The restaurant chefs in Spain are breaking ground, but in terms of the everyday cooking in Spain I still hear people coming back and saying they were disappointed. I think it's because they're expecting the chef stuff.
quote by Sally Schneider
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Surprise in Japan - Mosquitos in the Oil
not so oily to the ears
mosquitos and other insects
in the used cooking oil
cooking oil for reuse
mosquitos, and insects
at bottom of the can
restaurant special recipe
adding to the taste
used oil with mosquitos
Most books I read tell us about Japanese being very clean people but the chef of this this restaurant in Nishi Funabashi I found put his used cooking oil in a can and under the choppng table in the kitchen. It was meant for reuse. I found mosquitos, ants, and other insects at the bottom of the can. It was really a surprise.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Dish (cuisine) that talks
I am a dish that talks
and usually i want the chef
to do his stuff my way
wishing this, wishing that
hoping to be the next best dish
to top the restaurant list
as the chef sprinkles
his spices and salt onto me
i diffident would complain of
the excesses, the overindulgent
use of veggies and mutton
or mollusks, mustard
vinegar and pepper
and even the overheating,
charbroiled, stir fried
steam cooked or stewed
i want it my way giving
little regard to the chef's expertise
for fear of becoming an
offensive blandness on
the tongues of the masters
over enthusiastic over
what would turn out of me
only when my fragrance
spreads over the table
to trigger that salivating
nerves in mouths that
the buddha himself would
jump over the wall to
have me in his belly that
i realise the chef is correct
he is cooking me and he knows
how best i should be served
that exquisiteness that could only
result from an original recipe
the chef himself knows best
how he should turn out his creation
i take the opportunity to ask him
what he finds most in the way
as he tries to realise his dream of me
and he says 'Your load of bland ego
with the toughness of a three year old chicken.'
'It takes such a long time to just
boil them down to edible portions.'
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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MaMa's Cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
It's an assortment of goodie things
Chocolate, pies and banana pudding
Enough food and that's Mama's cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Apron in hand and lasting impression I didn't want to miss
Everything seem perfect from beginning to end
Enough food and that's Mama's Cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Smiling faces and a gentle speech of o.k.
Noone knows how much the void I can't fill
Enough food and that Mama's Cooking
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Being polite and sincere would carry the weight
Seemingly enough she has the greater plan
Enough food and that Mama's Cooking ahead
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
The napkins, plates and never-ending why didn't it last
Noone knows how much the void I can't fill
Enough food and that's Mama's Cooking again
Thinking of times I would say what's cooking everyday
Craving for the turkey and dressing pan
Not to admit, seemed a bit much
Enough Food and that's Mama's Cooking again
So nowadays, I look for the needle in the haystack
Wishing on the times, she would come back
It's been 10 years, since I said thoughs word's
Enough food and that Mama's blessing for us
Missing mom everyday becomes second-nature for me
Enough food, Enough love and One day she'll see
For know I'll take her spirits with me and others will speak
Enough food, Enough love and One day she'll see
poem by Natasha McGee
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Raoul & The Kings Of Spain
When the seventh of the seventh son
Comes along and breaks the chains
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Making it plain, making it sane
To turn this loss into a gain
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Did you know your father was an island
Did you know your mother was the sea
Can we ever hope to seek asylum
From the bounds of fate and family
When the seventh of the seventh son
Comes along and breaks the chains
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Making it plain, making it sane
To turn this loss into a gain
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Did you know all mothers come from heaven
Did you know all fathers come from hell
That is why theyre at sixes and seven
That is why their marriage isnt well
When the seventh of the seventh son
Comes along and breaks the chains
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Making it plain, making it sane
To turn this loss into a gain
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
Raoul, raoul, raoul and the kings of spain
song performed by by Tears For Fears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Butter?
No Butter? (when a country practice monopoly)
“Butter, the chef said, I can’t fry a snitzel without butter? If I use margarine
it gets too salty and tastes like whale, if I use olive oil, it gets a Portuguese
flavour, a snitzel is Austrian. How can you fry an egg without using butter,
one loses the taste of clover and rural idyll, farm yards and chickens looking
for worms? ” ” Sorry the restaurant manager said, but we have no butter,
you gotta use margarine and anyway the guests are not chefs they will not
notice the difference.”The chef looked aghast, put down his ladle and said:
“You can’t mean that, has all my work comes to nothing? ” Took off his apron,
had tears in his eyes, ready to walk out into the cold night and not return.
“Hang on the manager said, without you I can’t run this place, it is the caring
way you prepare food that our guests like you they know there is a butter
shortage, but they don’t mind as long as they now you are the chef.”
Mollified the cook took his apron back on lifted his ladle and said, “Ok, but
see if you can get some butter even if you have to buy it from the Danes.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Letter From Spain
I read the papers this morning
I saw your photograph
You look good in the movie
It must be so much fun
Letter from spain
From someone I once knew
I got a letter this morning
Postmark said it was from spain
Your writing is so very strange
I guess it always was that way
Letter from spain
From someone I once knew
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I like health-conscious cooking, but growing up in the South, I do love southern cooking; southern France, southern Italy, southern Spain. I love southern cooking.
quote by Clarence Clemons
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spain is not here anymore, it remains in America. In Mexico you get the purest essence of Spain.
