this country (that is, in the Rhineland), there is the carnival Muzenmandeln, or, perhaps less known, Muzenblätter. What a long sentence, with lots of commas. I will forget how to blogging soon enough. Italy is now not necessarily Dusseldorf, Cologne and Rio de Janeiro. Nevertheless, baked in Italy for Carnival. Chiacchiere, also called Cenci or Sfinci.
"Chiacchiere" translates talk, talk, talk. Like me, of course, exceptionally good, the Name. Does it yet again to time. In the course of the post I'm going to go well back into nothingness and babble.
better times until the ingredients:
- 400g wheat flour
- 30g sugar 40g butter
- 3 eggs
- rind of a lemon (scraped)
- 2 small glasses of grappa
- 1 pinch salt
- powdered sugar for dusting
- oil for frying
The Chiacchiere are fried in fat. And with a fat neck. The fact I get it, because the Lord Peppinello while rummöppert permanently in the background. "It stinks like the plague after Frittenbude here." And "Who will eat all that crap at all," If we
complementary people? I know that this expression actually does not exist. I've invented the simple. Just as complementary colors. I do in conjunction with the parental muesli man, if you remember to have occurred. The haunted me that is still around in my head. No. I'm not broken out in love to him and would not his shaman partner. I have him and his wife invented but given time between names. I think of Holly and Bernhard and Frauke or Ulrike. No idea why. The children could be called Nils and Nele. Justin and Jason-Shania-Samira I find inappropriate. Nils is in the forest nursery, where he wallows in the mud and eat acorns. Nele attended the Waldorf School, where she plays with faceless dolls and dances its name.
from the specified ingredients (except powdered sugar and oil) I knead dough, which I leave to rest for about two hours. Then I divide it into three pieces and roll it down to the thinnest stage by my beloved Atlas Marcato. I sprinkle the plates with a little flour and cut them into strips with a pastry wheel.
And I wonder I should apologize later for all people named Oliver, Svenja, Frauke, and Holger Bernhard offspring together. (I see the question marks in your brain: Is now the crazy, or I ... ..?)
I know I'm weird.
Several hours I spend to send a small organic family on vacation. Continue with their rickety VW bus in the Alps, a mountain there and help farmers. This gives them much that is. They appreciate fully in line with the natural world, and to convey to their children. Esteem, Frauke Bernhard calls it nods smugly.
short trips on weekends call outs. Then proceed in a kind of medieval camp, where Bernhard dresses up like Till Eulenspiegel. Frauke is a wise woman, type Morgan La Fay. Nils and Nele kloppen located outside the camp with their children from any hobby archers and healers. That is their personal Shangrila.
fall I'm always a quirky new things. Until I find Oliver and Sven. Complementary to the cereal family. So complementary people. I explore the two with an in-Italians in Dusseldorf. Of course, they probably mean different. I'm so free, and give them appropriate names.
Here the dough. Just about two cm wide.
I can not compete against such excesses of my imagination. That makes my brain, without it I will. Like an endless spiral .
first fall, the two I did not. For they are not as colorful as Bernard, the purple pants, or Frauke with henna red hair. I am alone on a shopping tour. It is noon. The two sit down at the next table. He wears a suit and tie. A gray suit, shirt with turned up collars. And tied a towel around his neck. And pearl earrings. I had a button containing more of the blouse is left open. But as I said, you probably have a break. Banking or insurance or something. Since is not a huge cut. Or?
The Chiacchiere are fried in a deep pan in a lot of oil. This is fixed. In the hot fat to swell on the part of true quality. Beware, sometimes it squirts. I burn the feet. The Frittiergänge take but no end. There are really many. The whole kitchen smells. And I felt consume eight rolls paper towels to drain. In the background, the Lord complains Peppinello whether the huge amount of pastries. Who should eat it all. (Note the blogger.. He later)
Back to our two lovebirds in for lunch: Okay, all completely normal. Now they give up their order. Rate what it takes? A decaf latte with artificial sweetener. He takes a large apple juice, use more water and less juice. A dream. I try not to stare back, read my newspaper. Rocker with the feet. As he stares over. I feel this are my shoes. Ankle boots with high heels, which do after a long time very, very much. What is next to hunger and thirst for the real reason for my stopover here in this shop. Oliver, as I said staring at his shoes. I'm thinking about asking him if he wants to have borrowed time and look back. Of course, he immediately looks hectic away. It remembers this come the drinks. "Grazie," he says jovially to the young waiter pomaded. Is no Italian but Slovene, but probably not know Oliver. She calls, just as the waiter is gone. "Hello, hello ..." and raises his hand. "Could I please have another cup of tea. Roibusch or open, when you have. "As I said, a dream.
