lecso and Lord Foppington

I chopped some tomatoes, green peppers and onions. I fried the onions in olive oil, then threw in the veggies, followed by strips of ham. As the mixture was stewing, I black peppered the hell out of it, plus a pinch of salt and red paprika. Crown with two eggs, stir vigorously and in a few minutes - voila, a steaming, spicy Czech/Slovak/Hungarian lecso. [according to most recipes I've looked up, the eggs are a Czech addition] I wish I'd had some red-hot csabai kolbassa to add to the stew but alas, this is New Year's Day and most stores are closed.

I sat down with my lunch, buttered up some dark rye bread and was ready to tuck in....but: to really enjoy any solitary meal, I have to have something decent to read. Lately I've been reading an interesting tome about "literary England" [places in the country that writers have visited, lived in or frequented] The book was on the table in front of me but I stood up, went to the bookshelf and grabbed another Brit-inspired book, "The Oxford Book of London" The book contains stories about the city of London and its inhabitants by famous and not so famous authors who lived there - from the 12th century to the present. Leafing through the pages, blowing on my lecso to cool it down, I came across this most delightful passage by Sir John Vanbrugh. It complemented the lecso extremely well and I think also serves as a good recipe for life in the New Year. Additionally, I know some trumpet players who are JUST LIKE the title character. Here is a speech by Lord Foppington from Vanbrugh's "The Relapse":


oh, such delights....

Lord Fop: Naw I think a man of quality and breeding may be much diverted with the natural sprauts of his own. But to say the truth, madam, let a man love reading never so well, when once he comes to know this tawn, he finds so many better ways of passing away the four-and-twenty hours, that 'twere ten thousand pities he shou'd consume his time in that. Far example, madam, my life, madam, is a perpetual stream of pleasure that glides thro' such a variety of entertainments, I believe the wisest of our ancestors never had the least conception of any of 'em. I rise, madam, about ten o'clock. I don't rise sooner, because 'tis the worst thing in the world for the complection; nat that I pretend to be a beau; but a man must endeavour to look wholesome, lest he makes so nauseous a figure in the side-bax, the ladies shou'd be compell'd to turn their eyes upon the play. So at ten o'clock, I say, I rise. Naw, if I find it a good day, I resalve to take a turn in the park, and see the fine women; so huddle on my clothes, and get dress'd by one. If it be nasty weather, I take a turn in the chocolate-house; where, as you walk, madam, you have the prettiest prospect in the world; you have looking glasses all around you. [ ] Why, then, ladies, from thence I go to dinner at Lacket's, and there you are so nicely and delicately serv'd, that, stap my vitals, they can compose you a dish, no bigger than a saucer, shall come to fifty shillings; between eating my dinner, and washing my mouth, ladies, I spend my time, till I go to the play; where, till nine o'clock, I entertain myself with looking upon the company; and usually dispose of one hour more in leading them aut. So there's twelve of the four-and-twenty pretty well over. The other twelve, madam, are disposed of in two articles: In the first four I toast myself drunk and in t'other eight I sleep myself sober again. Thus, ladies, you see my life is an eternal raund O the delights.