Herbs Quotes

“And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat.”
― Anonymous, The Holy Bible: King James Version

“No dig saves time and keeps it simple, so that you can continue cropping all year without using synthetic feeds or poisons.”
― Charles Dowding, Charles Dowding's Skills for Growing

“The more you harvest, the quicker and easier it becomes”
― Charles Dowding, Charles Dowding's Skills for Growing

“Your soil and plants are friends that benefit from constant care and attention to the details I explain.”
― Charles Dowding, Charles Dowding's Skills for Growing

“Gardening is easier than it is often made out to be.”
― Charles Dowding, Charles Dowding's Skills for Growing

“We are surrounded by forces that technology cannot yet measure.”
― Charles Dowding, Charles Dowding's Skills for Growing

“My love affair with nature is so deep that I am not satisfied with being a mere onlooker, or nature tourist. I crave a more real and meaningful relationship. The spicy teas and tasty delicacies I prepare from wild ingredients are the bread and wine in which I have communion and fellowship with nature, and with the Author of that nature.”
― Euell Gibbons

“Just because it’s natural doesn’t mean you can be as stupid as you want with it.”
― Susan Lynn Peterson, Western Herbs for Martial Artists and Contact Athletes: Effective Treatments for Common Sports Injuries

“Just imagine, how much easier our lives would be if we were born with a ‘user guide or owner’s manual’ which could tell us what to eat and how to live healthy.”
― Erika M. Szabo, Keep Your Body Healthy

“I am more of an herb guy than a spice guy. It comes back to a certain conservatism I have regarding food. The French are not big on spices; they use more herbs. I know the spices used in European cooking and use them in moderation. I am not going to serve a dish that is wildly nutmegged!" David Waltuck, Chanterelle NYC”
― Karen Page

“Charantia. Bitter herbs. Bitter.”
― Jacqueline Miranda (PHR), It's You All Along

“He carefully poured the juice into a bowl and rinsed the scallops to remove any sand caught between the tender white meat and the firmer coral-colored roe, wrapped around it like a socialite's fur stole.
Mayur is the kind of cook (my kind), who thinks the chef should always have a drink in hand. He was making the scallops with champagne custard, so naturally the rest of the bottle would have to disappear before dinner. He poured a cup of champagne into a small pot and set it to reduce on the stove. Then he put a sugar cube in the bottom of a wide champagne coupe (Lalique, service for sixteen, direct from the attic on my mother's last visit). After a bit of a search, he found the crème de violette in one of his shopping bags and poured in just a dash. He topped it up with champagne and gave it a swift stir.
"To dinner in Paris," he said, glass aloft.
'To the chef," I answered, dodging swiftly out of the way as he poured the reduced champagne over some egg yolks and began whisking like his life depended on it.
"Do you have fish stock?"
"Nope."
"Chicken?"
"Just cubes. Are you sure that will work?"
"Sure. This is the Mr. Potato Head School of Cooking," he said. "Interchangeable parts. If you don't have something, think of what that ingredient does, and attach another one."
I counted, in addition to the champagne, three other bottles of alcohol open in the kitchen. The boar, rubbed lovingly with a paste of cider vinegar, garlic, thyme, and rosemary, was marinating in olive oil and red wine. It was then to be seared, deglazed with hard cider, roasted with whole apples, and finished with Calvados and a bit of cream. Mayur had his nose in a small glass of the apple liqueur, inhaling like a fugitive breathing the air of the open road.
As soon as we were all assembled at the table, Mayur put the raw scallops back in their shells, spooned over some custard, and put them ever so briefly under the broiler- no more than a minute or two. The custard formed a very thin skin with one or two peaks of caramel. It was, quite simply, heaven.
The pork was presented neatly sliced, restaurant style, surrounded with the whole apples, baked to juicy, sagging perfection.”
― Elizabeth Bard, Lunch in Paris: A Love Story, with Recipes

“Through knowing death we can hold a beacon of love for every moment that has just passed, for every friend who has lost a friend, for every child who has lost a parent, for every parent who has lost a child; for any suffering anywhere.”
― Sebastian Pole, Discovering the True You with Ayurveda: How to Nourish, Rejuvenate, and Transform Your Life

