I'm lost for words.

http://www.lolcatbible.com/index.php?title=Main_Page

Baffled.

Five ways with... goat's cheese

Five ways with... goat's cheese

Make tarts

Roll puff pastry into rounds about 2cm bigger than your goat's cheese,and with the tip of a knife score a border 1cm in from the edge. Spoon over some caramelised onions, top with a thick slice of goat's cheese and bake at 200C/Gas 6 for about 15 minutes.

Throw into a simple salad

Arrange chunks of goat's cheese and cooked beetroot on a bed of rocket leaves. Dress with six parts extra virgin olive oil to three parts white wine vinegar and one part each of honey and Dijon mustard.

Bake with herbs

Brush thick slices of cheese with olive oil and scatter with thyme leaves. Put into the fridge for a couple of hours, then roll gently in breadcrumbs and bake in the oven at 200C/Gas 6 for about 6-10 minutes, until golden. Serve with a salad of mixed leaves and herbs, combined with slices of pear and walnuts and tossed in vinaigrette.

Crumble over pasta

Drizzle chunks of aubergine, slices of red pepper and halved cherry tomatoes with olive oil and season. Roast in a preheated oven at 200C/Gas 6 for about 15-20 minutes, until tender. Boil some penne in salted water until al dente, drain and mix with the roasted vegetables and crumbled goat's cheese.

Use for sweet bruschetta

Slice some eating apples and sauté them in a pan with a little butter and brown sugar until soft and caramelised. Grill thick slices of goat's cheese until golden. Toast some good bread and top with a slice of grilled cheese and some caramelised apple.

BEST FRIENDS WITH

Fruit and nuts. A fruity chutney is a great accompaniment; or try a fresh, young goat's cheese with fresh fruit and crusty bread.

adapted from The Times online, Feb 28, 2009
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pięć przykazań sera koziego

Tarta rozdarta

Zawiń ciasto francuskie w krążki ok. 2cm większe od sera, wykonaj w nich czubkiem noża jednocentymetrowe nacięcia wzdłuż brzegu. Nałóż trochę karmelizowanej cebuli, przykryj grubym kawałkiem sera koziego i zapiekaj w temperaturze 200 stopni C przez ok. 15 min.

Dyskretny urok sałatki

Ułóż kawałki sera koziego oraz gotowanego buraka na ściółce z liści rukoli. Dodaj sosu sporządzonego w proporcji 6/10 najwyższej jakości oliwy z oliwek, 3/10 białego octu winnego i 1/10 miodu z musztardą Dijon.

Ziołowa pokusa

Posmaruj cienkie plasterki sera oliwą z oliwek i posyp liścmi tymianku. Wstaw do lodówki na parę godzin. Następnie obtocz w bułce tartej i piecz przez ok. 6-10 min. w piekarniku w temp. 200 stopni C, dopóki potrawa się nie zarumieni. Serwuj z sałatką z liści i ziół, w połączeniu z plastrami gruszki i orzechami włoskimi w winegrecie.

W stogu makaronu

Pokrop kawałki bakłażana, plasterki czerwonej papryki i połówki pomidorów wiśniowych oliwą z oliwek i dopraw. Opiekaj w piekarniku rozgrzanym do 200 stopni C przez 15-20 min., aż zmiękną. Ugotuj trochę makaronu penne al dente w osolonej wodzie, odsącz i zmieszaj z podpieczonymi warzywami i rozkruszonym serem kozim.

Słodka bruschetta*

Pokrój kilka jabłek na plasterki. Rozpuść na patelni małą ilość masła z brązowym cukrem, podsmaż jabłka saute, aż zmiękną i zbrązowieją. Opiecz plasterki sera koziego do ozłocenia się. Przygotuj parę grzanek z dobrego chleba, podawaj z serem i jabłkiem.

SERDECZNE POROZUMIENIE

z owocami i orzechami. Świetnym dodatkiem jest owocowy sos korzenny; spróbuj też sera koziego ze świeżymi owocami i chrupiącym chlebem.

trenslejted baj mi for imaginary Pani Domu, 6.03.10

*wersja nieoficjalna: Bruschetta Dulcy-mee-a

five years

it never quite works out.

Pushing thru the market square, so many mothers sighing
News had just come over, we had five years left to cry in
News guy wept and told us, earth was really dying
Cried so much his face was wet, then I knew he was not lying
I heard telephones, opera house, favourite melodies
I saw boys, toys electric irons and T.V.'s
My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare
I had to cram so many things to store everything in there
And all the fat-skinny people, and all the tall-short people
And all the nobody people, and all the somebody people
I never thought I'd need so many people

A girl my age went off her head, hit some tiny children
If the black hadn't a-pulled her off, I think she would have killed them
A soldier with a broken arm, fixed his stare to the wheels of a Cadillac
A cop knelt and kissed the feet of a priest, and a queer threw up at the sight of that

I think I saw you in an ice-cream parlour, drinking milk shakes cold and long
Smiling and waving and looking so fine, don't think
you knew you were in this song
And it was cold and it rained so I felt like an actor
And I thought of Ma and I wanted to get back there
Your face, your race, the way that you talk
I kiss you, you're beautiful, I want you to walk

We've got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
We've got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, that's all we've got
We've got five years, what a surprise
Five years, stuck on my eyes
We've got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, that's all we've got
We've got five years, stuck on my eyes
Five years, what a surprise
We've got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, that's all we've got
We've got five years, what a surprise
We've got five years, stuck on my eyes
We've got five years, my brain hurts a lot
Five years, that's all we've got
Five years
Five years
Five years
Five years

N.Ż. na W.S.

Jutro N.Ż. na W.S., definitywnie.

You Know More Than I Know

the right conclusion

'As you know, people have to experiment before they arrive at the right conclusion.
I mean, if the right conclusion exists at all.'

(c) uncle Ziggy

Twoje uwielbienie dla Mejzera rośnie. Rzut obronny k12.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question. . .
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all;
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet–and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say, "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."
. . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

wszelkie prawa itp. do Eliota, nie żyje, więc może nie będzie miał nic przeciwko.
And guess whose shoes did not get polished today.