Thursday, December 30, 2010
Colinda de Anul Nou
Monday, December 20, 2010
2010? - Did... have... will... you?
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!
Monday, December 13, 2010
Sopa de poblanos
- Wash a few poblano peppers, pat dry and “shine” with a bit of oil. I used 9 for this recipe [serves 10+], but it came out really spicy, so you might want to tone it down to only 4 or 5. I was hoping that roasting them would cut some of the heat, but did not seem to help much L. Crank up the oven to about 425F (need a lot of heat, fast)…or you can use a grill or the broiler. Bottom line, let them singe thoroughly and flip ‘em often.
- Once the poblanos are in the oven, start with a chopped onion or two in a soup pot with a bit of oil under medium heat; add a few cloves of chopped garlic as well (garlic burns faster, so dropping it in later helps). Once translucent, add a can of low-salt chicken stock (or water if you wish, in which case you might want to enhance the taste with a sprinkling of Vegeta).
- Peel and chop 3-4 medium potatoes, cut in small cubes and drop in the pot; then add a couple of cups of water and boil until the potatoes are soft. Potatoes will give you the starch for the soup and eliminate (or reduce) the need for cream. Notice I used very little oil for the onions and garlic. And no butter!
- When the peppers are done (I wish you can “smell” the picture above) peel off the skin, discard the stems and wash off the seeds. Chop and drop into the soup pot. [in retrospect, you could drop them in with the onion and garlic before the chicken stock, in hopes that some of the spiciness will be “diluted” by cooking them further]. You might want to use some latex gloves when peeling/cleaning the peppers; they are pretty hot/spicy!
- Use an immersion blender if you have one, to purée the onions, garlic, peppers and potatoes (It’s always good to use less water in cooking and add more if the blend is too thick). A regular blender also works, but it’s messier and requires a few “trips”. The immersion blender is a nifty little gadget for any kitchen; and it works wonders when trying to get kids to eat their veggies!
- Now give it a taste. Unfortunately, mine was still too spicy… and although I was trying to avoid milk or cream, I had to use about ½ cup in order to reduce the spice. Next time I’ll probably use more potatoes instead.
- So back on the stove then, a bit of milk and voilà: soup’s ready. For garnish, I used sour cream thinned with milk, roasted pumpkin seeds, roasted corn, and some cilantro and paprika for color. Shredded cheese would work also…or some crunchy tortillas. For another dimension, try topping with smoked bacon (baked) or baby camarones. The possibilities are endless…
Friday, November 5, 2010
Adrian Paunescu - Ruga pentru parinti (Prayer for Parents)
Homage to a great writer and poet who brought a ray of hope to the youth in communist Romania. Will surely live among the greats into eternity...
Saru'-mina Adriane! Eternal gratitude!
Enigmatici şi cuminţi, Terminându-şi rostul lor, Lângă noi se sting şi mor, Dragii noştri, dragi părinţi. Chiamă-i Doamne înapoi Că şi-aşa au dus-o prost, Şi fă-i tineri cum au fost, Fă-i mai tineri decât noi. Pentru cei ce ne-au făcut Dă un ordin, dă ceva Să-i mai poţi întârzia Să o ia de la început. Au plătit cu viaţa lor Ale fiilor erori, Doamne fă-i nemuritori Pe părinţii care mor. Ia priviţi-i cum se duc, Ia priviţi-i cum se sting, Lumânări în cuib de cuc, Parcă tac, şi parcă ning. Plini de boli şi suferind Ne întoarcem în pământ, Cât mai suntem, cât mai sunt, Mângâiaţi-i pe părinţi. E pământul tot mai greu, Despărţirea-i tot mai grea, Sărut-mâna, tatăl meu, Sărut-mâna, mama mea. Dar de ce priviţi asa, Fata mea şi fiul meu, Eu sunt cel ce va urma Dragii mei mă duc şi eu. Sărut-mâna, tatăl meu, Sărut-mâna, mama mea. Rămas bun, băiatul meu, Rămas bun, fetiţa mea, Tatăl meu, băiatul meu, Mama mea, fetiţa mea. | Mysterious and tranquil, Finishing their earthly role, Fading bodies leave the soul, Our dear parents, falling ill. Dear Lord, please bring them back For their life was harsh and crass, Make ‘em young, younger than us, And this time, cut them some slack. For the ones who gave us life Do something, pass a decree Slow them down, or even, maybe Start anew, with much less strife. They have paid with their own lives For their children’s many ills, God, don’t make us read their wills Let them be husbands and wives. Take a look at how they go, Take a look at how they fade, Candles in a gowk’s hotbed, Like they’re silent, like they’re snow Full of suffering and sickness We all end up as dirt, Yet, while we are still on earth, Shower your folks with kindness. Separation’s getting hard Our lives, heavy with qualm, I am grateful, dear dad, I am grateful, dear mom. Why you look at me like this, Dear daughter, dear son, One day I’ll be the one you’ll miss One day it will be my turn. I am grateful, dear dad, I am grateful, dear mom. So long, my son, So long, my little girl, My dad, my son, My mom, my little girl. |
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Toparceanu - Balada unui greier mic (The Ballad of a Small Cricket)
Dear childhood memories to most of us... and so appropriate with winter knocking on the door...
