2009. november 18., szerda

Golden noodle


» 100 dkg of flour
» 6 dl of milk
» 16 dkg of sugar
» 6 dkg of yeast
» 6 egg yolks
» 16 dkg of butter
» salt
» lemon-peel
» butter
» walnut
» cinnamon
» granulated sugar
» raisin

From the flour, milk, sugar, hatched out from yeast, egg yolk, butter with little salt, grated lemon-peel we prepare pasta. If wake up, we pour it onto a pastry board covered with flour, we offer it for inch thick one, then into flour dipped, walnut greatness we hack it out with a scone jagger. We dip the pasta scraps into lukewarm butter one by one, and into a deep baking sheet we put it beside each other tightly. Ground walnut, broken one we mix up cinnamon, granulated sugar and a raisin, we sprinkle all rows with this. We raise it slowly until 35-40 minutes on lukewarm place then, we brand it as clear red one in a warm oven averagely then. Let the warmth of the oven be even.

(picture from: http://images.puszta.com/aranygaluska/Aranygaluska%201000.jpg)

A god's sword

(picture loaded from: http://image.hotdog.hu/_data/members2/430/844430/images/hunok_minta.jpg)

The child looked at the animal. The herd been anxious, as if something unusual would be coming. The leader bull raised his head, was doing stiffly, with expanding nostrils was listening, and as if the blades of grass would have scented something, scared waving was sweeping through them.
The child onto the sky scanned, before a storm usual like this to swarm the stock, but cloud nowhere, the sky glittered mild-blue. The leader bull roared, now already some animals into the same direction was listening, the child looked at it rearing, what may be the reason of the agitation, and noticed the contours of the cavalry troop emerging from the distance. Step by step been audible the blunt beating of the hooves of the horses.
Moving about between the yurts arose down there, the people_nation gathered out in front of the tents. The child forgetting the animals left to the his care – ran towards the riders. The people_nation standing on the edge of the road were snatching their hoods down already then. The child slowed down, sidled between the men, it looked for his father with his eye. Was at a standstill there between the others, he with a hood taken off. He glanced at his son.
– Down with the hat, my son, Attila comes sovereign.
The child whipped his hood off.
Between the delicate-bright, gilded valiant in dress in a plain leather clothing a squat youngster with a wide breast ridden, there was no ornament on him, only on the bridle of his horse skim with dazzling light a gem. And Attila, the child was his knowledge vainly in the plainest dresses after all promptly: he the sovereign.
– He will be the world's lord – the child's father said it, and added it to it when his son looked at him questioning: – his mother saw it in a prophetic dream.
The child imagined the bright royal yard, his seeing as Attila's mother falls asleep slowly, the bustling varletry changes to a tiptoe, there will be silence, it is possible to hear the fly buzzing. A fistful light hank glitters above the queen's head, turns, is growing, changes his colour, a youngster steps forward from the middle of the brightness – no doubt, the same person who it is before ridden before us –, and says it:
– I will be your son.
The queen breaks into a smile gladly in his dream, sees it, a bright object falls under it, onto one more blindingly as soon as the skies open up there glitters, tongues leap out from him. A sword. The sword flits as a shooting star downwards, the youngster clings to his side obediently then. His son stands there before the mother, surrounding with a god's flaming sword.
The child looks at his father being amazed.
– That sword was not on him? – asks it.
– Sometime very long-lost – his father answers it –, but Attila finds it, his waist it is surrounded by him, and he will be the world's lord.
The child walked back to his animals, sat down into the grass, and saw Attila before himself, surrounding with the god's sword.
Some cattle roamed away meanwhile, the child's stick waving after them arisen, that herd they.
But, one of the heifers as if would be lame. Took a close look at it in detail, no doubt, the foot of the animal was damaged.
What may have offended it skim? The child started searching on the pasture, drops of blood bloomed on the grass, négykézlábra descended, careful smoothed down his palm on the land. Feeling his way his fingertip affected a pointed iron piece. You were a back it – believed it, and wanted to pull it out from the land. But the intention intention was left over only, the coffee dared from iron a spark, the child burst recoiled, his seeing, that the iron glows, flames leap out from him, and starts rising from the land step by step. A sword!
Plucked up all of his courage, the sword caught his hilt, and started running with him in the direction that Attila and his cavalry troop left.
The people_nation saw the shepherd boy running with the sword, and their face was covered.
Attila's team was camping on a forest wind, they had him there the boy. Ran to the sovereign directly, provided it towards it the sword.
– I hit this miracle sword on the pasture, i guess, you deserve him.
Attila took the sword in his hand. Knew that it is a sword seen by his mother in a prophetic dream, the god's sword got to it. Grabbed it firmly, and flicked towards the four compass points with him. To the north, to the west, to the east, to the south. Said it:
– I punish all of the folk of the land with a god's sword.