Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, And, half-suspected, animate the whole. Oh, green and glorious! Oh, herbaceous treat! On china blue my lobster red Precedes my cutlet brown, With which my salad green is sped By yellow Chablis down. Lord, if good living be no sin, But innocent delight, O polarize these hues within To one eupeptic white.
In the Sydney Smith wikipedia article is a link to the same poem, but with the lines in a different order and the last two lines not there at all. It seems like it would just produce a paste with a little onion in it. Wikipedia calls it a recipe for salad dressing , which makes more sense. The lovely cookbook I was given as a farewell present from work, mentions using wooden bowls for salad and rubbing the inside with garlic.
Still have a bit of tart left, but the soup was all gone despite there being enough for at least six people and we were three, though S breastfeeds. Wikipedia calls it a recipe for salad dressing, which makes more sense. Few are content to pass the wit on without pawing it.
I once owned a volume of his sermons, but gave it to an aging Classicist on his birthday. He had gotten into the habit of walking up and down in front of his cold summer fireplace, occasionally directing a pained smirk at his reflection in a mirror propped on the mantelpiece. I hoped the book might cheer him up, and help him resign his looks to mortality. Not that is unusual in a word. Etymologically related to salt, for a start.
A salad is a lettuce? A salad is a head of lettuce? I just discovered today that demoiselles de Cherbourg are lobsters β Vincent Cronin dixit in Paris on the Eve of meals Proust and Plantevignes ate in Cabourg. Who said it, according to Cronin? It could go either way: the painting is a reference to the expression, or else the expression is a reference to the painting.
