Ain't no sunshine when he's gone...

... but there are pierogis!
whenever he is away (not necessarily FAR away... even 5 km would do) I feel as if time draged so slow. All of a sudden I see that one hour has as many as 60 minutes and it must be filled up. Too much time makes you think too much and, what comes from that, you start (or 'one starts' - as a practice of academic writing) thinking about doing things you are hopeless at. Cooking! ;) (we have agreed that it is Christovan who is going to be a cook at our home so I may openly admit... I am not much of a chef)
Unwilling to learn as I am, I still have a great talent and potential.


All in all, I learnt all by myself how to make them... during my exile in Great Britain. They are - as a native speaker once said - perfectly sealed as the ones in Harrod's - (if Harrod's has any... if not, that must be a sign of Heaven to visit London ;D)
Say what you wish but I put my soul into the work. Especially into the heart-shaped one ;) It gave me the willies as well. The first few seconds are always ok but then you get bored and feel like swearing the work off. I wouldn't be myself if I had given up in the middle of dirty table, floury blouse, and sticky hands.



Once I filled it with my soul... I let it to be eaten. Now I am short of soul and short of pierogis. And do I feel empty? Even if I do, this is the best feeling I have ever experienced in my life.
Nevertheless, for the time being I quit pierogi manufacture. Other undiscovered lands are waiting

Fit up... with the raspberry kiss in the raspberry cheek

It's not a fruity joke, it's my fruity reward after the whole day of nuts and WASA eating.
A diet, a starvation period, a mental problem... call it whatever you like, I've just launched my healthy lifestyle campaign. It's not like I eat nothing, although some voracious carnivores (my Lion included ;*) are ready to say so seeing how little I consume (leave my small, poor stomach at peace!)

with an iced coffee in the background as a peripheral character... beautifully served, though

A good limit is not a bad one so I have cutted the amount of sugar and fat which means... Wait! Hold on for a sec... does it mean I am not allowed to indulge myself with any of the things I have mentioned so far at the blog? Let's think clearly. If I have mentioned the things it must mean I love them in a way... and if I love them and now I can't taste them then I'm screwed. And the ironic thing is I am the screwdriver in the flesh, my own worst enemy.
Bye bye chocolate (although not necessarily if you are dark with 70% cocoa content)
Adieu pizza, take care of my boy
Sajonara drinks (I won't miss PinaColada but her other sisters and brothers)
Hasta luego sweets


One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississppi, four Mississippi...
Ok, let's not panic, I'm not going to live on sprouts and my raspberry cocktail is a proof of it. Glycemic index is low enough, fruit and milk are healthy and the mixture itself was delicious. In the heart of Leszno, with the view of the town hall and in a great (when it comes to size) and great-looking cup it didn't sound like a big sin. Quite the contrary, it was positively nutritious.
I feel much more healthy than I used to (can it be seen already? Can you tell from my raspberry-cheeked face?) and I bet I will persist in my resolution for a long time (with some small affairs with a cookie from time to time somewhen near holidays). Wish me good luck!
Signed: raspberry cheek

MozzaBella

If laughter is contagious so is merry and if merry is love... we have omnipresent contagiousness.
and if the way to a man's heart is through his stomach so must be the way to a woman's heart (since analogy is politically correct)... and love towards pizza must affect both




So there I was, a 21-year-old smiling face unaware of nutritional values which were to be found only in a slice of pizza. For 21 whole years I had eaten as few as up to four pizzas (it gives me the creeps now, literally) and I wasn't malnourished at all. Since I got to know Christovan I have eaten 100 times as many.
So here I am, infected with pizzadoration by a guy suffering from chronic pizza deficiency, but - Heaven forbid - I am not complaining.

