i remember love and i live love ❤ I'm very blessed….
Certainly, i wish i could go! I love Panini-girl!
The apartment we stay in during the Cook With Panini Girl In Lucca tour has the perfect kitchen for a cooking class. In fact, a few years ago the owner of the building did a big remodel, actually relocating the kitchen from another part of the apartment. It was his intention to create a kitchen that would not only be large and well equipped for a group to cook in, but would also be the perfect spot for cooking lessons.
We began the class by making the dessert first since it needed time to chill-pannacotta with a fresh strawberry sauce. From there we moved on to our starter which was fried pizza dough that we ate topped with salumi. I grew up eating pizza fritta but we always topped ours with a marinara sauce and a little romano cheese. This was something new for me and I loved…
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I cannot read Italian? Yet, in tea and in food? We are asked to describe a flavor profile. Does it taste of the elements of wood, cypress, vanilla or rose? We fall into a foolish lake of synesthesia. Why can’t I smell a book or a person and give my perception. I am a book sniffer? I am a hound dog of fine words. I investigate the soul and where its armor has it’s succinct beauty and flaws.
When I listen, on a lovely night to Englebert Humperdinck! The music of my parents.
I begin to think of Luisa Ruggio? Perhaps there is a ghost nearby missing life? Missing precious drops of sunlight like honey white, calling me…. As I am sipping strange wine? It is August and this month all over the Far East, we believe the moon has cracked open upon the earth. It’s lunar secrets say goodbye to summer and unleash the dancing souls form all the realms of the beyond this life dwell.
So? I have no idea why but at first i say how can it be that I hear music notes very plump, rich and buttery just falling free like colors and flavors and my heart thinks of saxophones. Do we wonder if there really are psychics or where perhaps do the music notes go after their songs are played? Then I look up the story of Engelbert and he played saxophone ! Long before he became the English icon whom song sexy romantic Italian and Spanish songs. All I can say is that Luisa Dentro came to my mind and I believe her once upon a time lover was calling her through me from some sad and divine realm. She knows , it had to be you. Here, i have sniffed is a wonderful story for those whose hearts are drenched in wine and say ” I could drink a case of you” As Joni Mitchell once upon a time sung.
Drinking wine. The letter with the smooching red chocolate foil dress upon. Curved like chocolate kisses, into a Pompidou curled wisp. That is the Spanish Princess in the flamenco dress. She turns and all the roses swirl. The heart is jumping, landing upon a mesh net made of hydroponic blue electric comets of light, all intertwined. as gracefully as maidens in a synchronized water ballet.
There he goes, it is music of my mother, Mr Englebert Humperdinck. He is sewing a hypnotic scarf, of thick embroidered Mayflower’s in a Madras silken fuchsia, all in the background of my mind. Somewhere beamed inward from the orchestral vortex of the 1970’s. The embroidered blossoms are boisterous. in the heaviness of their perfume. As if they had already climbed the Himalaya’s into its majestic cloak of paranormal skies. Sublime, are the soft hues of multicolored perfumed rains. A galloping fox trot of weeping golden daffodils, sunflowers, orchids, green calyx spears of intoxicating perfume. I wear my mothers beautiful scarf from Madras, of romantic songs by Englebert Humperdinck forever.
The lady in red is Luisa, lover and conductor of the symphony of poems which draw its readers into a boisterous but fine symphony of filigree and elemental and mirages, simply too dizzying with ultra violet fire and tangerine succulent heat.
Thank you for sharing a clump of your olive, rosemary, rose and wild grape earth of Italy.
Oggi mi sono imbattuta in una notizia di cronaca a dir poco bizzarra, riportata da Il Corriere del Veneto: un signore di 77 anni si è intossicato ingerendo benzina contenuta all’interno di una bottiglia di té. L’anziano prima di andare in villeggiatura aveva messo della benzina in una bottiglia vuota di té freddo. Al suo ritorno, dimenticatosi completamente di questa sua trovata, ha bevuto di gusto dalla bottiglia di té. Non è chiaro dalla breve notizia riportata dal quotidiano online se il poverino vittima di se stesso si sia accorto subito dell’errore o se solo dopo un po’ abbia avvertito che qualcosa non andava. Fatto sta che un bel momento è stato colto da malore ed è andato in ospedale, dove il fattaccio è stato svelato.
Ora, pazienza che uno non si ricordi che ha utilizzato una bottiglia di té per conservarvi della benzina, ma non te ne accorgerai…
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To carry the weight of all the art in the world upon your porcelain shoulders? A scratch, a drop of blood? A ribbon around a time bomb. Punky Frida.
Lydia Lunch performs, utters, radiates, and yes, consumes intensity. Whether it’s in the form of screeching vocals, convulsive stage antics, or in this case, vigorous flavors, everything the woman does is full-fucking-force.
On that note, she has written… a cookbook. It’s called The Need to Feed: Recipes for Developing a Healthy Obsession with Deeply Satisfying Foods. And it’s the only cookbook I’ve ever purchased… or read… or, let’s face it, probably held thus far in my life.
“I gorge on life in the spirit of unrepentant hedonism. I embrace pleasure as an inalienable pagan right and employ it as the ultimate weapon in my ongoing rebellion against false virtue. I seek to feed and feast upon the most succulent delights I can wrap my lips around, be it flora, fauna, flesh, fish, foul, or pharmaceuticals. I wholeheartedly encourage you to do the same.”
It sort of makes sense when you consider…
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