DEX
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
Italian (American) North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Chapter Three, Popppy's Kitchen, 1985. Okay, this is the power switch and this red one must be to record so many buttons. Poppy looks away from the video camera he has set so carefully on the shelf above the kitchen counter. He shrugs his strong shoulders and re ties his sage green apron, the one he swears as his magical tool for making his secret pesto come to life. He shoots a quick look at the camera, then he mutters, oh it's still too low, Poppy looks around for a moment, spies a giant sized tomato can on a nearby shelf and groaning with effort, he hoists it and lumbers towards the camera, continuing to regard it with great suspicion. I hope this can helps, but I don't want to see it too well or I'll get stage fright mama, mia. The things I do for the people I care about. Poppy wedges the camera strategically between two cartons of pasta. Ah this looks good Like I would spend $20 on a tripod when I had my tomato cans. After moving the camera into place, he shuffles along the white tiled kitchen florida, a counter brimming with ingredients. He smiles and takes his oversized stirring spoon off its hook, taking care not to disturb his array of whisks, slotted spoons, spatulas, pizza slicers, giant forks and pasta rollers. Each of these precious tools hangs on the wall in two neat rows surrounded by a cherry wood frame. Poppy and his wife. Golda put up the frame together Earlier that year, it was an anniversary gift from their friends, Ruthie and Stewie who knew Poppy treated his tools like treasured friends and thought they deserved a royal portrait, but right now his pesto sauce was about to become king. The framed friends and ingredients, It's loyal subjects. Poppy runs his thick stubby fingers through his salt and pepper hair and starts his proclamation. Alright here goes, this is my going away gift to you because after all these years of pestering me, I'm finally giving in. This is Poppy's pesto. He puts a finger over his mouth and lowers his voice. Remember it's a secret, He crosses over to the camera to see if it's working. Then cheers with satisfaction when he sees all the right buttons are lit to truly create food worth eating. You have to prepare it with passion, he says, holding a bunch of parsley to his nose and inhaling deeply, the sauce, he continues, is like a person to get the most from it. You have to treat it with respect and love it with all your heart. Poppy puts his fingers to his lips and gives them a kiss. If you don't, you'll end up with a bitter tasting mess and people politely telling you that they had a big lunch and can't eat another thing. Believe me, If it's good, they'll find room. Let's begin, he says, as he lightly salts a cutting board first. Fresh basil, nothing wilted or slimy. He raises his knife in the air like aceptar and chops the herb into a fine chiffonade in seconds pignoli nuts. He grabs a big handful and sets them in a small frying pan on top of the range, lightly toasted, he explains to bring out the richness of the flavor, extra virgin olive oil. He continues and hugs the gallon sized container like a baby canned bean liquid. Poppy says in a hush, almost afraid to disclose the importance of this key untraditional ingredient. I know, I know, sounds crazy, but one day when I was low on oil and heavy on the lunch crowd, I had to think of something that could add creaminess without overpowering the delicate balance of flavor. It was when I was stirring the beans into my part of ministry only soup that the idea hit me. I could hear the leftover starchy liquid singing to me from the cans. Everyone raved and better still, no one has ever been able to figure out the method to my madness. The name of this Pesto could be called accidental magic, but puppies pesto has a better ring to it. You know, I'm going to write all this down while I do it. So there's no confusion. Later on, he goes into the small drawer and pulls out a pad and a pen as poppy finishes riding down the last ingredient, the phone rings from outside the kitchen. He quickly tops the sauce with a final Sprinkle of cannellini bean liquid and then tastes it. His face lights up and he lets out a satisfied humph. He notices a drop of sauce on the recipe, gives it a quick wipe, then leaves to answer the still clamoring phone.