The two talk about their jobs. You are probably not a couple. Colleagues in a bank, which could be a couple. Or maybe do. If they were not so uptight. Your department is located in another building. "Outsources" she calls it my food comes. He suggests this could take "one" yes a little something to himself. Why "we"? I think. She agreed. When the waiter is just back from my table, which is right next to her so she called away again, "Hello ... hello." Renewed show of hands. Small white hand with silver nail polish and subtle pearl ring with the finger.
We pollinate the Chiacchiere with powdered sugar. I would not deny you that, in Naples in a chocolate sauce with names "Sanguinaccio" be dipped. Nowadays, with melted chocolate is made. My mother is from and forth to the original hardcore version. Here comes pure pig blood. What is at first did not taste. The finish is not however quite disgusting.
Back to lunch snack. I love people who scare the service staff dozens of times back and forth. The Slovene comes with smooth hip movement back to the table and says, beaming smile: "Prego Signorina?" Can we eat, "asks Oliver. I propose the frantic hand over her mouth to laugh out loud. If the Slovenian now decide whether "you" eat what may, I would like to ask the most. The waiter then brings the card with the daily specials and I have a wine spritzer that I order, before he had time to walk. Oliver only opens his jacket and then hits the Speisekarte.Er with your fingers. yes Has a very beautiful belly of Olli, but that his arms are so thin. Untrained. Both read. He adjusts his glasses. She pursed her lips. I try to read their thoughts.
The recipe is now over. I'm not done yet.
He thinks: I could eat meat, or fish. But the prices here, my dear Scholli. Since then I have the rest of the week to take sandwiches, it's only Monday. On the other hand, it suggests, perhaps even before that will pay for "one" self-contained then I would be off the hook. I do not mean that it is committed to anything.
you think: My goodness, I hunger, yet I'm on a diet. My tights have a run, hopefully you do not see that. I wonder if he invites you?
Why am I really so hateful? They are strangers.
Finally they order. He decides to tagliatelle alla puttanesca. I grin. He does not determine what puttanesca is translated. And a little apple juice. This time he forgets to tell the mix. Want to ask just a salad. Vinegar / oil. Without cucumber, pepper, without or without onions. Perhaps even without salad, I think. The Slovene writes everything and leaves. And? Sure. She exclaims. "Hello ... hello ...." Again with smooth hip movement, but this time not quite as bright smile, he comes back. "Prego Signorina?" She drinks something, she says. I also know something. Want to bet? "A quiet water. Not out of the fridge. "
Strike! D arauf I would have put a fortune, dear Sven.
entertained during the meal they are about as much erotic things like savings contracts, returns, fixed income Securities. He larded every sentence with Anglicisms. Ättätschment. Briefed. Taff. Wiwin. Sträääht. In addition, he is constantly making these ridiculous quotes gesture: bent elbow. Forearm and hand up. Forefinger and middle finger up and down. Other punctuation he speaks. He says something like "slash family friends" when he "free mode" (O-Ton!) switches. I love those types. She takes a while talking Schnütchen and keeps saying: "Eks nude. From time to time on both hands meet at the bread basket. He watches her every time mischievously through the lenses in the eye after which they cross their legs proposes. Sven, I think. You ne ladder.
Then Oliver looks at the clock. Too bad. The break is over. But "Man" could be so we'll see private. For after-hours. Or so. Good idea finds her, whereupon he decides to pay the bill for both. "Thirty-Ninety," said the Slovenian. And Oliver says it generously ". Thirty-two, then get your" "Grazie mille," the Slovenian said smugly. He looks in my direction and winked with a grin. I say, "Bring me 'nen double espresso. And a grappa. A large scale. "
Sven Oliver helps in the Blazer. He stares back at my shoes. I simulate a large eyelashes. Oliver straightens his tie.
Yes. Maybe you'll marry. A terraced house now. With Velux windows. And floor heating. You will get a son. Olli like a wimp. Sven will take twenty pounds and Oliver is secretly looking Beate Uhse films.
We know it will. I post it now. Helau.
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