Ramon Maria del Valle-Inclan in Almond Blossoms (Flores de almendro) (1936), translated by Dan Costinaş
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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I sometimes think the chef end of cooking is not the real end of cooking. Cooking is all about homes and gardens, it doesn't happen in restaurants.
quote by Delia Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am not quite sure where home is right now. I do have places in London and Milan, and a house in Spain. I guess I would say home is where my mother is, and she lives in Spain.
quote by Sarah Brightman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There was an Old Person of Spain,
Who hated all trouble and pain;
So he sat on a chair,
With his feet in the air,
That umbrageous Old Person of Spain.
quote by by Edward Lear
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Spain
Across New England snows
Flash visions from afar,
Lithe gipsies on their toes
Dancing to gay guitar;
With gesture fierce, bizarre,
They lilt some old refrain
In whose wild measures are
The witcheries of Spain.
The stinging north wind blows,
But with a ruddy jar
Poised on her proud head goes
A maiden like a star
While, biting his cigar,
Her lover, scorned again,
Loads on his ass-drawn car
The oranges of Spain.
As keen as cameos
Against yon gray cloud-bar
Shine out a tower of rose,
A spire like flaming spar,
Gold shrines whose candles char
The world to ashes, train
Of pilgrims, globular
Pomegranates flushed with Spain.
What freak of calendar,
What frostwork on the pane,
What angry sleet can mar
My picture-book of Spain?
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Godlike
I am very sorry I made mistake
It won't happen again.
You stated king Juan Carlos of spain.
Great really you are great to realised
Your mistake and said these above.
People are really more important.
Save people from severe economic crisis
And do good to people that is permanent.
Doing work for people's welfare are really holy
Than elephant-hunting and making merry.
You King Juan Carlos of spain
Knowledge regain and having human
You are superhuman
You are really Godlike
And favourite to man.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Lands Far Away
One eye is made for gathering juice from a peach,
This peach called England, and not Italy.
They roll these eyes, as if goers of lands far away
Result in boredom for themselves, like Italy and Spain.
They roll their arms and strut on their legs,
Both of them caught inside tough weight of fruit and flesh.
One other eye has contacted the Brain, as far as the lane,
And what can inspire us into dreams
As much as sleep?
The English weather has a rainy day, an answer to question,
Then given over a Sunday lunch.
They go to Italy or Spain if tired, yet resent the art of going.
Go all to the beaches of Spain, or all go away.
poem by Naveed Akram
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It's very important to me that people who are actual chefs and other professionals in the culinary world, understand that I'm not, and have never held myself out as being, like a CIA trained chef.
There are pockets of great food in Spain, but there are also pockets of very mediocre food in Spain, and the same in Morocco and the same in Croatia and the same in Germany and the same in Austria.
quote by Mario Batali
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There was a time when I used to live in Spain that it went really crazy with drugs and stuff like that.
quote by Patricia Velasquez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spanish Caravan
Carry me caravan take me away
Take me to portugal, take me to spain
Andalusia with fields full of grain
I have to see you again and again
Take me, spanish caravan
Yes, I know you can
Trade winds find galleons lost in the sea
I know where treasure is waiting for me
Silver and gold in the mountains of spain
I have to see you again and again
Take me, spanish caravan
Yes, I know you can
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dons of Spain
The Eagle screams at the beck of trade, so Spain, as the world goes round,
Must wrestle the right to live or die from the sons of the land she found;
For, as in the days when the buccaneer was abroad on the Spanish Main,
The national honour is one thing dear to the hearts of the Dons of Spain.
She has slaughtered thousands with fire and sword, as the Christian world might know;
We murder millions, but, thank the Lord! we only starve 'em slow.
The times have changed since the days of old, but the same old facts remain –
We fight for Freedom, and God, and Gold, and the Spaniards fight for Spain.
We fought with the strength of the moral right, and they, as their ships went down,
They only fought with the grit to fight and their armour to help 'em drown.
It mattered little what chance or hope, for ever their path was plain,
The Church was the Church, and the Pope the Pope – but the Spaniards fought for Spain.
If Providence struck for the honest thief at times in the battle's din –
If ever it struck at the hypocrite – well, that's where the Turks came in;
But this remains ere we leave the wise to argue it through in vain –
There's something great in the wrong that dies as the Spaniards die for Spain.
The foes of Spain may be kin to us who are English heart and soul,
And proud of our national righteousness and proud of the lands we stole;
But we yet might pause while those brave men die and the death-drink pledge again –
For the sake of the past, if you're doomed, say I, may your death be a grand one, Spain!
Then here's to the bravest of Freedom's foes who ever with death have stood –
For the sake of the courage to die on steel as their fathers died on wood;
And here's a cheer for the flag unfurled in a hopeless cause again,
For the sake of the days when the Christian world was saved by the Dons of Spain.
poem by Henry Lawson
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What Spain Was Like
Spain was a taut, dry drum-head
Daily beating a dull thud
Flatlands and eagle's nest
Silence lashed by the storm.
How much, to the point of weeping, in my soul
I love your hard soil, your poor bread,
Your poor people, how much in the deep place
Of my being there is still the lost flower
Of your wrinkled villages, motionless in time
And your metallic meadows
Stretched out in the moonlight through the ages,
Now devoured by a false god.
All your confinement, your animal isolation
While you are still conscious
Surrounded by the abstract stones of silence,
Your rough wine, your smooth wine
Your violent and dangerous vineyards.
Solar stone, pure among the regions
Of the world, Spain streaked
With blood and metal, blue and victorious
Proletarian Spain, made of petals and bullets
Unique, alive, asleep - resounding.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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