Wednesday 26 June 2013

The Perfect Sangria

I have made thousands of Sangria over the years and I can tell you that is one of those things that everyone loves and raves about and if you make a good sangria they will love you for it. 
There are many different recipes and many different stories as how and where the sangria was originated. Most people believe sangria was created in mediterranean Spain by farmers who on a hot day after working the fields wanted to use their produce, wine & fruits, and use it to drink in a way that will refresh and kill the thirst of a hot summer day. It's name originates from blood or sangre in spanish due to it's ruby colour. Sangre - Sangria. Makes sense to me however others believe that sangria comes from a refreshing drink during XVIII in the the french & english Antilles call sangaree or sang-gris.

It's history might not be clear but what it's for sure it's that sangria is today Spanish Natinal Drink.

Differnet people will do sangria in many different ways using all sorts of fruits, spirits ... many variations exist. To me what is important is that you make your own sangria from the scratch and from fresh ingredients. So this is how I like it:

To make a 1L Jug of Sangria:

Use some cheap but medium to full body fruity red wine. Tempranillo is spanish grape of excellence but here in Australia I discover Slippery Fish and this wine it's cheap and makes great sangria. It can be purchase at any 1st Liquor 


Thursday 6 June 2013

Noite Longa

Este anoitecer vai ser outra noite longa onde a oscuridade do ceo esconde a minha doente persoa.
A gaita soa no fondo, uns rapaces a face-lo tonto.

Ti ere-lo todo, todo o que me redoa. O meu querer seguir, o suspirar o sonreir. A minha mitade boa. 

Ti ere-lo todo pra min nesta noite longa. 

Apertame moi apreitadinho que fai frio nesta saudade.
Non me deixes que me perdo nesta negra soidade. 
Non te alonxes que non vexo a luz dos teus dous luceiros.

Non me mires con desgano, non me deixes que me rompo.

Eu son todo, eles nada mais de aqui non podo sair.

Estas bagoas de vino dunha tarde madrugada.

A xuventude pasada. Matrimonios fracasados. Fillos bastardos. Abortos silenciados. Amistades de toda unha vida agora tan estranas.
A choiva en Santiago. As patacas. As festas das parroquias, os bicos inocentados. O oruxo queimado. As herbas de San xoan. Meu amigo Castelao, minha sombra Rosalia. O pai da nosa Galicia.

Esta noite na que choran as paredes desta sala.
Esta rutina que non cambia.
Este queixar mais non facer nada.
Este eu, este ti.

Esta longa noite, esta madrugada.
Este poema sen fin.