Posts filed under ‘.food’

One Potato, Two Potato

March 22, 2012 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

Making Hamentaschen

(more…)

March 7, 2012 at 5:25 am Leave a comment

Mother’s Chocolate Valentine

by Jack Prelutsky

I bought a box of chocolate hearts,
a present for my mother,
they looked so good I tasted one,
and then I tried another.

They both were so delicious
that I ate another four,
and then another couple,
and then half a dozen more.

I couldn’t seem to stop myself,
I nibbled on and on,
before I knew what happened,
all the chocolate hearts were gone.

I felt a little guilty,
I was stuffed down to my socks,
I ate my mother’s valentine……
I hope she likes the box. :-)

(more…)

February 14, 2012 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

La Perce-Neige

February 2, 2012 at 2:02 am Leave a comment

Full Strawberry Moon

The Moon Guide: June

+ ASTRONOMY: Lunar Eclipse, June 15, 2011

June 15, 2011 at 5:15 am Leave a comment

Maslenitsa

Wednesday and Friday
Maslenitsa’s gone away.
Lent sneaked up behind her
And pulled off her tail!

Blini

March 6, 2011 at 6:06 am Leave a comment

Food is Fun



via BABYCCINO KIDS

February 26, 2011 at 6:44 pm Leave a comment

KICK START, EAT SMART


Action Tracker
Carrot Patch Game
Color the Food Pyramid
Eat a Rainbow Game
Maze
Word Search

+ Children Discovery Museum KIDS

January 16, 2011 at 10:22 pm Leave a comment

Compadre Cómpreme Un Coco


The name means “Friend(or godfather)buy me a coconut”.

Lyrics.es

Compadre cómpreme un coco.
Compadre no compro coco.
Porque como poco coco como,
poco coco compro.

January 8, 2011 at 6:13 pm Leave a comment

Address To A Haggis

by Robert Burns

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o’ a grace
As lang’s my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o’ need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn,
they stretch an’ strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve,
Are bent lyke drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
“Bethankit!” ‘hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll mak it whissle;
An’ legs an’ arms, an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle.

Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Gie her a haggis!

Burns Night (Scotland)

“Translation” to more modern .en

Fair is your honest happy face
Great chieftain of the pudding race
Above them all you take your place
Stomach, tripe or guts
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm

The groaning platter there you fill
Your buttocks like a distant hill
Your skewer would help to repair a mill
In time of need
While through your pores the juices emerge
Like amber beads

His knife having seen hard labour wipes
And cuts you up with great skill
Digging into your gushing insides bright
Like any ditch
And then oh what a glorious sight
Warm steaming, rich

Then spoon for spoon
They stretch and strive
Devil take the last man, on they drive
Until all their well swollen bellies
Are bent like drums
Then, the old gent most likely to rift (burp)
Be thanked, mumbles

Is there that over his French Ragout
Or olio that would sicken a pig
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust
Looks down with a sneering scornful opinion
On such a dinner

Poor devil, see him over his trash
As week as a withered rush (reed)
His spindle-shank a good whiplash
His clenched fist.the size of a nut.
Through a bloody flood and battle field to dash
Oh how unfit

But take note of the strong haggis fed Scot
The trembling earth resounds his tread
Clasped in his large fist a blade
He’ll make it whistle
And legs and arms and heads he will cut off
Like the tops of thistles

You powers who make mankind your care
And dish them out their meals
Old Scotland wants no watery food
That splashes in dishes
But if you wish her grateful prayer
Give her a haggis!

January 6, 2011 at 3:15 pm Leave a comment

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