Saturday, September 05, 2015
Puglia in Tavola, prose poem in mind
And I opened it up this morning, flipping away from the recipe I had bookmarked to see what else is hidden inside there, and I find names of recipes that read like the seeds of prose poems in Italian.
Words so foreign to me, that they beggar the imagination that they could be Italian (and yet I see they are).
Words like: quagghjariedde and ghiemeridde.
I don't cook. But a recipe book in Italian? A little piece of heaven. Almost as good as a ciambellina.