British vs. Polish h2h combat

It's high time my two egos met each other and oficially established the hierarchy so that I stop fearing a serious split personality and solve some headaches. It's already obvious to literally anyone who knows me, that I'm Polish on the outside and British on the inside with the latter one prevailing remarkably. So be it! :)
Nevertheless, I feel like I should perform some thorough self-examination for the sake of my conscience. Don't want to act as a blindly-loving mother, do I? Thus, to be on the safe side I have to consider all the pros and cons and since I'm in the MA-thesis-writing(-and-flying-into-the-rage) mood why not do it in a research-like manner. Let's not get into extremes, however, and leave aside all the variables, between-subjects factors and within-subjects factors etc. which, btw, don't tell me much ;/ It's enough to set up some criteria and the subjects... enough to prove the precedence of my British side over the Polish one :)

Subjects:
In the left corner sad Polish the Weak: a fried egg with a spoon of ketchup, stewed peas and carrot, and a rice cake.

Polish the Weak in person


In the right corner cheerful British the Muscleman: two fried eggs with baked beans, and triangle-shaped toasts with margarine.

British the Muscleman ready to fight

Criterion number 1: Taste
Well, I am a strange creature who likes peas and carrot and whose stomach is fully satisfied with rice cakes, let alone ketchup ;D
On the other hand, they say that beauty is in simplicity and debauchery hides in white spongy bread (who says that??). The first one makes me feel an ascetic and it dawns on me even Lenten fare is a way richer. The latter one lets me eat life to the full at the very beginning of the day :)
All in all, my taste buds say it's a draw
First round result - 1:1

Criterion number 2: Price
Here, the round gets a bit complex as it involves two more wrestles (wrestles? I didn't say it's wrestling before) - Mr Złoty and Mr Pound, but it makes things easier on the whole. Whichever currency I take or whenever I check an exchange rate, the British side wins irrevocably. You don't know why? Ask all those Poles fleeing Poland.
Second round result - 1:2

Criterion number 3: Health
An orange carrot and green peas are smiling at me from the plate sure of their nutritional values, an egg is still sizzling "looooooow faaaat and muuuuuch prooooootein", and a rice cake is dancing around the plate with such delicacy as if it was promising I can be as light and healthy as he is (how do I know it's he?).
Baked beans are blushing for shame (or maybe it is the sauce??), two eggs fried in deep oil by my personal cook ;* resigned from saying anything - they are tooo fat and full to open their mouths, and triangles wish to pretend they are wholemeal using their brownish colour. Eh!
Third round result - 2:2

Criterion number 4: Overall impression
Eating alone (I won't count my hp in front of me), still hungry after the questionable feast, feeling unfulfilled.
Eating with the love of my life (actually, this one wins everything!), full half way across the plate, feeling satisfied yet with a bit of remorse.
Fourth round result - 2:3

And the winner iiiiiiis... British the Muscleman!
So here we are, I told you :)
I knew it from the start... It couldn't be different. I left my heart there :)

Chriss.mas ♥ i.e. how to fall in love with London in a week

London gave me so many extraordinary food eperiences that I could, literally, write twice as many entries dedicated to London-related delicacies only as I have managed to write so far. Don't you worry! I'm not going to do that as I'm perfectly aware that my modest audience has some other s... to do than decipher what 'that cracked 24-year-old big head with high self-esteem and low blood glucose level* meant'. Still, there are two or three more entries yet to come (come on, I can't waste all those pretty pictures ;)). The one about Christmas is obviously the first one so that you can make use of the last bits of the Chrismassy atmosphere, which, as I discovered today, has now started making me sick.

