl's Day" meal. And even though I was sitting in the corner of Stephen's dish-strewn kitchen in my T-shirt and rumpled khakis, that soft peach dumpling really did taste feminine and delicate.”
― Victoria Abbott Riccardi, Untangling My Chopsticks: A Culinary Sojourn in Kyoto

“Instead I turned my attention back to the copper of peach jam, releasing its autumnal scent. Peach is perhaps the most perfect fruit for making jam: sweet, yet firm; the golden flesh turning to a darker burnt-orange with cooking. My method allows the pieces of fruit to stay intact during the process, while retaining all the flavor. Today, we will leave the sugar and peach mixture to steep under a sheet of muslin; tomorrow, we will cook it, then ladle it into clean glass jars to put away for the winter.
There's something very comforting about the ritual of jam-making. It speaks of cellars filled with preserves; of neat rows of jars on pantry shelves. It speaks of winter mornings and bowls of chocolat au lait, with thick slices of good fresh bread and last year's peach jam, like a promise of sunshine at the darkest point of the year. It speaks of four stone walls, a roof, and of seasons that turn in the same place, in the same way, year after year, with sweet familiarity. It is the taste of home.”
― Joanne Harris, Peaches for Father Francis

“Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

(It's not the main point of the poem, but I am the third generation of my family who's never been able to eat a peach without wondering, do I dare and do I dare)”
― T.S. Eliot, Let Us Go Then, You and I

“It tasted somehow like orange and green and dizzyingly sweet, but like Birdie had said, not too sweet. The taste was so rich it made her lips pulse. It was different on different parts of her tongue---the tartness hit the tip, the sweetness tingled at the sides and at the back.”
― Jodi Lynn Anderson, Peaches

“The pink?" she suggested, holding the shimmering rose-colored satin in front of Sara's half-clad figure. Sara held her breath in awe. She had never worn such a sumptuous creation. Silk roses adorned the sleeves and hem of the gown. The short-waisted bodice was finished with a stomacher of silver filigree and a row of satin bows.
Lily shook her head thoughtfully. "Charming, but too innocent."
Sara suppressed a disappointed sigh. She couldn't imagine anything more beautiful than the pink satin. Busily Monique discarded the gown and sorted through the others. "The peach. No man will be able to keep his eyes from her in that. Here, let us try it, 肠丑茅谤颈别."
Raising her arms, Sara let the dressmaker and her assistant Cora pull the gauzy peach-hued gown over her head. "I think it will have to be altered a great deal," Sara commented, her voice muffled beneath the delicate layers of fabric. The gowns had been fitted for Lily's lithe, compact lines. Sara was more amply endowed, with a generous bosom and curving hips, and a tiny, scoped-in waist... a figure style that had been fashionable thirty years ago. The current high-waisted Grecian mode was not particularly flattering to her.
Monique settled the gown around Sara's feet and then began to yank the back of it together. "Oui, Lady Raiford has the form that fashion loves." Energetically, she hooked the tight bodice together. "But you, 肠丑茅谤颈别, have the kind that men love. Draw in your breath, s'il vous pla卯t."
Sara winced as her breasts were pushed upward until they nearly overflowed from the low-cut bodice. The hem of the unusually full skirt was bordered with three rows of graduated tulip-leaves. Sara could hardly believe the woman in the mirror was herself. The peach gown, with its transparent layers of silk and shockingly low neckline, had been designed to attract a man's attention. It was too loose at the waist, but her breasts rose from the shallow bodice in creamy splendor pushed together to form an enticing cleavage.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“Again I linger over the names. Cr猫me de cassis. Three nut cluster. I select a dark nugget from a tray marked Eastern Journey. Crystallized ginger in a hard sugar shell, releasing a mouthful of liqueur like a concentration of spices, a breath of aromatic air where sandalwood and cinnamon and lime vie for attention with cedar and allspice... I take another, from a tray marked P锚che au miel millefleurs. A slice of peach steeped in honey and eau-de-vie, a crystallized peach sliver on the chocolate lid.”
― Joanne Harris, Chocolat