Peste dealuri zgribulite, Peste ţarini zdrenţuite, A venit aşa, deodată, Toamna cea întunecată. Lungă, slabă şi zăludă, Botezând natura udă C-un mănunchi de ciumafai, - Când se scutură de ciudă, Împrejurul ei departe Risipeşte-n evantai Ploi mărunte, Frunze moarte, Stropi de tină, Guturai… Şi cum vine de la munte, Blestemând Şi lăcrimând, Toţi ciulinii de pe vale Se pitesc prin văgăuni, Iar măceşii de pe câmpuri O întâmpină în cale Cu grăbite plecăciuni… Doar pe coastă, la urcuş, Din căsuţa lui de humă A ieşit un greieruş, Negru, mic, muiat în tuş Şi pe-aripi pudrat cu brumă: - Cri-cri-cri, Toamnă gri, Nu credeam c-o să mai vii Înainte de Crăciun, Că puteam şi eu s-adun O grăunţă cât de mică, Ca să nu cer împrumut La vecina mea furnică, Fi’ndcă nu-mi dă niciodată, Şi-apoi umple lumea toată Că m-am dus şi i-am cerut… Dar de-acuş, Zise el cu glas sfârşit Ridicând un picioruş, Dar de-acuş s-a isprăvit… Cri-cri-cri, Toamnă gri, Tare-s mic şi necăjit! | Over barren, shriveling hills, ‘Cross tattered, empty plains, Dark Autumn, murk and fearsome, To lay bedlam hath come. Skinny, long and crazy-set, Christening the nature wet With a hefty laurels wad, - Madly shaking it in threat As she wastefully unweaves Fanning harmful, harsh and bold Frigid rains, Dying leaves Slushy mist, The common cold… As from the mountain down she scurries, All-out cursin’, Tears flowin’, All the thistle in the valleys Head off into sheltered nooks, While the briars on the glen Harried greet her down the alleys Bowing heads and hiding looks… Yet on the climb, up on the cliff, Comes out from his clay hut A tiny cricket, small and stiff, With frosty wings, looking as if In black ink was besot: Chirr-chirr-chirr, Gray Autumn brrr, Didn’t think you’d show up, lass Not before the ol’ Christ mass, So at least I could amass Whatsoever tiny grain, So I don’t go beg to borrow From the neighbor ant in vain, For she never gives me none, Yet the whole world knows I’ve gone To her house again to wallow… Yet, by now it is all moot, He admits with faded breath Gently lifting up his foot, It’s over; the end is set… Chirr-chirr-chirr Gloom Autumn brrr, I am tiny and upset! |
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Toparceanu - Rapsodii de Toamana (Autumn Rhapsody)
A personal tribute to my second favorite Romanian poet. Enjoy!