24th: Before I left I asked myself if I wouldn't miss my mummy's cooking. A deep-fried carp, pierogis, borsch with uszkas (Gosh! The last one sounds gut-churning... though tastes mouth-watering), vegetable salad, pickled herrings in sour cream, and most importantly... croquettes. All in all - it is a great part of what Christmas Eve is about. I didn't answer back then as I usually don't answer when I ask myself questions ;) Yeah! That would be strange, your peculiar creature - to answer ;D Instead, I can answer now and with all the honesty I admit I didn't miss it a bit. No wonder! When we called my daddy and wished my parents all the best for Christmas I asked my mum quite clearly and alludingly (not to say forcingly) to spare some of these babies mentioned above for me so that I can taste a bit of Christmas in January. What a cheeky monkey I am! ;) But really, how could I possibly feel like I was missing out on something I can gorge myself on every 24th of December? That wouldn't make any sense at all. So it didn't! I relished sushi instead (wish I could remember the names to share with you). It was still fish and it was still a meatless meal, although I can't remember if I abided by the no-meat rule the whole day... Probably not beacuse this is usually what happens on Fridays - I feel, all of a sudden, like kiełbasa or bigos... Well, I am a woman, tell me I can't watch football and the next second I become the most staunchest fan of Manchester United screaming 'score!' with a beer in one hand a packet of Lay's in the other on Saturday evening... Leaving Magda Gessler, 'Agent' or 'Friends' aside. (Please, don't tell me not to watch a footbal match - I couldn't stand it ;)).
Anyway... thanks, Vas for this delicious Christmas supper with no Bethlehem star on the sky but with a lot of sun on the plates. BTW, I would never pay this much money for this little food no mater how artistic, posh, healthy, omega-3-fatty-acids-loaded and upper class it is ;p

our stylish Christmas supper


25th & 26th: Ok, but what about the rest of the feast? Bigos, kiełbasa with horseradish (take it after my father), roasted chicken (actually all kinds of meat available within a few kilometres from our house**), Greek-style fish (is it really Greek?). As a matter of fact I didn't give a bugger about it as, again, I treated myself on Italian Melanzane alla parmigiana ;D (Shit! I feel like (a) I'm going to become a polyglot once I move to London! Also hope (b) I won't absorb kcalories and kilograms as quickly and swiftly as I wish to absorb the languages and even more of British accent ;) And definitely, (c) I will turn into a big-headed bitch with the best body throughout the UK, the cutest boy ever and all these Prada bags, Hilfiger shoes, Louis Vuitton dresses and Bulgari jewellery nobody in my hometown is able to afford).
What was magical about this one is the fact it was prepared by a real Italian guy who had to spice it up a bit with a shot of vodka between one toss of pizza dough and another (Chriss saw him do it) and who said that the wine I asked about was neither too dry nor too sweet but just about right. Which actually tells me he knows shit about wine, yet somehow (probably by accident) this one appealed to my taste, which, anyway, is not that sophisticated, let's face it.

My juicy Melanzane with Christopher's crunchy Capriciosa and Our summer wine


Sweets (always a different story): That was about proper food but what about improper sweets? Back at home we baked Snickers (which, this year, apparently wasn't as good as ours - chapeau bas! Christopher ;*), there was moist poppyseed cake, soft gingerbread and the creamiest cheese cake ever. Can anything beat that? I dare say... Cadbury®! ;) It certainly isn't mummy-like but maybe this is the very secret why it is so special. Not even a super mum could make it with mere household appliances. I was (and still am) wondering why it isn't available in Poland? They*** have got the whole range of chunkies, roses, buttons, caramels, eclairs, flakes and even heroes ;) You may imagine my facial expression when I had them in one place at some point. Opened and tried all of them. We both did (It's so good to share the guilt ;)). Chechnya children? No, Polish imigrants ;)

Mummy, look what Santa brought me! :)

So, if one asks me if I could feel Christmas this Christmas I must deny. A bare-faced lie doesn't make any sense (in public - even less). Yet, I felt loads of love and tenderness which any Christmass cookies, delicious mixtures or best-prepared meat couldn't make up for it in thousands of years. My first Christmas in London and I feel completely bewtiched. Well, they say the way to man's heart is through his stomach :) But this is about the city. Chriss got down to the very bottom of my heart and filled it completely in the number of other manners ;D


