We ate Bosnian food this week. It is a testament to my total immersion in German (ha!) that I almost wrote “vood” up there. Das Vood.
Here, some British Vood:
“Have you got nothing else for my breakfast, Pritchard?” said Fred, to the servant who brought in coffee and buttered toast; while he walked round the table surveying the ham, potted beef, and other cold remnants, with an air of silent rejection, and polite forbearance from signs of disgust.
“Should you like eggs, sir?”
“Eggs, no! Bring me a grilled bone.”
From Middlemarch, p. 98.
And from the recipe files: make these brownies, NOW. Christopher made them last night and the pan is quickly dwindling.
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