A dumpling usually is round <br />it ordinarily is found <br />in homes south of the Baltic Sea <br />and North of Alpine scenery. <br />One takes a few good looking spuds <br />then washes hands and pots in suds. <br />Peeling is followed by the grater <br />while water's boiling until later <br />when all the little dumplings dive <br />into the pot as if alive. <br />Once grated all the pulp is placed <br />inside a heavy bag in haste. <br />Two men (if they are of a mind) <br />and strong as well as so inclined, <br />take up positions vis-à-vis <br />just touching at each well-flexed knee. <br />And then they squeeze the spuds with force <br />both to the right, of course, of course. <br />That way the juice is separated <br />from all the freshly peeled and grated <br />the pulp, and after many tries <br />the housewife comes and says: 'You guys, <br />we have admired at great length <br />your biceps, triceps, well, your strength. <br />But now it's time to cook the lot <br />as you can see the stove is hot.' <br />For twenty minutes they will swim <br />each dumpling round and very trim, <br />then, as by magic they will rise <br />one at a time, as a surprise. <br />That is the way of old tradition <br />and over time, each repetition <br />confirms that Grandma did know best <br />each Sunday dumpling meal was blessed.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/making-dumplings/