*not at all because I'm short of 'truly irresistible Belgian cookies' by the co-operative® (which basically, taste so much better back at home were thay were miraculously born than in Poznań - I guess they don't go with the salty tinge of sadness and longing). I'm short of the sugar of my life:
[C]rispy on the outside
[h]orribly tender on the inside
[r]eally juicy
[i]rresistibly yummy
[s]crumptiuous (I've just learnt a new word) with every bite, sip, lick or suck ;)
[s]trong with an enduring aftertaste****

** yes!, my daddy also gives in all the Christams shopping rage and my mum professes the pawn-but-splurge-to-show-off theory.

*** soon it's going to be 'WE'

**** the riddles must be the influence of 'Agent' and the follow-up asterisks - of articles on lexicography

Emphasising the curves

Of course not mine! I don't have any! And it's been officialy stated since yesterday... when I bought the smallest size of jeans ever, namely XXS. Well, if I am to be honest - skinny jeans are supposed to be skinny. Does it apply to the one who wishes to wear them? The name speaks for itself, doesn't it? In this way of thinking a croissant - which by definition is bread with a curved shape - is supposed to be with a curved shape, yet not necesssarily bread. We (we?) have to offer much more than that! Saint Martin croissants! Mind you, Poznań Rogal świętomarciński is protected by patent so don't try to fool yourself into believing that you know what it tastes like if you ate it outside Wielkopolska Province. But who am I to say so? Ok, I'm in no way - not in the slightest bit - a legitimate resident of Poznań as:
a) I don't overuse the irritable and omnipresent 'teeeeeej!'(unless for the fun of it);
b) I am willing to change money when somebody needs 2zł to leave the stuff in a library locker;
c) I don't wear red socks with green trousers, a leather jacket and a dazzling pink woollen bag;
d) I don't give a tiny rabbit's ass about whether Lech Poznań wins or loses ;p

But still... if November the 11th* is to be celebrated** by eating (in my case trying) St Martin croissants then I'm 100% on board, especially if I'm given home-baked babies. It doesn't matter they weren't well-advertised as supposedly 'the husband' added too much almond oil as I don't look a gift horse in the mouth and gift sweets under puffy crust. Thus, they were delicious... as pretty much everything that happens to have more sugar than salty sticks (which surprisingly have quite an amount of the sweet substance***). However, the fact that I needed literally two weeks to eat them does not actually add to their excellence but to the fact that my new skinny jeans are not skinny without a reason ;)


* how come the only thing that comes to my mind hearing/writing/encountering/reading dates is the idea/trouble of teaching them to students and the problems they have/had/are going to have/are having/have had/have been having/ (what other tense or structure should I mention?) with remembering that 'in' is for months and 'on' is for dates?
** what a lame excuse we make up for yet another occasion to gorge ourselves.
*** I'm learning to substitute some words and expressions with their synonyms (MA thesis in the making).

Los tres mosqueteros

Ladies and Gentleman, this evening I am more than happy to introduce a highly noble hit of the season (which, by the way, I hope is about to hit more seasons :)) of which I'm in awe and which keeps calm despite the whole fuss I create.
Boys and girls, feel pleased to have the honour of getting to know Mr know-all Walnut, Mrs cuddly Almond and Mr Cashew the Bruiser :D
Something I helped myself to during one of passionate lectures at UAM when every minute seems to be an eternity and every word of the prof. K. seems to weigh thousand tones (nevertheless, I am glad I'm back... There is some magic indeed in those meetings every other week - thanks to my girls, I guess, and my unrestrained hunger for knowledge).
It is how I discovered how brainy Spaniards can be, how expensive it is to travel to the south of Europe, how to make a calorie bomb out of already calorific nuts and... what is the best dummy for a miniature flagpole once you feel like taking a photo for your blog ;)

