To make this Salada de frango português
com pêssego e feta, your poet begs
The pounded cream of garlic cloves, no eggs;
Two red onions stripped, no need for the kitchen sieve,
Smoothness and softness to the salad give.
Let peach wedges, lemon and cherry toms lurk within the bowl,
And, half-suspected, animate the whole.
Of mordant fresh oregano add a single spoon,
Distrust the pepper condiment that bites so soon;
But deem it not, thou woman of feta cheese, a fault
To add a double quantity of salt;
Four times the spoon with oil of Lucca crown,
And twice with balsamic vinegar procur'd from town;
And lastly o'er the flavour'd compound toss
A magic soupçonne of one chicken in sauce.
Oh, lettuce green and glorious! Oh, salad treat!
T'would tempt the hungry gness to eat;
Back to the world she'd turn her fleeting soul,
And plunge her fingers in the salad-bowl!
Serenely full, the epicureanne would say,
`Fate cannot harm me, I have dined today.'
And a bottle of excellente Vinho Espumante