I think it’s actually a slow worm, but here’s Thomas Decker’s Honest whore anyway:
Lord Hippolito. Scarce can I read the stories on your brow,
Which age hath writ there: you look youthful still.
Orlando Friscobaldo. I eat snakes, my Lord, I eat snakes. My heart shall never have a wrinkle in it, so long as I can [...]

So interested was one in the almonds:

… that one failed to see perceive twixt the branches:

… the incipient eclipse:

Most of the almonds could have done with another week or two, but if we hadn’t got there first, hordes of bloody Manchego pensioners would have shaken and whacked down every last one.
The quote is from [...]

Querida amiga, ahórrate los honorarios del carnicero cosmético leyendo los Secretos raros de artes y oficios (1807):
Para tener buenos melones. Se remojan las pepitas de melon por dos ó tres dias en buen, vino moscatel añejo. Se tendrá la paciencia, de ir abriendo con destreza un cierto número de pepitas por el agujerillo que han [...]

Yesterday in town it was remarked on the benefits to allkind that would accrue from exchanging our customary diet of Big Macs for one of roadkill and Fucking pigeon (what’s the Latin?). Celtiberians consulted state that their race does not partake of the pigeon, and Juan Bautista Carrasco’s Mitología universal (1864) suggests that this may [...]

Recalling this, oranges weighing a kilo in Salamanca and 4-metre sunflowers in the mutant garden of Riba-Roja.

More from Eazy. CC

I didn’t know they served frankfurters in Bocatta. Someone says it’s in Galicia. I hope no Galician bloggers are involved.

German sausages commonly arouse Spanish bar owners to orthographical orgasm, but this is perhaps the most beautiful, and at first sight most puzzling spelling of Frankfurt in the peninsula:

No time to inquire her ancestry of the lady at this magnificent tapas bar in the Creueta del Coll park, Barcelona, but one suspects the Dread Hand [...]

The window display is so abundant that it’s difficult to see inside, so it might have been the butcher himself singing this morning in the shop at Asturias 47, Gracia, Barcelona.

Some British pubs take their French rather literally:

Fellow hippies will know that if you stack your chips right on the day of the winter solstice and then chant a magic spell, the sun’s rays will fall in such a way as to create a shadow image of pretty much whichever megalithic construction you fancy.

Leoncio Urabayen (La tierra humanizada, 1949) says that the dung beetle (escarabajo pelotero) is to a hive of bees as the pyramids are to the Empire State. This is unfair:

“The American Institute of Biological Sciences reports that dung beetles save the United States cattle industry an estimated US$380 million annually through burying above-ground livestock [...]

It’s all about flowerpots, says D the photographer and cook. I think the Romans did something similar. So it’s definitely OK.

Update: This is my flowerpot, actually a glazed Moroccan cookpot (you put the meat on the bottom and the veg on top). D says I may need to drill a whole in the top using [...]

Demanding a paella of the Moderates, in today’s entry over at the new libro verde. Sequel: a week later, with defeat imminent, the same people sang, “Now it’s us in the frying pan.” (The 1843 Jamancia, from jamar, to eat, is one of Barcelona’s forgotten revolutions. Only a fool or a saint would attempt to [...]

“The main reason you like my boyfriend is because he feeds you large quantities of grilled lamb, and the main reason my dog likes you is because you give her the bones.” Can’t see what’s wrong with that. I hope my eyes don’t go as dazed and watery as the dog’s.

An expedition to examine the remains of Moorish castles and drink village wine on the Albacete-Jaén borders means that things will be fairly quiet around here until perhaps September 5, when last minute preparations will commence for the launch of a revolutionary new communications model at the Albacete Fair.
The Feria de Albacete is not only [...]

Over at Michael Gilleland’s place. I am laid low by village water, which comes out of the hill unpurified, which is fine, but which ravages stomachs lacking the correct ecology of flora and fauna, which is tough on me and even tougher on the porcelain. Beware the great god Fart under such circumstances.

El Niño de Tetuán singing fandangos (MP3s or him and a superb selection of others). We’re probably talking early 1930s, but I don’t know where–Seville or Jerez seems more likely than Tetuan :-):
A esa liebre no tirarle
cazaores de la sierra
a esa liebra no tirarle
porque está haciendo en la tierra
madriguera pa ser madre
y es sagrao lo [...]

The crazy European regulation making it illegal to leave carcasses in the high mountains has led to reports of starving vultures attacking and killing large live stock in several parts of Spain. Now one of Nick’s wolfmen has sent news of several hundred griffon vultures from the Pyrenees having sought alimentary asylum in Holland, in [...]

Genetic data doesn’t actually suggest that the Turks brought it with them and then rebranded themselves as Etruscans in order to sell into European markets.

This is the anjova (Pomatomus saltatrix) caught off Galicia. According to Europa Press, fisherman Pablo Oliver got in touch with the Spanish National Research Council/Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas and the Institute of Oceanography/Instituto Oceanográfico to tell them of his discovery and to enquire as to why this fish was in waters outside its known [...]

Manuel Blanco Romasanta (1809-?) was born Manuela because everyone thought he was a girl, and things went downhill from then on. After his wife died he became a travelling salesman of human fat and, when the law finally took an interest, he went on a CANNIBAL RAMPAGE, TEARING APART and DEVOURING nine innocents before being [...]

The EU says that you have to take animal carcasses found in the high mountains down to the bottom, truck them half-way across Spain to an abattoir to make sure they’re really dead, and then, to stop the vultures starving to death, you are allowed to bring them all the way back and leave them [...]

Here, via Papel Continuo.

Of no interest, except to Christian socialists, who may wonder if Mr Jesus was behind the distribution of supplies to strikers:
OROTAVA, September 17 1934. (By telegraph.)- The Orotava Valley agricultural organisation continues the general strike begun August 31 past without an accord having been feasible thus far. The civil governor has kept the organisation’s offices [...]

Given the spectacular contribution of Iberian merchants to the spice trade, why is it that none of my local friends will go anywhere near a lamb vindaloo?

Someone asked me the other day whether agricultural subsidies had gone the same way as in the UK, and I gave a lousy answer. Charles Butler over at IBEX Salad has a partial account, in the course of which he uses the words “very simple”. Right…

So there I was, dear reader, saying the nicest things about Margaret Marks. And now I discover, to my dismay, just the vaguest trace of irreverence in her posts (1/2) re John Cage’s 4′33″, implying that she secretly possesses seven heads, ten horns, various crowns, and upon her heads the name of heresy. For what better than a piece that can be performed by anyone, that provides automatic free updates reflecting changing soundscapes, and that reminds one of Thoreau when he writes:

Yesterday on this walk we met five very healthy-looking wild cats near a hidden spring on a hill just outside Barcelona, feasting on lamb offal. Do not fear, though: it turns out the local butcher climbs the hill most lunchtimes to feed them.