#basella

[theoldpersonliveshere]

The Lady of Storms.

The older sister of Corlys Velaryon, Basella was married at a young age to an insignificant member of House Celtigar and would have several children with him. A strong and stubborn woman, people said she married a second son so she would not have to leave Driftmark. It is said that whenever she and her husband quarrelled, she would serve crab for supper to imply to her husband what she would do to him if he didn’t agree with what she said. She was known for her wit, sharp tongue and her temper, which earned her the title “The Lady of Storms”

[adiantum-sporophyte]

26 June 2024 trip "don't clutter up the fridge"

time elapsed: ~50 min

days of food: 5

bargain room highlight: bargain room was pretty empty and unexciting until I found another bag of mini peppers. Means I can work on my pepper-pasta-basil-myzithra idea

interaction: headphone day, but I did reassure the check-out person who was, reasonably, invested that the "30 min to close" announcement had been made

novel produce: Malabar spinach, Basella alba, which is not only a new species for me but a new family. Sauteed plainly it was better than spinach.

comments: ideally I'd prosocially shop during the day when the crowds are at work. Missed that window today and ended up shopping in the evening, when the crowds it seems are eating dinner

[deshifoodchanneldfc]

মিষ্টি কুমড়া পুঁই শাক মুরগির মাংস রান্না Pui Shak Mishti Kumra Murgi Ra...

[spinalembrace]

These pictures are each just one day apart from the other! The growth is utterly dizzying! These are Basella alba. They need a very warm place for sprouting so I placed them in my bathroom where there's underfloor heating.

I just left home for a week — fingers crossed these little fellas are still alive and well when I get back. They are in a miniature greenhouse so they should have all the moisture they need.

[drhoz]

#2169 - Anredera cordifolia - Madeira Vine 

A combination of Spanish and Latin meaning 'climbing plant with heart-shaped leaves'. Formerly known as Boussingaultia basselloides and Boussingaultia cordifolia. Also known as mignonette vine, lamb's tail and potato vine. Growing on the ground here, as you can see, but an enthusiastic and overly heavy climber, and easily capable of snapping off branches or entire trees under the weight of its fleshy leaves and aerial tubers.

A South American ornamental succulent from the family Basellaceae. Despite being highly invasive in many parts of the world, still sold as a garden plant in some of them. Most of the spread is via the tubers.

The leaves can be fried as a vegetable or used in soups or salads. The stems and rhizomes are also edible. Two species from the Basellaceae are also cultivated as food – Basella alba (Malabar spinach) and Ullucus tuberosus (ulluco).

Willans Hill, Wagga Wagga, NSW

[floresferae-ocalbum]

H O U S E O F T H E D R A G O N

NAME: Alaenla Velaryon

FIC: Fine Lines

LOVE INTEREST: TBD

FC: Courtney Eaton

NAME: Basella Rogare

FIC: Dark Paradise

LOVE INTEREST: Aemond Targaryen

FC: Alicia Agneson

NAME: Vysenyra Targaryen

FIC: Girls Like Girls

LOVE INTEREST: Alicent Hightower 

FC: Holliday Grainger

NAME: Saela Targaryen

FIC: Moon. Sun. Stars.

LOVE INTEREST: Criston Cole

FC: Elle Fanning

NAME: Vaerya of Lys

FIC: Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

LOVE INTEREST: Daemon Targaryen

FC: Sarah Gadon

NAME: Daenyra Targaryen

FIC: Tainted Love

LOVE INTEREST: Harwin Strong

FC: Georgia Hirst

[infinitegrower]

¤Alugbati ¤

Basella alba is known by common names including Malabar spinach, vine spinach, Ceylon spinach and Indian spinach.

Nutritional value per 100 g (3.5 oz):

Energy 79 kJ (19 kcal)

Carbohydrates 3.4 g

Fat 0.3 g

Protein 1.8 g

[hanselbelle]

The Heart of Sunnyville III

Before Aling Tesa’s roosters crow, vehicles of the elders who must go to work sneak out of the gates of Sunnyville 3. With the sun not out, the stars and moon dominating the dark blue sky, the school services of the children come and go unnoticed, except, if you’re listening close enough, for the murmurs of their parents’ goodbye. 

A hint of red appears in the sky; red turns to orange; orange turns to yellow: the sun has risen up, telling the moon and the stars to go to sleep, and saying hello to the subdivision as it engulfs the entire place with its brightness and warmth. The plants in front of each house light up at the kiss of their friend, their roots that are buried deep into the soil inside their pots grow longer and thicker, their stems and petals become vibrant in delight. Smiling old women grab their watering cans to water their lovely plants until their smiles turn into grins at the sight of them blooming. Some of these women stay in front of their houses to bask in the sunlight to get their Vitamin D, some will return back inside to prepare breakfast for their grandchildren who are not old enough for school yet. But not Aling Remy: she refills her watering cans to water the plants at the park. In turn, the mango and banana trees sprout fruit for Aling Remy to take. 

The peace is disrupted by the time the owner of the dogs, and the parents with their infant or toddler walk around the now sunny Sunnyville. They walk around the five long streets, walking through the crevices between houses. The elders chat, the dogs bark at each other, the infants and toddlers babble and laugh, and in the middle of Sunnyville where all the streets lead to, there lies the heart of this place: the park that owes its being to Aling Remy. There they meet, welcomed by the stray dogs and cats who claimed it; acting like kings and queens who demand food from their visitors. At the park, nature is alive. There the fresh wind blows, the earthy smell of soil ushers the passersby to sit on the bench and join the conversation of those who are already there. 