“PEACH CARDAMOM ROLLS


1 cup butter
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 3/4 cups boiling water
1 tablespoon salt
2 teaspoons ground cardamom
.75 ounces active dry yeast
2 large eggs
1 can of peaches, drained and diced
7 cups flour
1 teaspoon vegetable oil
1 handful slightly cracked cardamom pods
1/2 cup powdered sugar”
― Adi Alsaid, North of Happy

“But the crown jewel was the columned Greek Revival mansion, which dated from the mid-1800s, along with the manicured boxwood gardens that would serve as the backdrop for the couple's ceremony.
Of course, everything was not only very traditional but also a standard to what one might imagine an over-the-top Southern wedding to be. As I said, "Steel Magnolias on steroids." The ceremony would take place outdoors in the garden, but large custom peach-and-white scalloped umbrellas were placed throughout the rows of bamboo folding chairs to shade the guests. Magnolia blossoms and vintage lace adorned the ends of the aisles.
White, trellis-covered bars flanked the entrance to the gardens where guests could select from a cucumber cooler or spiked sweet tea to keep cool during the thirty-minute nuptials. It was still considered spring, but like Dallas, Nashville could heat up early in the year, and we were glad to be prepared.
By the time we arrived the tent was well on its way to completion, and rental deliveries were rolling in. The reception structure was located past the gardens near the enormous whitewashed former stable, and inside the ceiling was draped in countless yards of peach fabric with crystal chandeliers hanging above every dining table. Custom napkins with embroidered magnolias on them complemented the centerpieces' peach garden roses, lush greenery, and dried cotton stems. Cedric's carpentry department created floor-to-ceiling lattice walls covered in faux greenery and white wisteria blooms, a dreamy backdrop for the band.”
― Mary Hollis Huddleston, Without a Hitch

“On the third day, she smelled the fruit as soon as she came in. She followed the scent to the kitchen, and the peach was radiant, dusky rose and gold, its skin so plush she thought her fingertip might bruise it. This was the day, the very hour to eat- and she had come prepared, but she didn't want Concepcion to see her. She waited until the housekeeper shouldered her leather-handled canvas bag and left.
Then Jess unwrapped the organic peach she'd bought that morning. Slightly smaller, slightly harder, but decently rosy, the peach listed left- just the right direction- when she set it on the table.
Leaving this changeling for George, she washed his ripe fruit, and bit and broke the skin. An intense tang, the underside of velvet. Then flesh dissolved in a rush of nectar. Juice drenched her hand and wet the inside of her wrist. She had forgotten, if she'd ever known, that what was sweet could also be so complicated, that fruit could have a nap, like fabric, soft one way, sleek the other.”
― Allegra Goodman, The Cookbook Collector

“It's one of my own recipes: peach cr猫me br没l茅e with a brandy crust." She paraded it past Daniel's eyes. "See," she said, "I made your favorite. Of course I perfected it considerably these past few weeks." She kept walking and deposited the dish in front of Troy. She poured over it a good douse of brandy, then rummaged in her apron and drew forth a long match. One flick and the br没l茅e ignited in a crown of blue flames. Troy's eyes widened with childish pleasure.
"Here you go, my big man." Her spoon crunched into the caramelized topping and reemerged with rich, creamy, peachy dessert. On the plate, the velvety br没l茅e glistened with delicious, crackly caramel. Jasmine pushed forward a glass of Robert Mondavi's luscious Moscato d'Oro.
"Bon app茅tit.”
― Nina Killham, How to Cook a Tart

“Cady had drawn a goblet filled with layers of peaches and brown sugar and rum and shortbread crumbs, topped with maple whipped cream.
"I love the Scottish shortbread in here. Let's add a cookie to the top." Elliott drew that onto the picture.
"I'll make some candied violets for a garnish. It will look spectacular. And since Elliott has now been trained, he can be my sous-chef." Cady smirked.
Elliott chuckled and patted Cady on the head. "Nice try. I approve of the candied violets, especially since Jenny will adore that idea." He added some more notations onto the menu. "And let's cut the richness of this meal with a little palate cleanser between the entr茅e and dessert. How about tipsy oranges?"
"Oh. That sounds good. How do you make that?" She leaned closer to him, needing to feel his heat. He pressed his arm against hers, instinctively reacting to her needs. How had this happened so fast? This connection between them?
"Easiest thing in the world. Section the orange, drizzle Drambuie on top, sprinkle some brown sugar on there and broil quickly to get the sugar bubbling. Add some fresh mint. A quick, refreshing stop before Cady's decadent dessert.”
― Penny Watson, A Taste of Heaven

