Produce Quotes

“Plants are more courageous than almost all human beings: an orange tree would rather die than produce lemons, whereas instead of dying the average person would rather be someone they are not.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“Do not rush to judge someone unless his/her fruits reveal the truth. However, don't forget; mostly, it's not the fault of the tree to produce bitter fruits. Sometimes, the soil determines that; blame the source! Deal with the soil! Don't deal with the tree! Other trees are there that the same soil can influence! Don't deal with your enemy, deal with the satan that sponsors them!”
― Israelmore Ayivor, The Great Hand Book of Quotes

“To say that the rich are sad and the poor are happy would be very narrow-minded and stupid. Both scarcity and overabundance tend to produce unhappiness in an individual.”
― Dr Prem Jagyasi

“People who understands how to convert their time into useful products do not complain of boredom.”
― Sunday Adelaja, How To Become Great Through Time Conversion: Are you wasting time, spending time or investing time?

“If you don’t have your own viewpoint, you will procrastinate. Since you can not do or produce from someone else’s viewpoint.”
― Meir Ezra

“It was August and the fields were high with corn. In the orchard the last of the peaches clung to their branches and the apples were showing their first pinkish blush. The vegetable garden overflowed with produce: peppers, green beans, zucchini, tomatoes, cucumbers, and squash.”
― Melanie Gideon, Valley of the Moon

“Art that you produce alone is only art. Art that you produce together is a reality.”
― Mada Jurado

“The store smells of roasted chicken and freshly ground coffee, raw meat and ripening stone fruit, the lemon detergent they use to scrub the old sheet-linoleum floors. I inhale and feel the smile form on my face. It's been so long since I've been inside any market other than Fred Meyer, which smells of plastic and the thousands of people who pass through every day.
By instinct, I head for the produce section. There, the close quarters of slim Ichiban eggplant, baby bok choy, brilliant red chard, chartreuse-and-purple asparagus, sends me into paroxysms of delight. I'm glad the store is nearly empty; I'm oohing and aahing with produce lust at the colors, the smooth, shiny textures set against frilly leaves.
I fondle the palm-size plums, the soft fuzz of the peaches. And the berries! It's berry season, and seven varieties spill from green cardboard containers: the ubiquitous Oregon marionberry, red raspberry, and blackberry, of course, but next to them are blueberries, loganberries, and gorgeous golden raspberries. I pluck one from a container, fat and slightly past firm, and pop it into my mouth. The sweet explosion of flavor so familiar, but like something too long forgotten. I load two pints into my basket.
The asparagus has me intrigued. Maybe I could roast it with olive oil and fresh herbs, like the sprigs of rosemary and oregano poking out of the salad display, and some good sea salt. And salad. Baby greens tossed with lemon-infused olive oil and a sprinkle of vinegar. Why haven't I eaten a salad in so long? I'll choose a soft, mild French cheese from the deli case, have it for an hors d'oeuvre with a beautiful glass of sparkling Prosecco, say, then roast a tiny chunk of spring lamb that I'm sure the nice sister will cut for me, and complement it with a crusty baguette and roasted asparagus, followed by the salad. Followed by more cheese and berries for dessert. And a fruity Willamette Valley Pinot Noir to wash it all down. My idea of eating heaven, a French-influenced feast that reminds me of the way I always thought my life would be.”
― Jennie Shortridge, Eating Heaven

“Time passes, and as the hot midday sun and cool mountain nights alternately bake and freeze the blackened landscape of Vesuvius, something remarkable happens.
Gradually, the streams of cold lava are colonized by a lichen, stereocaulon vesuvianim. This lichen is so tiny that it is almost invisible to the naked eye, but as it grows, it turns the lava from black to silvery gray. Where the lichen has gone, other plants can follow- first mugwort, valerian, and Mediterranean scrub, but later ilex and birch trees, along with dozens of species of apricot.
Meanwhile, the clinkers and ash that covered the landscape like so much grubby gray snow are slowly, inexorably, working their way into the fields and the vineyards, crumbling as they do so, adding their richness to the thick black soil, and an incomparable flavor to tomatoes, zucchini, eggplants, fruit and all the other produce which grows there.”
― Anthony Capella, The Wedding Officer

“Don't go where the tide takes you. Build your own ocean.”
― Hiral Nagda

“The mainstream news is focused on producing articles that produce advertising revenue.”
― Steven Magee

“In the materialistic perspective described so far, interpersonal relations are seriously impoverished. The first to be harmed are women, children, the sick or suffering, and the elderly. The criterion of personal dignity-which demands respect, generosity and service-is replaced by the criterion of efficiency, functionality and usefulness: others are considered not for what they "are", but for what they "have, do and produce". This is the supremacy of the strong over the weak.”
― John Paul II, Evangelium Vitae: The Gospel of Life

