Word: pungently
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...ancient precursor of sushi would probably be unrecognizable to the modern diner. Raw fish was packed in jars with layers of rice and fermented for weeks, like pungent cheese. These days, of course, sushi is as innocuous as a Big Mac, and just as ubiquitous. In The Zen of Fish, Trevor Corson reports that even the Wal-Mart in Plano, Texas, has its own sushi counter...
...Boqueria remains primarily a produce market whose vivid colors (more than a dozen types of tomatoes), pungent scents (over a hundred classes of vinegar), and boundless array of tastes (nearly two hundred different kinds of salt) combine to create a palace of epicurean delight. "I never thought we'd get a stand here," admits Oriol Ibars, one of four partners in the Pazzta venture. Speaking reverently of the culinary cathedral he had visited each Saturday with his father from age two, he adds, "It was a far-fetched dream." By sheer luck they happened onto Don Jaime's fruit...
...inclined to wrinkle your nose at the mention of seaweed. Pungent and slimy, it's usually something to avoid at the beach, not your first choice for something to drink, eat or wear. But that unflattering - and undeserved - image is now changing. As a natural resource with unique, health-boosting properties, seaweed is showing up in an increasing variety of products as companies find new ways to market the renewable marine resource. At its ultramodern factory in Brest, France, the laboratory company Science et Mer recently launched its own line of seaweed-based skin creams based on purported anti-aging...
...smelly durian is like a thornless rose. It's really cutting out the soul.' BOB HALLIDAY, Bangkok-based food writer, on a Thai scientist's development of an odorless variety of durian, a popular Asian fruit so pungent it is banned from some airlines and hotels
...centuries-old mud brick shrine of Abu Feisal, more than a hundred men push into the tiny prayer room. Outside, the temperature is below freezing, but inside the air is thick and pungent with the heavy scent of perspiration. A small microphone is turned on, and a middle-aged man with a face creased with grief began chanting a mournful dirge. The penitents, sitting in rough circles, begin to pound their chests in a powerful rhythm amplified by a hundred chest cavities. Deep and as resonant as a heartbeat, the sound gradually changes tenor as thin cotton shirts split with...