The peasant's grandson, the son of a postal employee, a graduate of the Charles University in Prague, Dr. Ivan Petrovich Heniyush sometimes showed aristocratic habits and kapryznichav, sitting at the dinner table. Please here it was not easy, though Larissa Antonovna, according to witnesses, was able to cook and knew a lot of recipes.
Once again, correcting her husband in a sanatorium, she expected him home early, convinced that on state rations that did not survive long.
It is impossible to read without a smile is one of the poet's letters to Zoske Veras: "I'm afraid that her husband was not the proper time will produce at that resort. Cranky It. Cabbage home — does not eat mushrooms — not love, he does not relish burgers, hare pate — a bad, sausage — sick in his youth, veal to go into the teeth, witches — fe! Right now where-it would eat everything. "
I do not know how could find one hare pate in a half-starved at the time Zelva, where swine heads were considered a delicacy. But Larissa Heniyush under the Soviet deficit was finding the right products to the husband and the guests were satisfied with refreshments.
Translator Alexander Troyanovskiy long remembered Zelvenskiy mochanku. Poet Danuta Bichel — cookies that Larissa Antonovna baked in an electric duhovachtsy. Grandson Michael and today looking for the villages in the district of Bialystok dry fillet which would be like my grandmother.
Zelva ordered Larissa Heniyush wedding cakes and loaves. And the poet time ironic that Zelva appreciates her as a cook, not as a poet …
Concocting — Olga Tserashchatava and Larissa Heniyush. Zelva, 1981
Once Larissa Heniyush read in the weekly "Field" that the Bialystok Belarusians decided to build a roadside tavern in Bialowieza. And then he made a detailed plan for them: the tavern that cover how to equip the yard that hang on the walls, the staff wear. Cooking Tips occupied a whole page:
"Zubratsinu is not necessary (bison sorry!) Enough wild boars, hares Burachek in the season, ducks, and better our products hog. Around the world there are no sausages, saltisons, vantrabyanki and ham, which are able to Belarusian mistress. A mushroom? A potato? And cabbage under Bigosovo and Verashchaka and potato pancakes, and grandmother as soft as the navel and jelly and squash! And fried, roasted as colostrum, or with bacon! And the sorcerers, and pantsachok with mushrooms, butter and sour cream laid whitened And to drink …? Less alcohol — more antiques. Zubrovka addition, it is necessary to make soup Belarus … "
Krupnik Larissa Heniyush remembered by many. Here is his recipe perahavany in memory of Michael arheolyaga Cherniavskii: 0.5 liters of alcohol (or good vodka), 0.5 boiling water, 4 tablespoons of honey diluted in boiling water and mix with alcohol, add a little cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and allspice; all together cook for 15 minutes, but do not boil.
According to the son of the poet Jyrki Heniyush, "a cup of mead lamatnuvshy, dead vskrasali, woke asleep." He drinks a lot about knowledge.
not to dance orchestra began to play,
not to tango guys invited,
slight gesture jumping from their seats.
Not to dress like pavutsenne,
rassyavayuchy spirits light burn,
I came to you, brothers, in patience,
throwing a jacket over his shoulder.
Stretched out her hand without pyarstsenyav,
not such as those of other women,
on my own, places precious stones,
was corn, red as a ruby.
And so the endless mountains
made their way through the tight fire
my heart is with you so tion treaty
if you zradilisya of it.
In calm us all villages
Together, we sat at the table
rye bread, cut into pieces,
washed down with warm milk.
Together, we hope to grow —
for the suffering of the Mother bright day,
tie-up with Belarus torn,
together by steel knives tsyarpen.
And so, the Knights of Chases,
I am of you, the prisoners sing,
his heart brave palm
syagonnya give you one.
No matter how much grief was before us,
no matter how heavy it was expensive,
go through them, be with us
unity, harmony and great God.
This is the glory we generations
In the rays of the sun glory,
in chains through all the suffering
our will proudly carry by.
I met his friends are not on the ball,
walked together to the holy purposes,
one pain will quarried
Knights and their loyal poet.