United States or Uruguay ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
A reaping-hook fits my hand better than a governor's sceptre; I'd rather have my fill of gazpacho' than be subject to the misery of a meddling doctor who me with hunger, and I'd rather lie in summer under the shade of an oak, and in winter wrap myself in a double sheepskin jacket in freedom, than go to bed between holland sheets and dress in sables under the restraint of a government.
On a hot summer day, early in the thirties, a woman with a kind and gentle countenance was seated at the door of her cottage, in the village above mentioned, engaged in chopping the tomatoes and peppers and crumbling the bread for the wholesome, nutritious, and savory gazpacho which was to serve for the family supper; her two children, a boy of seven and a girl of five, were playing not far from her in the street.
A reaping-hook fits my hand better than a governor's sceptre; I'd rather have my fill of gazpacho' than be subject to the misery of a meddling doctor who me with hunger, and I'd rather lie in summer under the shade of an oak, and in winter wrap myself in a double sheepskin jacket in freedom, than go to bed between holland sheets and dress in sables under the restraint of a government.
In the hot summer weather in Andalusia, people eat a delicious cold soup as their main dish at lunch, and sometimes at dinner too. This soup is called gazpacho, and it is made with Spanish olive oil, vinegar, tomato juice and ice water. Very fine bread crumbs help make it thick, and little pieces of fresh, cold tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, olives and onions float on top.
Now is the right time, The food delight time, So open up 'a you mouth, And face the south. Tomorrow may be too late, Now is never, My gazpacho, she cannot 'a wait. We sang and danced around Sal, who tried to maintain a dignified countenance but who ended up laughing along with the rest of us. Then Rachel made cinnamon-spiced, hot apple cider and we sat around the fire sipping the brew.
Gazpacho; or, Summer Months in Spain, is the title of a new book by W. George Clark, published in London. Gazpacho, it seems, is the name of a dish peculiar to Spain, but of universal use there, a sort of cold soup, made up of familiars and handy things, as bread, pot-herbs, oil, and water. "My Gazpacho," says the author, "has been prepared after a similar receipt.
Later, though, I came up with a few lines of my own, which seemed to blend with his, and after about forty-five minutes we marched triumphantly downstairs and sang together. Ohhhh, soul of Sal, Aspire tonight. Don't be a shmuck-o, Manifest Light. Tomorrow may be too late, Now is never, My gazpacho, she cannot 'a wait.
The Spaniard who has a novia, a guitar, a cigarillo, and the knowledge that he has enough to pay for a seat at the bull-fight, possesses all that he can possibly need. He will eat a plateful of gazpacho or puchero, a sardine, half a roll of bread, and drink clear water as often as wine. Food is always of secondary importance: he ranks it after his novia, after his cigarillo, after the bulls.
The following passages will give an idea of the materials of which the Gazpacho is made up: "I left, I suppose, scarcely a street in Madrid which I did not traverse, or a church which I did not enter. The result is hardly worth the trouble. One street and church are exactly like another street and church.
Word Of The Day