Everything I do, I do on the principle of Russian borscht. You can throw everything into it-beets, carrots, cabbage, onions, everything you want. What's important is the result, the taste of the borscht.
quote by Yevgeny Aleksandrovich Yevtushenko
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
I’ve always felt I was a Jew. It’s an internal feeling. I also feel I’m a Russian Romanian Jew because my father’s people were from Kiev and my mother’s people were from Iaşi, meaning I love mămăligă and I love borscht and vodka. Also, I think there’s a specific humor I’ve always been attached to, and there’s no other way to put it. I have a Jewish sense of humor.
quote by Dustin Hoffman
Submitted by Micheleflowerbomb
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You cook vegetable soup
You cook vegetable soup
and I look at you
while you cut green beans,
carrots, onions, celery, parsley
and tomatoes into two pots.
There are herbs, spices
and pepper that you are scattering
and two types of soup powder
that you throw in
and the pots steam and buzz
while I am washing the dishes
and the smell
makes me hungry
and I wonder
if the soup
are going to taste as good
as it smells.
We drink tee
and there’s medicine
that you give for flu
to me
and it’s great
to be with you
to read the look
in your beautiful eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Better Spice This With Brown Sugar
Last night...
I whipped up something,
To quench my appetite.
I diced onions and green peppers.
With tomatoes,
Broccoli and carrots too!
Knowing this would be liked.
I added red cabbage, potatos...
Dashed with salt and red pepper.
And other ingredients like curry...
To stimulate the brew.
'Something' said,
'You better spice this with brown sugar.'
So this I did do.
Then I next heated a frying pan.
From slow to medium.
But not hot!
With vegetable oil, butter and a bit of soy.
And all of it simmered in an aromatic splender.
And I ate it.
EVERY drop.
It was great!
And,
I must admit this...
I did lick the plate.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Black Eye Pea Stew
Did I mention,
My black eye pea stew to you?
Well...
This is what you do.
Boil your water,
Add sliced smoked turkey butt.
With seasons you prefer.
I like to mix in olive oil with butter first.
Before adding apple vinegar...
With Old Bay and a bit of salt,
Then soy sauce...
To allow my taste buds to burst.
Add your black eye peas.
Speckled butter lima beans.
Kidney and black beans too!
I also enjoy cooking with onions...
Green peppers, carrots and celery.
For a flavored taste,
You simply can not refuse!
Well...
You can 'try' making attempts.
But licking your lips,
Is not too convincing of a defense.
'May I get some more? '
You sure can!
After I get to taste it myself!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song of the Little White Girl
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, what is the matter?
Why are you shaking so? Why do you chatter?
Because it is just a white baby you see,
And it's the black ones you like, cabbage tree?
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, you're a strange fellow
With your green hair and your legs browny-yellow.
Wouldn't you like to have curls, dear, like me?
What! No one to make them? O poor cabbage tree!
Never mind, cabbage tree, when I am taller,
And if you grow, please, a little bit smaller,
I shall be able by that time, bay be,
To make you the loveliest curls, cabbage tree.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Some prefer carrots while others like cabbage.
Preparing Dinner
I watch the pot on the stove
Water is overspilling
The rice is cooking
With bubbles galore
I smother chicken in sauce
Sauce that is made up of green pepper, black pepper and onions
Accompanied with that is the All in one spice.
Watch out for the toilet paper
The spices start talking
The chicken gets fried
The smell of breyani echoes through the house
I chop the potatoes as well as the carrots
I open up McCain veggies
And distribute it with the food
I put more spices in and the McCain veggies
Gets assimilated into the food
The pot is filled with colours
The steam fills the house
The brown chicken starts talking to the yellow potatoes
So does the carrots
The rice is strained
It rises to the core
I use tastic rice
Because it is the best out of them all
I set the table with plates
And it is ready to be filled
One by one they get dished out
First the rice (centered) and then the potatoes and chicken
Ice cream is served as desert
Coca-Cola is poured into glasses
The sweet taste bubbles in my mouth
The hot food burns my mouth
While the cold drink soothes its pain
I smother tomatoes and onions with vinegar
And serve them next to the food
The sauce gives the tongue extra kick
And goes down with a good drink
poem by Lee John Siebritz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Russian Roulette
Take it or leave it Ive heard it been said
All this spring fevers just way over my head
Stealing my moments, taking up all my time
Its playing russian roulette with my mind
Its none of my business baby just whats going on
Im not going to wait till somebody throw me a bone
Im way out on a limb now, and nothing seems to rhyme
Its playing russian roulette with my mind
I think that youve caught on, that youve been used and all
Im going down new orleans, Ive got to see dr. john
Got my mojo working everything will be fine
Stop playing russian roulette with my mind
Its not easy baby when everything starts getting out of control
Hang on your hat now, hang on to your soul
Dont worry baby, I wanna throw you the line
Theyre playing russian roulette with your mind
Too many hustlers, Ive been here before
None of them really know just who that you are
Everything gets contracted and space gets confined
Theyre playing russian roulette with your mind
Theyre playing russian roulette
Theyre playing russian roulette
Theyre playing russian roulette with your mind
Theyre playing russian roulette
Theyre playing russian roulette
Theyre playing russian roulette with your mind
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waiting
Oh, how I love the fine old chap
Who sits upon my left at meals,
And drops his cabbage, in my lap
From swooping fork, while he reveals
How he, at Hay, in '83,
Gave Hamlet's grand so-lil-o-quee.