“Within it grew such a variety of plants as Elizabeth had ever seen: white roses, carnations, lobelias, mimosas, even sweet peas tumbling over each other in vigorous abandon. At one end was an herb garden, and Elizabeth recognized rue, fennel, caraway, sage, thyme and mint. Through a doorway at the rear of the courtyard she could see a grove of olive and lemon trees and on the short walk from the harbor to the house she had spotted tall, spiky thistle-like plants, palms and trees covered in white flowers. She was seized with an immediate desire to open her sketchbook and take out the magnifying glass from the pocket of her cloak, to capture the intricate detail of an almond blossom, its calyx and corolla, stamens and carpel, or perhaps to draw the curl of a vine tendril or a spiky aloe leaf”
― Kayte Nunn, The Botanist's Daughter

“I get to prepping, slicing up fresh tarragon, the grassy floral fragrance enveloping me. I take two pieces of foil and set filets of cod on each one, followed by the salicornes. Drizzle a bit of lemon. A few razor-thin slices of garlic and lemon. A bit of salt and pepper. Paprika. Some herbes de Provence, my special blend. And, finally, the tarragon.
While the fish is baking, I make the rice, deciding to add a dash of cardamom and cumin. Soon, the kitchen smells like heaven, and I feel like I'm floating on my feet. It could be the aromas emanating from the oven, or it could be my wrists, the base notes from the perfume she gave me.
Finally, once the meal is ready, I plate it, adding edible violet flowers as a last-minute garnish. Before bringing Garrance her dish, I taste it. And, oh my, now I'm swept away into a fantasy of the sea---the same one I'd had before when she'd first given me the salicornes, but stronger, more intense. I'm running along the rugged beaches, and then I'm falling on the sand. I can hear the waves crashes, the calls of seagulls, the---”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“Kate, I wanted you to see my passion. In addition to my flowers, I grow everything here---ginger, lemongrass, hot peppers, black pepper, chilis and more. As they say, variety is the spice of life." She picks a pepper off a vine. "This is urfa biber, a pepper from Turkey with notes of raisins, chocolate, and smoke when dried.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“As he's commandeering the mussels, I race around wildly to gather the ingredients: kaffir leaves and limes, coconut milk, coconut sugar, galanga, lemongrass, spicy red peppers, straw mushrooms, garlic, green onions, ginger, and coriander.
When he returns, he clears his throat and his hand snakes over the ingredients. "I know what you're up to. I spent a lot of time in Thailand, having lived there. Your recipe is based off of tom kha gai, but instead of chicken you're using mussels”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“After Charles rinses and scrubs the mussels, side by side, we prepare the meal. While I slice the galanga, Charles braises the shallots, ginger, and fennel, adding in the lemongrass. I'm in a trance, now in Thailand. With him. We're floating in a pond filled with lotus flowers, the water warm, and I'm getting ready for a spiritual awakening---
"The galanga," says Charles, and our hands touch as I pass it over. He adds it to the pan and a moment later, after adding in the coconut milk and squeezing the lime juice, he holds out a spoon. "Taste this."
The flavor is warm, with a little heat and sweetness, infused with the citrusy lemongrass, ginger, and garlic. I let out a soft moan.
"What do you think?"
"I think you're incredible," I say, quickly recovering. "Um, this sauce is heaven on my tongue. My palate is awake." I will my legs to stop quivering.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“Raising children is like taking care of garden, if you neglect it harmful herbs will be grow in it.”
― Kamaran Ihsan Salih

“Before a wheat flower is raised, thousands of herbs and silver flowers grow around.”
― Kamaran Ihsan Salih

“And the thought of her garden---ballast and bread, those blooms and vines and spinney sprigs. Herbs that comforted, cured. Growing conditions had been ideal that summer. Resplendent. Delphinium spires soared their prettiest periwinkle blue; roses clambered over the arbor, luxuriant ivy slumped languidly like legions of lounging ladies. Myrtle gleamed so waxen Lavender almost saw a miniature of her face reflected back in its leaves. Ferns forested. Hollyhocks hollered their joy. Aromatic too, pears from her mother's tree. Even the moss spread ardent, brashly ambitious. The borage grew boisterous. And yarrow, always yarrow. And purple lavender, her namesake. Though some flower dictionaries ascribed a wary, ambiguous meaning to lavender, her mother long ago had asserted the contrary, that lavender equated calmness, serenity.”
― Jeanette Lynes, The Apothecary's Garden

“So, you want to know what is so special about Cashmirian apple, try one from US and then one from apple orchards of Kashmir. You will yourself realise the difference. No offense meant, but the taste and aroma cannot be described by mere words. You have to feel it to know it.”
― Sheikh Gulzar