It takes salami, olives, mushrooms, pepper, and mozzarella to make you put on rose-tinted spectacles

And now I am constantly told that there can be nothing better than pizza and I am taught what's best about pizza, what meat's best for pizza and how come the mozzarella put on a slice of bread is worse than the one put on a slice of pizza, and that pizza deserves brand name cheese only.
I love the knowledge in a way... and I love when we just pop out to the shop for something sweet and we end up with a bag packed with all the ingredients for pizza.
Love it since it gives merry to my merry-giver pizza-lover... I'm infected so:
Ho ho ho, merry pizza

Caribbean nymph

With a bar of chocolate instead of nectar in one hand and a drink instead of ambrosia in the other.
Since the drink fits neither here nor there I couldn't profane the name. So I came up with Pinolibu or Macolada, behind which names there's a two(three?)-layer substitute of a cup of tea. How long can you bore yourself with Lipton? (sorry Thomas, I really appreciate what you did to the world; plus one bag is enough for two... oh, you romantic bastard)






I must admit now, I am not a great fun of Pinacolada or her innovative cousin... but I like getting caught in the rain ;) (see: Rupert Holmes's lyrics)
Pinacolada with dark rum is even less Pinacoladish (what should be ok with me since I am not fond of it), but I didn't plan to make it so... the frige did.
Anyway, there were enough ingredients only for one/two(?).



Christovan (;*) objected to drinking it. No surprise... drink is not supposed to be sweet. Drink:
- is supposed to be juicy and refreshing;
- (What's more) is supposed to make you tipsy a bit.
This met neither of my requirements.
So why did I devote so much space to the Pineapple lady?
P.S. The eponymous Caribbean nymph is me.

Fizzy bubbles

... makes me fizzy
a little bit busy
my head dizzy, dear Lizzy
tryin' not to be tizzy

My first doggerel is... sober. Wouldn't be able to produce any in a state of mumbling intoxication (would Szymborska be? Yyyy does she drink... ever?)



In nature, four grape icy blocks interconnect perfectly with semi-sweet grape mortar plaster.
Oh, yeah... we do can build ;D
Oh, no... we haven't build the relationship on champagne. Daddy said it doesn't glue well. He knows a thing or two(thousand).
Let me be mortar despite its poor name. I hate the idea I could be associated with the heaviness of blocks.



Oh, no... I don't need alcohol to cling to my bubble!

Words come so easy...

Especially when given some ketchup and lousy garlic sauce ;) And although it wasn’t the most challenging and time-consuming action itself... the very idea was indeed. And although my right-from-the-bottom-of-the-heart inscription (which is - by the way - “Krzyś <3”)> can be hardly visible we both knew what I meant and enjoyed the most delicious birthday cake’s substitute (I wouldn’t have born three cakes). Della Casa may do as meat(y) is one of ingredients (who invented pizza without any kind of meat anyway?)… and (extra) sweetcorn was there for me.

Limited edition

I came up with it a month before (this is how excited I was about the thing). And since I hate trivial gifts (doesn’t trivial mean boring?) it had to be well-thought-out (especially when somebody adores pizza). It was to have had a birthday candle in the middle but sheepishly speaking I was too shy to do it in a(n) (empty) pizzeria (but he still had his birthday candle the day before).

NS suburban ;]

Woe betide you who thinks that was it. A birthday card and a black and white gift which happily fits him presented me in a favourable light even more.

Guess ;p

My dearly beloved staple. Since ever. Seriously, more often I happen to believe I was simply born to live on chocolate. My biggest (right next to my remaining two others n. b. just as sweet as the character) love. Not that I am unaware of all those unhealthies (neologism, do not correct) I may encounter or I have so far. Well… love is blind.

Insight into my heart

The very one here comes from a wedding reception. A gift from cooks and to be perfectly honest chocolate fountain’s leftovers (how terrible a ‘leftovers’ word sounds in this context). A jar-packed prog? (in my case a jug would be appropriate… a bucket? ;))

Hold it tight

So my elaborate idea to fight (just a little bit) an addiction to sweets did not work out as I (must?) work on the chocolate now.