“And then I understood: only then, sipping nettle soup, tasting the green shoots, the force of life itself that had pushed the young nettles up through paving stones, cobbles, packed mud. Ugolino had flavored his dishes with this. With everything: our food. The steam that drifted, invisible, through the streets. The recipes, written in books or whispered on deathbeds. The pots people stirred every day of their lives: tripe, ribollita, peposo, spezzatino, bollito. Making circles with a spoon, painting suns and moons and stars in broth, in battuta. Writing, even those who don't know their letters, a lifelong song of love.
Tessina dipped her spoon, sipped, dipped again. I would never taste what she was tasting: the alchemy of the soil, the ants which had wandered across the leaves as they pushed up towards the sun; salt and pepper, nettles; or just soup: good, ordinary soup.
And I don't know what she was tasting now, as the great dome of the cathedral turns a deeper red, as she takes the peach from my hand and steals a bite. Does she taste the same sweetness I do? The vinegar pinpricks of wasps' feet, the amber, oozing in golden beads, fading into warm brown, as brown as Maestro Brunelleshi's tiles? I don't know now; I didn't then. But there was one thing we both tasted in that good, plain soup, though I would never have found it on my tongue, not as long as I lived. It had no flavor, but it was there: given by the slow dance of the spoon and the hand which held it. And it was love.”
― Philip Kazan, Appetite

“I swear, I will go to my grave thinking of my brother's peach.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings

“The close, fuzzless relative of peaches was first mentioned by American botanists in 1722. But Fairchild's Quetta nectarines took less than four years to become the most popular variety in America, a country hungry for novelty. Farmers in Iowa, Texas, and California later sent Washington deeply grateful letters for such a large yellow fruit, splashed with yellow and carmine, with a tart sweetness, and deemed a terrific candidate for shipping. ("This we believe to be the best of all nectarines... its large size, firm skin, and flesh make it particularly desirable," one horticulturalist in Chico, California, wrote.)”
― Daniel Stone, The Food Explorer: The True Adventures of the Globe-Trotting Botanist Who Transformed What America Eats

“I slid the cookie platter in front of them, which contained the four holiday cookies I'd come up with as well as peach-mango crumble cookies, my special of the day. The buttery, sweet base was topped with a dollop of my homemade peach mango jam, shortbread crumbles, and a generous dusting of powdered sugar.”
― Mia P. Manansala, Blackmail and Bibingka

“Yoshie scooped some of the cake's topping onto her finger. "This cream. Why does it smell so good?"
"Satoko mixed peach juice into it. Fushimi used to be famous for peaches, after all--- I mean, the Momoyama castle was even named after them.”
― Jesse Kirkwood, The Restaurant of Lost Recipes

“Folks could claim they served their dishes to dignitaries, kings, and empresses, but few had the impact of cooking for immortals. And it wasn't only the honor that drew people to the banquet, it was its life-changing prize. The winners of the Celestial Banquet would each receive a priceless gift: a peach of immortality.
Three vertical banners in shades of jeweled green bearing the names of the major gods unfurled next--- Luck, Temperance, and Indulgence. Everyone on the Continent worshipped the gods. They presided over our world but only came down every ten years for the competition-- a legendary celebration of the vanquishing of Death. They were the arbiters of taste. Not only did they shape the culinary landscape, but their choice of whom to award the peaches had a far-reaching impact--- the valuable prize provided the winning team the bargaining power to defend. For me, it would mean making my dreams a reality and honoring my father's dying wish.”
― Roselle Lim, Celestial Banquet