He slops his supper beer o' nights,
Or fills my dexter ear with stout,
While strenuously he recites,
And hurls his lanky limbs about,
To prove that every modern cuss
Has missed the true Polonius.
His oysters down my back he'll throw,
Or freely spray me with his soup,
When suddenly inspired to show
How savage Ingomar should whoop,
Or illustrate the proper scream
With which to finish 'Denver's Dream.'
He throws his turnips everywhere;
With breakfast-tea he scalds my legs;
I've spuds and carrots in my hair;
And oft he's smitten me with eggs.
If e'er he shows, with humor grim
I'll throw these things all back at him.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A good wife and a wholesome cabbage soup, what more could you want?
I do not like onions. It's so funny because I am probably one of the least picky eaters ever. Pretty much any type of new food, I'll try it, I'll eat it. But onions, and pork. Pork and onions.
quote by Stacie Orrico
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Heroic Carrot
The floods have ruined the British vegetable growers.
Tough. But
the supermarkets will just buy elsewhere,
we'll hardly notice, apart from TV's brief comment...
This week, what of our organic vegetable bag
whose carrots are usually a joyful memory
of what carrots, pulled yesterday, used to, still can, taste like?
- so this week, just one, huge carrot. The Great Survivor.
Gnarled, a giant among the pretty, washed, and fashionable ones
smiling under the golden light of supermarket shelves -
it looked as if it had fought battles, come through wars
which of course few want to be reminded of
by those old veterans with their tales of times
too testing of mortality for us to think about...
eaten later, it would have a subtler taste -
of gratitude, of praise.
A kitchen; a carrot; a man holding a knife,
on the edge of tears.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Buttered Peas With Crushed Red Pepper
Don't take the peas up off my plate.
That irritates.
Don't even think about sneaking them.
They are there for me to eat.
And I want every pea,
Left for me to satiate.
I buttered them to taste.
With baby onions they taste great.
Fix your eyes in another place.
Back your nose up off my plate.
Buttered peas with crushed red pepper.
Fix your eyes in another place.
No other buttered bean or pea taste better.
Take your eyes up off my plate.
I buttered them to taste.
With baby onions they taste great.
Buttered peas with crushed red pepper.
Take your eyes up off my plate.
And don't your think about sneaking a pea!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Having a good wife and rich cabbage soup, seek not other things.
Russian Girl
Ive been frozen, now its so hot I can barely see
Ive been cutting them down so they cant make fun of me, yeah
Been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Young child sitting all alone
Hot child, she wants to take you home
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Ive been rushin you
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Russian girl, Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
Ive been rushin you
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been a russian girl
Ive been a russian girl,
Ive been rushin you
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The principle though remains the same, and the important thing is CBS fought hard, very hard, to protect that principle and will fight again.
quote by Floyd Abrams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Grammar Lesson
A noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
An adjective is what describes the noun.
In "The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"
of and with are prepositions. The's
an article, a can's a noun,
a noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
A can can roll - or not. What isn't was
or might be, might meaning not yet known.
"Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"
is present tense. While words like our and us
are pronouns - i.e. it is moldy, they are icky brown.
A noun's a thing; a verb's the thing it does.
Is is a helping verb. It helps because
filled isn't a full verb. Can's what our owns
in "Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz."
See? There's almost nothing to it. Just
memorize these rules...or write them down!
A noun's a thing, a verb's the thing it does.
The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz.
poem by Steve Kowit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Canned Peaches
When we got to eat...
We ate spinach, peas and beets,
With sweet canned peaches!
No steak was plated!
But we knew the taste of it,
When mom fixed us cornbread.
And mama said,
Biscuits dripping dumplings...
May be next!
And on Sundays...
We thanked the Lord that week,
We even got fed!
When it came to treats,
We licked the spoon
That dipped those sweet canned peaches!
We loved them more,
Than probably we should.
But they tasted real good!
And on Sundays...
We thanked the Lord that week,
We even got fed!
A love for those canned peaches...
Is 'still' in my head!
When we got to eat...
We ate spinach, peas and beets,
With sweet canned peaches!
No steak was plated!
But we knew the taste of it,
When mom fixed us cornbread.
And mama said,
Biscuits dripping dumplings...
May be next!
But those canned peaches,
By themselves were best!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Leaf
The Leaf.
On my walks I picked up a perfectly formed elm leaf,
the colour of dry tobacco. In Norway, during the Nazi
occupation, people had tobacco plants in back yards.
Perhaps carrots and cabbage had been healthier.
Put the leaf on top of a white wall and took a picture.
The wind came and blew it away. I brief meeting of
equals and a memory
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Salad to Eat
Different hues...
Some not as bright but invites,
Those who come to eat eagerly
With an assorted presentation
That might satisfy an appetite.
With tomatoes and carrots,
Sliced apples and grapes...
Romaine lettuce sprinkled with chives
Topped with olive oil and vinegar,
Is a treat to see on a plate to delight...
And surprise.
Onions and green peppers,
Can please the eye with sensation.
When someone announces...
'I prefer a salad to eat! '
And they do without a moment's hesitation!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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