“As the umbrellas went up in a sudden flowering, the sun came out, and we were glad. The pigeons flapped and scratched and cooed; there were shiny puddles on the sidewalk; dogs sniffed the freshly washed scents. Pink powder puffs hung from the trees; wind blew.
Poor bedraggled Rosa. The umbrella always seemed blow itself inside out. It was difficult to carry the packages from the market and the umbrella at the same time. I kept juggling. I wouldn't allow myself to drop the fresh eggs, no. Or the green cauliflower, ripe yet firm. The delicate rose-colored tuna wrapped in paper; silky skin, so tender to the touch.
It was essential to get to market early, before work, while everything was fresh, before it had been picked over and pawed by housewives. I loved my daily visits to the market, seeing all of nature's bounty beautifully arranged for me to choose from. The aroma of the fresh peas, mint, and basil mingled with the smell of raw meat hanging at the butcher's and reminded me of my early life on the farm.”
― Lily Prior, 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.”
― Lily Prior, La Cucina

“I present... the courtyard!" The curtain slid away to reveal a wall of glass. Several production workers slid the transparent panels along the tracks until the entire room opened up onto a massive outdoor kitchen.
The contestants filed outside, stunned by the extravagance. It doubled the size of their workspace. Stovetops and grills were set into brick counters. Refrigerators were tucked safely under a canvas canopy. And best of all- most thrilling of all- was a lush, vibrant perennial border that surrounded the entire kitchen, filled with edible plants, herbs, and flowers. Bright orange nasturtiums nodded in the afternoon sunshine, tender peas twined about a chicken wire fence. Bees hovered over patches of fuzzy thyme. Sophia laughed out loud. This was utterly delightful.
"Your dream come true, Miss Garden Fairy?" The Scot's thick arms crossed his chest. He looked utterly disinterested.
"There are fully-stocked pantries inside, as well. But the outdoor facility takes advantage of our beautiful Vermont landscape. Edibles in the garden." Mr. Smith pointed to glass-fronted coolers. "Local cheeses and other dairy products." He sauntered over to the canopied area and the cameras followed him. Baskets of fresh produce lined the tables. "We locally farmed proteins, fruits, and vegetables. Honey. Maple syrup. Anything and everything you can imagine." He took a perfectly ripe strawberry from one of the boxes and popped it into his mouth.”
― Penny Watson, A Taste of Heaven

“This morning, outside Nordic Fisheries a couple of delivery guys are unloading lobsters and crabs by the case, pausing in between loads to sip coffee from Styrofoam cups. Across the street, on Penn Avenue, the green grocers are busy stacking crates of vegetables and fruits, arranging them into a still life to showcase their most beautiful produce: heads of red romaine, their tender spines heavy with the weight of lush, purple-tinged leaves; a basket of delicate mâche, dark green, almost black, and smelling like a hothouse garden; sugar pumpkins of burnished gold; new Brussels sprouts, their tender petals open like flowers.
At this hour the world belongs to those noble souls who devote their lives to food. Cook, grocer, butcher, baker, sunrises are ours. It's a time to gather your materials, to prepare your mise en place, to breathe uninterrupted before the day begins.”
― Meredith Mileti, Aftertaste: A Novel in Five Courses

“Turn your pressure into Power, and your anxiety into Productivity.”
― Jeanette Coron

“Once you learn to bite the bullet by taking tough decisions, you will surprisingly develop a liking for taking such decisions, which may appear quite unpleasant in the beginning but produce wonderful results for the organisation and develop your skills.”
― Awdhesh Singh, 31 Ways to Happiness

“Beauty, I am coming. I am on my way. I have not forgotten your fragile pastries. The ridges on your leavened bread. Half-eaten pomegranate in General Sahib's fridge. Cherries so big they redden Rubiya's hands, Irem's fingers. Kashmir, you are real. You are my half-chilled soup, minced cilantro, my zaman pilaf. Bittersweet chukunder. Rista. Aab gosht. Gurdé Kaporé. Kidney and testicle curry. Kaléji. Sheermal. Lavasa. Tsot. Maythi paratha. Kabuli chana. Nargissi kebab. Tamatar muli. You are a sudden red mirchi. You give me pleasure and pain, both at once. You are my dream, my desire. My North, my brain. My pounding headache.”
― Jaspreet Singh, Chef

“Ugh, so what're we supposed to help with?"
"Harvesting stuff from our veggie garden out back."
"Wow! You guys grow your own ingredients too?"
"Yeah. A lot of the people living at Polaris are into making their own.
Ibusaki makes the wood chips he uses for smoking meats and cheeses.
Ryoko specializes in cooking foods that use shio koji as an ingredient... *Shio koji is rice malt fermented in salt and water.*
... so she has her own warehouse close to the dorm where she ferments her own.
Me, I want to make my own breed of Polaris chicken, like the French bresse. I have my own flock I'm keeping free-range right here.
So... over here is the place Isshiki senpai runs.
A kitchen garden with over a dozen different kinds of vegetables!”
― Yuto Tsukuda, Food Wars!: Shokugeki no Soma, Vol. 2

“Excessively noisy and very quiet environments should be avoided, as they can produce biological problems.”
― Steven Magee