And in the present state of my mind (what/who is in it), my taste in music (what gives me goose pimples) and my bikini area & legs (how smooth they are ;D) the three musketeers come into even greater prominence. With clean (washed??) conscience and power I can revise (shouldn't I know something in the first place so as to revise? ;p), improve and learn (the last word seems the best)* Spanish.
And so I read what they write on the package and I feel as if my love towards the language is expanding (Dear English, you are still my number one... though sooner or later I'm to have a (secret?) lover) -> "Soy vital" is something I can still react calmly and reasonably to (yet I believe it 100% which is not all that reasonable) but "Bañados en chocolate" literally flies me to the moon. It's pure poetry and I wouldn't put it in a more delicate, ethereal and tempting way myself ;)

Entonces, ya que estoy escribiendo una nota sobre nogales españoles tengo que presentar mi mísero nivel de la lengua ;) Creo que hay un poquitito peligro que mi estimados mosqueteros no van a entender inglés y este sería impensable

* I've noticed there are (too?) many digressions in what I write. I think too much... if it's possible. I guess should clean my mind before cleaning anything else <- nothing particular in mind.

Peas and carrot for peace and quiet

In order to relish tranquility, equanimity, to keep one's head and one's attained weight. I'm telling you, once you notice:
- that the pair of old trousers (the ones that are one size smaller) fits you;
- that your belly does not shake like a bowl full of jelly (regards, Santa!!) once a bus tries to get through yet another street under construction (God, bless EURO 2012!);
- that your legs could not look more gorgeous in the lycra-tights-and-a-smart-mini combination;
- that you intimidate* boys (or should I say men?) and piss off* girls (as I am the only proper woman in a crowd) with your shape (* pretty much everything you wish to do :))
... you feel like peas and carrots are your best friends indeed! The satisfaction is the biggest prize ever.

I am not saying you are to eat vegetables only but rather to be a bit calorie cautious and make use of your counting skills gained during primary school (really! it's all you need -> adding 100kcal contained in 'kefir' and 70kcal contained in one apple does not sound like complex mathematics).
But it's not all I eat, God forbid! There is plenty (a highly subjective issue, supposedly) of room for eggs, TESCO bread (do not confuse with the cheap one), milk and even a square of dark 'Wedel' in the morning (sometimes I feel like this is the only reason why I am willing to get up at 07.07 am ;)).
however, being calorie cautious is a tough choice. People just don't get it! Has everybody got this an-old-grumpy-aunt approach according to which:
- if you devour pretty much everything that is within reach then you are 100% healthy
- if you refuse to eat broth just because you feel like otherwise you are not capable of eating the second course (except for wedding receptions) you definitely must be one of the following: anorexia person, bulimia person, a 5th year student with psychological disorders, a burnt-out English teacher, a single 24-year-old on the edge of commiting suicide, a desperate non-housewife whose e-mail address tells that she is confused and underestimates herself.
Ladies and Gentlemen! I am NOT any of the mentioned above. I just feel like life begins at 24 and I do want to look irresistible at this particular time!! ;D

Citronnelle*

* It had to be French because this is the only language (out of a very limited number of languages I know ;)) in which the name of the drink sounds noble. And noble it has to sound as this is the only alcoholic beverage (out of a great number of all I've tasted) which deserves the title.
First of all, you don't need to struggle with hangover the next day. It stays a mystery to me how it's possible but this is what all the gifts of nature have in common. Though it may get a bit dangerous since one may feel encouraged to drink in the middle of a week regardless of how early they start their work.
Secondly, you don't have to add many other beverages to cover or kill the taste of the Lady in Yellow as this is the very taste of her you want your taste buds to get to know. Call me crazy but a bit of still water is just about enough. It leads me to infer she doesn't like competition very much, although she is a great friend with a straw, a few ice cubes and the glass "Brodnica. Pakuj z nami" (who doesn't get a little friendly with them?). Again, your sobriety is in peril as you might forget you are drinking vodka and put your controlling mechanism in the 'holiday mode'.
Thirdly, she is all so beautiful in her simplicity. The list of ingredients is the shortest ever, yet she needs some time to mature. Even here a low price and a low level of difficulty lurk just around the corner. You won't even manage to look back and you've got a large pot full of lemon vodka; and you've got a weekend ahead of you; and you've got a willing someone asking for a top-up ;)
So maybe, all in all, she is not all that noble. The wolf in the sheep's clothing. Little Red Riding Hood dealt with the wolf pretty well, why shouldn't I?