“ While the bird is boiling, it's time to brown the skin...
...extracting all of the fatty oils from it.
Then, in all of that light and delicately rich chicken oil...
...I'll stir-fry some uncooked jasmine rice with garlic and ginger! ”
― Yūto Tsukuda, 食戟のソーマ 17 [Shokugeki no Souma 17]

“With the bird heated through, it's time to dress it. The feet and wings get chopped off and go right back into the boiling pot with some cilantro.
Together, they will boil down into the perfect soup stock!
While the stock is simmering...
... I'll set the uncooked jasmine rice I stir-fried to steam."
"Ooh! And he isn't steaming it in plain water either! He's using some of the water he heated the bird in...
...which is now a light broth brimming with the Satsuma Jidori's renowned umami goodness!”
― Yūto Tsukuda, 食戟のソーマ 17 [Shokugeki no Souma 17]

“This is an herb boule." I gesture to the oven where my dough is still proving.
"Can we see it to get a quick shot?" Archie asks. I hesitate but slide the drawer open for just a moment, releasing a warm yeasty plume into the air, and then quickly slide it shut. It leaves behind the fragrance of parsley, cilantro, and basil, some of the herbs I've mixed into my boule.
"And these are my cinnamon buns. I've used my own hand-ground rye flour to balance the sweetness and specially sourced Vietnamese cinnamon and just a touch of cardamom.”
― Jessa Maxwell, The Golden Spoon

“The white picket trellis was covered in climbing vines, and the soft, brown weedless soil was covered with winter squash peeking out from underneath velvety dark-green leaves. The island breeze carried the scent of Gran's rosemary plants. I went into the potting shed, grabbed the scissors, and snipped a bunch of rosemary. I could use it in the butter for the mashed potatoes that would be served with the fried chicken. I looked around at her herbs and listened to the tinkle of the wind chimes' sand dollars. I snipped some parsley and thyme. Those herbs would add depth or brightness to any dish. I also plucked a half-dozen bright-yellow lemons to add to the fish dishes.”
― Victoria Benton Frank, My Magnolia Summer

“A buffet with a mix of Indian and Italian food beckons. It's like a fever dream from the bonkers corners of my recipe-obsessed mind--- samosas stuffed with zucchini blossoms and creamy ricotta; chapatis with tomato and mint chutneys made with local produce; artichoke pakoras topped with cilantro and ginger; local truffle panipuris, and even more truffles on the creamy turmeric lentils. There's a chef slicing a porchetta that's been rolled up with cardamom, cumin, black pepper, amchur, and coriander. The air is spiced and herbaceous, and I dive in the moment I see others partaking.”
― Ali Rosen, Recipe for Second Chances

“It was indeed a thing of beauty, cast in bronze with a raised relief of thirty-eight different herbs on a horizontal ring. She removed a pale kid glove and ran her bare hand along its cool surface, recognizing mint for virtue, oregano for joy, lavender for devotion, hyssop to cleanse, lemon balm for wit, borage for courage, chamomile for comfort and bay for glory.”
― Kayte Nunn, The Botanist's Daughter

“Speckled brown eggs that the farmer promised had been laid just that morning, two dark loaves of sourdough that crackled when I squeezed them gently. Meaty bacon from happy pigs, a chunk of salmon glowing coral and smelling like the sea. Little waxy potatoes firm to my touch, dirt-skinned onions, bouquets of fresh herbs. As I inhaled the scent of a bunch of rosemary, hot dusty summer captured in its needles, I felt my worries loosen their grip on me for a second, pleasure taking their place.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“Do you know how to make a kuku?"
Kuku, a fluffy egg dish with herbs, had numerous varieties. "What kind?"
His mouth tipped up in the corner. "You choose."
Roxannah had learned her first kuku from her grandparents' head cook, a man who hailed from a populous village near the Caspian Sea. He had taught her this recipe, a specialty of his region. Quietly, she collected the ingredients she needed: dill, cilantro, parsley, a bit of fenugreek, barberries, onions, garlic, and chives. Sisy showed her where to find the spices. When Roxannah reached for the eggs, the dairy assistant threw her a filthy look. But he could do nothing to stop her since she was obeying Cook's orders.
The trick to making a good kuku lay in achieving the right balance of herbs and eggs. Sautéing the onions and garlic until golden, she set them aside. In the same pan, she added a touch more butter and fried a large handful of barberries, sweetened with a spoon of honey. Their tangy flavor and ruby-red color would create the perfect topping for the dish.”
― Tessa Afshar, The Queen's Cook