Incident characteristic of a genteel evening


The mass exodus of cold air from the North,
Replaced the otherwise warm air in June,
Sending everyone to search for room heaters and woolens,
Yet the multitude of trees in praça do coco remained stoic and calm.
After an ‘extraordinarily’ cold week at Campinas,
Warm air “descended” gradually in this meadow town.
And once again the river of happiness flowed merrily,
On the pavements, in the hearts, ebbing and surging around…
With two bottles of Chilean wine,
Green coca com cana de açucar, suco de uvo,
And a few munchers of peanuts and crisps,
The soiree officially commenced.
Soups do nourish the soul. And what an evening of fun and frolic
T’was, for it brought out the talent from each one.
After all when we cook for others, the recipe has a generous
Dash of this “secret” ingredient called ‘Love’ as well.
And again we hear Felipāo e Vijay perguntam o que é amor ?
We had Ilo and Ana,
The little ones of Cila and her marido.
Together with their cute little dogs: Oliveta, & panqueca,
Who were intently observing every movement in the kitchen.
Bipeds of diverse colours concentrated in two rooms of ample sizes.
We had Ju from Adamantina, with our own good-old-dayers:
Ifa, Marc e Rosa, perto de
Niele, Arla & Arla e Ve Jota.
The youngest couple Essa e Wald,
Conversing with the cellulose deconstructors : Bert e Amy;
Monsieur Felipe e Madamemoiselle Guta, assisting
Lady Ellen; with Miss Ara, dear Ris e suave Sam as onlookers.
Oh my! That doth maketh a dozen and a half souls.
We did fill the spacious rooms.
And never once did we hesitate to indulge on the warm
Soups sitting on the aga: caldos de Mandioquinha, aboborinha,
milho, batata com pimento preto, e beterruba, (e linguiça tambem)
Everyone gobbled the soups with such abandon
That the kitchen eventually became the refuge for all.
Those who were clever, had little bowls with them
To try the ten or so types of soups in little portions.
Competitions sprang as to the number of scoops
any given mouth had swallowed. And to calculate
The maximum gobbling time of bipeds,
With the relation: Gmax = 1/mass_individual*(dScoops/dt)
None could beat Ve Jota, the Indiano.
Not ever has he seen so many vegetarian food in one place;
No sooner had the dinner commenced than he stayed put near the cauldrons.
One-two-three-four big scoops and still counting,
While the others were full already in their second scoopfuls.
Plates and bowls were washed, dried and put away.
The gathering moved to the living room for the time to
Have dessert had arrived. It was a lemon drizzle cake.
By the sofa, the little one was confidently swiping through the
YouTube app Playing o onibus rodinzhos…
Our sweet sucrose culminated the evening,
Despite the music announcing itself from caixa de son,
Playing ‘money can’t buy me love’,
Or other such melodies from Caetano Veloso from many a palm-helds.
The stars carpeted the late evening sky.
And everyone with their pots and pans,
Left homes on their quadrupods,
Arriving safely at mid-night or so.


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