That Pain in the Ass Vegan
…’cos they look like little miniature butts. We’re gonna call ‘em garbuttzo beans.
AHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!! Looks like we’re not alone!!!! ROTFLOFAO!!!!! See, e.g., among many bloggers, Jen at That Pain in the Ass*Vegan:
*Ass it were
maybe it’s just me, but do any of you out there think chickpeas look like little butts? point in case is the one sitting over yonder on the left hand side of the photo. i think butts are adorable. anyway, here’s the unmeasured recipe…
I thought it was for the falafel (sp?).
Steve
My mother loved ciceroni (tsee-tseh-roh-nee), and we both got a good laugh reading A Pillar of Iron — fictionalized biography of Marcus Tulius Cicero — when the author had local bullies teasingly called the young Marcus “little chick pea”.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chickpea#Etymology
Franklin: My mother loved ciceroni (tsee-tseh-roh-nee), and we both got a good laugh reading A Pillar of Iron — fictionalized biography of Marcus Tulius Cicero — when the author had local bullies teasingly called the young Marcus “little chick pea”.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chickpea#Etymology
I assume A Pillar of Iron was, given the gluteal focus of this post, the Roman-imperial inspiration for Buns of Steel.
Speaking of ancient precedents for notions we might have thought our own, here’s an early instance of “if the van is a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin” (bolded), early in this longer passage from Adversus Marcionem (Against Marcion) by Tertullian, which itself might serve as a good progenitor of either “you think you live in a bad neighborhood” or “you might be a redneck, if…”:
The sea called Euxine, or hospitable, is belied by its nature and put to ridicule by its name. Even its situation would prevent you from reckoning Pontus hospitable: as though ashamed of its own barbarism it has set itself at a distance from our more civilized waters. Strange tribes inhabit it—if indeed living in a wagon can be called inhabiting.1 These have no certain dwelling-place: their life is uncouth: their sexual activity is promiscuous, and for the most part unhidden even when they hide it: they advertise it by hanging a quiver on the yoke of the wagon, so that none may inadvertently break in. So little respect have they for their weapons of war. They carve up their fathers’ corpses along with mutton, to gulp down at banquets. If any die in a condition not good for eating, their death is a disgrace. Women also have lost the gentleness, along with the modesty, of their sex. They display their breasts, they do their house-work with battle-axes, they prefer fighting to matrimonial duty. There is sternness also in the climate—never broad daylight, the sun always niggardly, the only air they have is fog, the whole year is winter, every wind that blows is the north wind. Water becomes water only by heating: rivers are no rivers, only ice: mountains are piled high up with snow: all is torpid, everything stark. Savagery is there the only thing warm—such savagery as has provided the theatre with tales of Tauric sacrifices, Colchian love-affairs, and Caucasian crucifixions.
Even so, the most barbarous and melancholy thing about Pontus is that Marcion was born there, more uncouth than a Scythian, more unsettled than a Wagon-dweller, more uncivilized than a Massagete, with more effrontery than an Amazon, darker than fog, colder than winter, more brittle than ice, more treacherous than the Danube, more precipitous than Caucasus…
1. 1 On the customs of the Massagetae, Herodotus i. 216.
Further down, section 1.11 (page 29):
This too I postulate after the pattern set by the Creator, that [this other one] ought to have been recognizable as a god by reason of his creation of some world and man and time of his own: for even this world’s wrong-headedness has made into gods those who it acknowledges were once men, precisely because it appears that by each of them some provision has been made for life’s utilities and pleasures.1 Thus then it was from the precedent God set, that there arose the belief that it is a divine function to invent or discover something suitable and essential for human life. In this way even false divinity has borrowed proof of its existence from that which was already the proof of true divinity. One solitary little chick-pea of his own ought Marcion’s god to have brought to light, and he might then have been proclaimed a sort of new Triptolemus.2
2 A hero, worshipped at Eleusis, who had been sent by Demeter to teach men agriculture (Ovid, Metam. v. 645 sqq.).
Reader Robert F., Italian in ancestry, emails:
“Ciceroni”* is not Italian for chickpeas. The word is “ceci” (pronounced che-chi), as anybody who has ever bought a can of Progresso or Rienzi ceci would know from the label.
My great aunt used to call them (phonetically) chee-chee-da in dialect (Neapolitan, I believe).
*According to once source, ciceroni is an old term for a guide, one who conducts visitors and sightseers to museums, galleries, etc., and explains matters of archaeological, antiquarian, historic or artistic interest. http://encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com/ciceroni
I thought my providing a pronunciation would clarify it, but I should have realized that it would be obscure to most: tsee-tseh-roh-nee is a Croatian/Slovenian variant of the Italian word. In the Slavic languages, “c” is pronounced “ts”.
The linguistic frontier was (and is, I believe) Trieste. There also was and is much cultural mixture on the islands of the northern Adriatic, where there are resorts frequented by tourists from both sides. Dalmatia (you say maysha, I say mahtia) was a Roman province for a very long time.
The older meaning, “dry seed”, seems an appropriate root for a museum guide, eh? ;-)