A trecut întâi o boare Pe deasupra viilor, Şi-a furat de prin ponoare Puful păpădiilor. Cu acorduri lungi de liră I-au răspuns fâneţele. Toate florile şoptiră, Întorcându-şi feţele. Un salcâm privi spre munte Mândru ca o flamură. Solzii frunzelor mărunte S-au zburlit pe-o ramură. Mai târziu, o coţofană Fără ocupaţie A adus o veste-n goană Şi-a făcut senzaţie: Cică-n munte, la povarnă, Plopii şi răsurile Spun că vine-un vânt de iarnă Răscolind pădurile. Şi-auzind din depărtare Vocea lui tiranică, Toţi ciulinii pe cărare Fug cuprinşi de panică... Zvonul prin livezi coboară. Colo jos, pe mlaştină. S-a-ntâlnit un pui de cioară C-un bâtlan de baştină Şi din treacăt îi aruncă Altă veste stranie, C-au pornit-o peste luncă Frunzele-n bejanie! II Într-o clipă, alarmate, Ies din şanţuri vrăbiile. Papura pe lac se zbate Legănându-şi săbiile. Un lăstun, în frac, apare Sus pe-un vârf de trestie Ca să ţie-o cuvântare În această chestie. Dar broscoii din răstoacă Îl insultă-n pauze Şi din papură-l provoacă Cu prelungi aplauze. Lişiţele-ncep să strige Ca de mama focului. Cocostârci, pe catalige, Vin la faţa locului. Un ţânţar, nervos şi foarte Slab de constituţie, În zadar vrea să ia parte Şi el la discuţie. Când deodată un erete, Poliţai din naştere, Peste baltă şi boschete Vine-n recunoaştere Cu poruncă de la centru Contra vinovatului, Ca să-l aresteze pentru Siguranţa statului... De emoţie, în surdină, Sub un snop de bozie, O păstaie de sulcină A făcut explozie. III Florile-n grădini s-agită. Peste straturi, dalia, Ca o doamnă din elită Îşi îndreaptă talia. Trei petunii subţirele, Farmec dând regretelor, Stau de vorbă între ele: "Ce ne facem, fetelor?..." Floarea-soarelui, bătrână, De pe-acum se sperie C-au să-i cadă în ţărână Dinţii, de mizerie. Şi cu galbena ei zdreanţă Stă-n lumina matură, Ca un talger de balanţă Aplecat pe-o latură... Între gâze, fără frică Se re-ncep idilele. Doar o gărgăriţă mică, Blestemându-şi zilele, Necăjită cere sfatul Unei molii tinere, Că i-a dispărut bărbatul În costum de ginere. Împrejur îi cântă-n şagă Greierii din flaute. "Uf, ce lume, soro dragă!" Unde să-l mai caute? L-a găsit sub trei grăunţe Mort de inaniţie. Şi-acum pleacă să anunţe Cazul la poliţie. IV Buruienile-ngrozite De-aşa vremi protivnice Se vorbiră pe şoptite Să se facă schivnice. Şi cum ştie-o rugăciune Doamna măsălariţă, Tot soborul îi propune S-o aleagă stariţă. Numai colo sus, prin vie, Rumenele lobode Vor de-acuma-n văduvie Să trăiască slobode. Vezi! de-aceea mătrăguna A-nvăţat un brusture Să le spuie-n faţă una Care să le usture!... Jos, pe-un vârf de campanulă Pururea-n vibraţie, Şi-a oprit o libelulă Zborul plin de graţie. Mic, cu solzi ca de balaur, Trupu-i fin se clatină, Giuvaer de smalţ şi aur Cu sclipiri de platină. V Dar deodată, pe coline Scade animaţia... De mirare parcă-şi ţine Vântul respiraţia. Zboară veşti contradictorii, Se-ntretaie ştirile... Ce e?... Ce e?... Spre podgorii Toţi întorc privirile. Iat-o!... Sus în deal, la strungă, Aşternând pământului Haina ei cu trenă lungă De culoarea vântului, S-a ivit pe culme Toamna, Zâna melopeelor, Spaima florilor şi Doamna Cucurbitaceelor... Lung îşi flutură spre vale, Ca-ntr-un nimb de glorie, Peste şolduri triumfale Haina iluzorie. Apoi pleacă mai departe Pustiind cărările, Cu alai de frunze moarte Să colinde zările. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gâze, flori întârziate! Muza mea satirică V-a-nchinat de drag la toate Câte-o strofă lirică. Dar când ştiu c-o să vă-ngheţe Iarna mizerabilă, Mă cuprinde o tristeţe Iremediabilă... | First, there was an earthy breeze Over vineyards, on the bluff, Pilfering throughout with ease Dandelions’ fuzzy fluff And with harp-like harmony Answered back the pasture. All the flowers whispered softly, Adjusting their posture. A tall acacia glanced up the peak Proudly, like a flag. Its scaly leaves fragile and meek Ruffled on a branch-tag Later on, a tiny magpie Without occupation With big news came flying by And it made sensation: Near the sheepfold, up the mountain, The poplars and the briars Warn us of a wintry hauntin’ Ravishing the forests. And as they hear from far away Its booming voice, tyrannic, All the thistle on the pathway Run in total panic… The rumor makes it through the orchard. Down, in the swamp, below. A native heron, frail and old Meets up a baby crow And in passing it relays Yet even stranger news, The meadow is now all ablaze With a mass retreat of leaves! II In a blink, alarmed and scared, The sparrows take to flight. In the pond, the bulrush aired Sways spears left and right. A martin in coattails emerges Atop a fragile reed A speech to make, he swiftly urges On topic now at heed. Yet the bullfrogs in the pool, Insults throw at him in pause They provoke him, call him fool With facetious applause. The coots engage in shrieking screams As if were burned by fire Storks atop high stilts (it seems) Gather to inquire. A mosquito rather jarred, Frail of constitution, In vain is trying very hard To join in the discussion. When at once, a pigeon hawk, Born to be a cop, The entire swamp would stalk Surveying from up top With a task from “up above” Against one labeled guilty To arrest him on pretext of “National security…” A melilot bean, very ruffed, Muted by emotion, Hid under a danewort tuft And burst into explosion. III The flower beds are all arouse. Above all, the dahlia, Like a lady of high class Showing her regalia. Three skinny petunias, Charmed and rather blue, Talk among themselves, alas: “Girls, what are we gonna do?” The old sunflower, with her wreathe Is scared that, perhaps, Miserably all her “teeth” Will now fall in the dust. And under all her yellow rags She stands in heavy light, Like an uneven scale which drags, Leaning upon one side… Among the insects, without fear Romance has now struck. Yet a ladybug, poor dear, Curses out her luck. Depressed, she asks advice indeed From a young moth, gloom, Since her husband disappeared Dressed up as a groom. Crickets around her are mocking Fluting carelessly. “What a world, sister darling!” Oh, where would he be? They found him under seeds of grain, Wasted of starvation. And are now going to call in The local police station. IV The weeds, scared and affright Of the hostile weather To each other whisper slight To join a church together And as she knows a pray or two The refined henbane, The congregation’s willing to Elect her sister-main. In the vineyard, up the hill, Ripe-brick-red the lobodas Wish a widow life, a will To live free en mass See, that’s why the mandragora Taught a spiny burdock To tell ‘em to their face, for a Cruel and truthful shock!... Down, atop a campanula Always in vibration, A dragonfly has dropped its hula For a quick cessation Small, with mini-scales of dragon, Frailly frame al shakin’ Jewel o’ enamel and golden Glimmering of platin’. V Yet, all at once, up on the rise The energy subsides… And breathless, the wind nearly dies Like caught by a surprise. Contradictory announcements Fly across news’ daze… What? What? And upon the vineyards All direct their gaze. There! Up between the rocks, Covering the range Its long train and lengthy frocks Colored windy-beige, Atop the hill appeared Autumn Fairy of the mélopée, Blossoms’ fear and queen of Cucurbitaceae Long, she flutters through the valley, Her illusory gown, Like an aura full of glory Draping from hips down. Then she heads for the horizon Blowing her vagrant breeze, Leaving in her path, withdrawn A cortege of dead leaves. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bugs and dear autumnal flowers! The muse of my satire Has dedicated all, no less An iambic heartfelt lyre. Yet, as I know that winter comes Frozen and miserable I’m overtaken by remorse That’s irremediable… |