But don't you dare to think I'm on the verge of alcoholism. I haven't touched a glass with any drink which would even remotely resemble alcohol - let alone our eponymous character - for over a week. (In order to deny all forthcoming slanders and confirm all ongoing concerns -> No, I'm not drying out and yes! I am on a diet).
Hm, so maybe this is why I got down to writing this... out of longing ;) Shit! Now I sound like an alcoholic. Why... I am one, but it is love messages, electronical kisses and hugs I binge drink and I leave hangover for others. I'm Alpha Female!

Her name is Sophia; she is a school girl...

My mum used to say: 'ain't no home where there ain't no salt'. Although the source and the profound sense of this commandment appears as a great mystery to me I've been taking it for granted ever since. With the view to enriching the folk wisdom and exteningd its scope I coined a brand-new thought: 'ain't no home where there ain't no salt, ain't no cement where there ain't no wine'. For how one can build a loving and understanding flat community without this drink of the gods? So this is how we happen to be connoisseurs (not to say 'be addicted') of entry-level wine (not to say 'cheap') and how we started sharing our ups and downs, broken hearts, lifted weights, car frauds and picked up ideas (not to say 'gossip' or 'talk behind others' backs'). Not that we are incapable of doing all these when there's no red dry wine coupled with a few ice cubes but it's just more fun.
Wine DOES 'open' interlocutors but it does not open itself all that easily ;D Theoretically she (as I assume wine needs to be female since its dignity and sensitivity on one hand and its strength and self-confidence on the ohter ;)) only lets her friend Mr Crokscrew the Twisted to open her and still he needs to have special approach as she isn't easily accessible (Indeed! She has to be a woman then). But even a well-protected and well-guarded woman can get carried away and get seduced. Believe me! I have 24 years' experience in being a woman (or so I think) and two months' experience in (binge??) drinking ;O (well, what can I say... there always happens to be a good occasion to have a couple of glasses of wine).

A continuación*... theoretically you need a corkscrew, whereas practically you can sod it ;D (British is not only about bon ton*). And when you sod it it's even more fun. This is what happens when Tomu (aka Zbychu who is willing to put up different Grażynas any time they need) leaves and takes the one and only and, thus, so precious corkscrew with him. But as a child I must have watched a lot of episodes of 'Mr Gadget' (although don't remember) and even more of 'McGyver (and this I remember) since I made a perfect corkscrew-like device, a knife-spoon-and-kitchen-cloth bottle opener. Actually WE did as could my dad be more unpredictable and helpful and could Ola be more determined to drink before she hits the floor?? ;D
Basically, first we scraped out half of the cork with a Tom's expensive knife and than pushed in what was left with a nobody's cheap spoon protecting the clothes with a kitchen cloth. Voila!* ;) Pieces of the cork floating in the wine didn't really bother us and the satisfaction was undescribable. Every fool can open a bottle of wine with a corkscrew and this was somewhat more complex.
Now I am seriously thinking about writing some manual as I see its future in bright colours among students, graduates, under-gratuates, post-gratuades, candidates for university seats and those facing make-up exam ;) Brilliant, isn't it?!

* In case you haven't noticed I used three different languages which may mean I am either:
a) well-educated
b) emotionally (?) and linguistically unstable and disloyal
c) a show-off
d) a real artist who gives an outlet for her talent only in the state of high addiction to various stimulants (you choose ;))