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солёные помидоры (Russian Pickled Tomatoes)

Frutas_en_almibar.JPG

#wikimedia commons #2010s #2011 #Cuisine of Chiapas #Restaurants and food in Chiapa de Corzo #Pickled tomatoes #Municipal market of Chiapa de Corzo #Self-published work #PD-self #CC-Zero

pickles so good mmm

literally anything pickled is so good..

except pickled tomatoes bcs i don't like the texture ( ；∀；)

#pickles #people who eat mashed potato with #pickled tomatoes #how???#whats the appeal??

Juicy, flavorful, spicy and very tasty - and that's not all there is to say about these tomatoes. Just cook them and try them!

#pickled tomatoes #spicy tomatoes #ukrainian appetizer

Pickled tomatoes for winter - a quick and easy recipe

#Pickled #Pickled tomatoes #Pickled tomatoes for winter #a quick and easy recipe

CarolCooks2 weekly roundup...8th November-14th November...Recipes, Health, Whimsy and music...

CarolCooks2 weekly roundup…8th November-14th November…Recipes, Health, Whimsy and music…

Welcome to this week’s edition of my weekly roundup of posts…Especially for you just in case you missed any posts during the week… whatever your time zone grab a coffee or a glass of wine…Take a pew, get comfy… have a read…

I woke up this morning to the news…

Tuesday 10th November…How to Have a Greener Thanksgiving and Christmas…

Because of everything that has happened this year… Change has…

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#blogging #How to have a greener Thanksgiving and Christmas #Pickled Onions #Pickled pineapple and jalapenos #Pickled tomatoes #Recipes

pickled things

it might have been so sour it poisoned

red and angry as boils on an english tongue

silenced plague mouths on board a ship which made bread

into an undergirding portion

I knew it mostly as a portly essential

stages of processing aside could you grate could you can

could you garlic the thing and leave it to dry in the sun

could you salad it, oven it, pour and splat

cutting it of course you could prove the dullness of knives

that thin skin firm and slick enough to slide –

in the later afternoon we would walk to the sea and the dog would herd us like sheep

talking of hair growth and the dark spots of parking the sticks of the scrub grass

scratching at cast beer the points of a toe which traced a phrase in the sand

after that the sun hadn’t dipped but slightly and the oven was on

in the house that used to be clapboard triangular ache

washed our sand feet under a spout at the edge of the lot

the next meal still cooking mulling it over

it was still easier to picture the vine and not where it grew the kind of

winding empty and water where I broke my arm

after all there in the garden the lilac and birds of paradise

I ate the thing like an apple and the seeds split spilling over in the rocks

no one had asked the man why he had become religious but he explained anyway

sighing in a spot of shade in the sun

you don’t do it in one day he was touching his kippah

you keep coming back and covering over

later I remember my slip of the tongue

when endearing a noun for grill it slipped to the name of a nazi

my shame was hot and slicing a dull coal diminutive

as it began to smolder smoking over the next lot

and before that the false snow with the packed square pulsing

along the one bus line whose contours I could trace

further south where the aproned man would spoon take your coins and not talk

his olives glistening at the front of the open night

but in a bordered place it was necessary to ask what fence was involved

the thing a round pocket growing fat skinned and red

fragrant and pricking when picked from the winding post (where?) the slow

burst past a burning afternoon

a fermented flick with oil covered over

a line in the sand, or a fence that meant as much

in the whispering night there were wheels and turning of voices

a festival feast which had never really stopped

unloaded several plastic boxes

from the ma’adaniyya in their village of course

by the backboned berries in vats of oiled brine

there those skinned things bobbing in the plastic boxes

their slick shine lingering eyes slipping

as we covered the fire

I later remembered as fielded

we covered the fire

over in the dark

-SA

from prompt six

#prompt response #quarantine #poetry #pickled tomatoes #week 4 #SA

pickled tomatoes (done at home)

#pickled tomatoes

pickled things

it might have been so sour it poisoned

red and angry as boils on an english tongue

silenced plague mouths on board a ship which made bread

into an undergirding portion

I knew it mostly as a portly essential

stages of processing aside could you grate could you can

could you garlic the thing and leave it to dry in the sun

could you salad it, oven it, pour and splat

cutting it of course you could prove the dullness of knives

that thin skin firm and slick enough to slide –

in the later afternoon we would walk to the sea and the dog would herd us like sheep

talking of hair growth and the dark spots of parking the sticks of the scrub grass

scratching at cast beer the points of a toe which traced a phrase in the sand

after that the sun hadn’t dipped but slightly and the oven was on

in the house that used to be clapboard triangular ache

washed our sand feet under a spout at the edge of the lot

the next meal still cooking mulling it over

it was still easier to picture the vine and not where it grew the kind of

winding empty and water where I broke my arm

after all there in the garden the lilac and birds of paradise

I ate the thing like an apple and the seeds split spilling over in the rocks

no one had asked the man why he had become religious but he explained anyway

sighing in a spot of shade in the sun

you don’t do it in one day he was touching his kippah

you keep coming back and covering over

later I remember my slip of the tongue

when endearing a noun for grill it slipped to the name of a nazi

my shame was hot and slicing a dull coal diminutive

as it began to smolder smoking over the next lot

and before that the false snow with the packed square pulsing

along the one bus line whose contours I could trace

further south where the aproned man would spoon take your coins and not talk

his olives glistening at the front of the open night

but in a bordered place it was necessary to ask what fence was involved

the thing a round pocket growing fat skinned and red

fragrant and pricking when picked from the winding post (where?) the slow

burst past a burning afternoon

a fermented flick with oil covered over

a line in the sand, or a fence that meant as much

in the whispering night there were wheels and turning of voices

a festival feast which had never really stopped

unloaded several plastic boxes

from the ma’adaniyya in their village of course

by the backboned berries in vats of oiled brine

there those skinned things bobbing in the plastic boxes

their slick shine lingering eyes slipping

as we covered the fire

I later remembered as fielded

we covered the fire

over in the dark

-SA

from prompt six

#prompt response #quarantine #poetry #pickled tomatoes #week 4 #SA

#pickled tomatoes

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