“Overnight, the city managed to procure thousands of cardboard boxes, fifteen hundred hard hats, a few thousand rolls of packing tape, and the services of Eric Lundquist, a mechanical engineer and former popcorn distributor who had reinvented himself as a expert in drying out wet things. The notion of putting the books in with groceries didn't faze Lundquist, since he'd freeze-dried his first salvaged books alongside a summer's worth of peas and carrots from his garden.”
― Susan Orlean, The Library Book

“The jackapples were long and red and oddly pointed at one end. One or two had been cut open as Joe dug them up, showing flesh which looked tropically pink in the sun. The boy staggered a little under the weight of the box.
"Watch your step," called Joe. "Don't drop 'em. They'll bruise."
"But these are just potatoes."
"Aye," said Joe, without taking his eyes from the vegetable cutter.
"I thought you said they were apples, or something."
"Jacks. Spuds. Taters. Jackapples. Poms de Tair."
"Don't look like much to me," said Jay.
Joe shook his head and began to feed the roots into the vegetable cutter. Their scent was sweetish, like papaya.
"I brought seeds for these home from South America after the war," he said. "Grew 'em right here in my back garden. Took me five years just to get the soil right. If you want roasters, you grow King Edwards. If you want salads, it's your Charlottes or your Jerseys. If it's chippers you're after, then it's your Maris Piper. But these..." He reached down to pick one up, rubbing the blackened ball of his thumb lovingly across the pinkish skin. "Older than New York, so old it doesn't even have an English name. Seed more precious than powdered gold. These aren't just potatoes, lad." He shook his head again, his eyes brimful of laughter under the thick gray brows. "These are me Specials."
Jay watched him cautiously. "So what are you making?" he asked at last.
Joe tossed the last jackapple into the cutter and grinned. "Wine, lad. Wine.”
― Joanne Harris, Blackberry Wine

“In order to produce, you must first be ethical. ”
― Meir Ezra

“Bret: [There is a] distinction between the satisfaction of life coming from consuming, which is inherently empty, versus producing. Producing doesn't necessarily have to mean [producing] stuff. It can be [producing] meaning or insight or any one of a number of other things. [...]

Heather: Recognising the long-term glow that you get from producing something of lasting value and beauty and meaning in the world, as opposed to only being exposed to [producing] short-term stuff. [...]

Coming to know a craftsman who really builds things with care and knowledge with the intention that you will be able to pass this on to your children or your friends or whomever later on. This is a piece with lasting beauty; with lasting function, that was built with someone who knew something about the wood or the metals or whatever the materials are. This is a way into finding the kinds of meaning that a fourth frontier mentality can provide.”
― Bret Weinstein & Heather Heying

“That was the place to start. Jane Austen. A quick Internet search confirmed what I assumed: a diet full of fricassees, puddings and pies (savory and sweet), and stews, but few vegetables and a strong prejudice against salads until later in the nineteenth century.
I looked up a Whole Foods nearby---a haven, albeit an expensive one, for fresh, organic, and beautiful produce---and then jotted down some recipes I thought would appeal to Jane's appetite. I landed on a green bean salad with mustard and tarragon and a simple shepherd's pie. She'd used mustard and tarragon in her own chicken salad. And I figured any good Regency lover would devour a shepherd's pie.
I noted other produce I wanted to buy: winter squashes, root vegetables, kale and other leafy greens. All good for sautés, grilling, and stewing. And fava beans, a great thickener and nutritious base, were also coming into season. And green garlic and garlic flowers, which are softer and more delicate than traditional garlic, more like tender asparagus. I wanted to create comfortable, healthy meals that cooked slow and long, making the flavors subtle---comfortably Regency.”
― Katherine Reay, Lizzy and Jane

“Testing with a CPAP machine revealed it would produce insomnia whenever the pressure was 6 cmH2O or above.”
― Steven Magee

“Experimentation with sleeping supplements is required to find out which ones produce the best response.”
― Steven Magee, Hypoxia, Mental Illness & Chronic Fatigue

“If there is a small silver lining to my continued unemployment, it is that I have increased my hours at the farmers' market, where I am surrounded by people who love growing and making food as much as I love eating, reading, and writing about it. Every market brings with it a new sensory adventure: the toothsome crunch of Rick's millet muffins, the brazen tang of his sourdough, the sharp and herbaceous scent of his cheddar dill scones. Instead of trying to force a food connection like I did at The Morning Show, I now live and breathe an agricultural smorgasbord on an almost daily basis, poring over luscious apples and lumpy, bumpy squash and fat loaves of buttery brioche. In a strange way, despite the meager pay, I finally feel as if I'm where I belong.”
― Dana Bate, A Second Bite at the Apple

“At the last market of the season I still had produce to sell. My pumpkin vines had flourished, so I could lay out eighteen small, golden sugar pumpkins, perfect for pies. I also had potatoes and carrots and a dozen jars of blackberry preserves. Charlotte and I were especially proud of those. The glass jars with their felt-topped lids glowed like garnets in the autumn sun.”
― Louisa Morgan, The Witch's Kind