Four houses down the park, an elevated bungalow with concrete rails stands quaintly surrounded by two-or-more-story modern houses. My tiny body sits on its concrete rail with my uncle’s camera at hand, filming the scenery until my great-grandma beckons me inside to make me breakfast because I am not old enough to go to school yet.

Moss covered our concrete front porch, basella alba serves as the curtain of the porch which my uncle and father trim twice a month. Potted plants line up on either side of the stairs, syngonium in wilkins bottle pots are hanging on the wall beside the door. Three plastic chairs outside by the window: a perfect place to bask in the sun early in the morning, that is, when basella alba are recently cut. 

Opening our oak wood door allows the breeze to pass through the wind chime, eliciting a cadence of the soothing clang of clapper against the tiny iron tubes. The walls are painted lime green, the pecan-colored laminated floor smooth beneath my bare feet after I stepped out of our grey welcome mat. Above the door frame is a portrait of my two younger sisters and me drawn by my father, next to it is a plain brown-framed square wall clock. By the window, an old tube TV was on a black stand. Across is a brown sofa set with duct tapes instead of stitches — in my uncle’s defense, bringing it to an upholsterer might damage it more. In the middle is a round hickory brown coffee table where I prefer to sit despite the chidings of the elders; they say being close to the TV will harm my eyesight. Little did they know, I find myself more adorable wearing eyeglasses. The spaciousness of our living room obliges us to run, and even ride our bikes with training wheels without worrying about destroying anything. 

Connected to the living room is the dining room; its walls are decorated with long narrow portraits of Chinese art, and a mirror large enough to fill half the measure of the wall. There is the extended wooden dining table; extended when my father’s family grew up. The chairs, like the table, are wooden. Three out of ten of those chairs have pillows on them, so the children can reach their food. A door in the living room is my uncle’s bedroom, while the one in the dining room is my father’s. Between is where the bathroom is located. 

As my uncle got a job abroad, his room got converted into my siblings' and my room. A full-sized bed, two study tables, and a large dresser are inside. The window has a sill where I like to kneel, with my elbows on the window frame, my cheeks on my palms. On the wall are posters of various cartoon characters, and yet another portrait of me and my siblings. I deemed the corner as a solitary space: a space enough for my body to fit, serene enough to fill my imagination with books and k-zone magazines on my lap. This area I love for obscure reasons is the area that gave me a wonderful childhood; an area that taught me to love quietness and stories. 

In my parents’ room, which has been my father’s room since he was a teen, has its walls covered in band posters, paintings, and doodles. My mother once had complained about it, insisting to have it repainted, but my father would disagree saying that his room is the sole reminder of his creative youth. Though a mere child, I find his argument hypocritical, for he would pinch my sister’s hip whenever he would find a pencil or crayon-drawn stick figures on the wall. 

The kitchen is my least favorite part of the house: located at the very back, the light dimmed, and unnervingly silent. Once, a family friend who claimed to have her third eye open, said a white lady lives beside the sink. I always wondered if that is the reason why my great-grandmother and grandparents live in a separate house, preferring to visit us in the morning and afternoon, and would haste to leave before dusk. 

At four in the afternoon, after waking up from a long nap, hours after my school service escorts me back home: I kiss my mother’s cheeks before coming down to our moss-covered stairs that used to be perilous for my younger self. 

Kuya Aiden, a boy four years older than me, awaits me on the basketball court with our other friends. Roaring shouts of young boys are tolerated until six, but until then, their thundering voices are heard throughout the subdivision along with the cheers of the watchers. 

By the time we get bored, we will go back to our respective houses to grab our bikes (mine with training wheels) and meet each other in front of Ate Diane’s house across the park. The wind, as I like to think, greets me when it whistles, making the leaves of the trees rustle in response, as though greeting me just as exuberantly as the wind. “You’re punctual,” my friends often tease me, laughing and jabbing my sides, saying that I must have gotten awards for being the most punctual student in the class. I laugh, of course, I laugh hard as they do. I appease them with a nod of my head, agreeing that I was snubbed for not receiving the said award. Call me selfish if the reader must, but I enjoy the hug of the coolness of the park. Its whistles and breeze are made for me. The park might be our rendezvous, but it is I’s and the wind’s tryst. 

The laughter winds down (no pun intended), the jokes get old, Kuya Aiden pedals his bike, and we follow him like his own little army. This is the part where the residents complain; whining at how loud my friends’ hollers are, how the thuds of our bikes clatter when we pass the rumble streets, the continued hitting of the bells of our bikes that some confuse as the bell of Mamang Binatog: grumpy residents learned to hate afternoons because of us, but who does not love the noise of the laughter of the children besides old people? Certainly, not the streets of Sunnyville, for as we pedal faster and louder, the sun shines brighter causing sweat to trickle down our backs and faces, the swoosh that trails us — Sunnyville, I believe, thanks us by filling the noiseless void of its streets. Along with the singing of the birds and the barks of the dogs, we fill it with the colors of our fast-ending youth. 

On the third left turn from the park, on the third street, we are met by an intimidating slope. It is steep, and when one mistakenly swerves their handlebar, one might crash into a house that forces one to roll down the slope and end up wounded. Young, dumb, and free as we are, we take the danger as a challenge, especially me, who has training wheels — what should I fear? The wound will hurt, sure, but the wound will heal. I may fall, but the concretes of Sunnyville will catch me. My pride is bigger than the number of wounds I can get, and so I push the pedal forward with my tiny feet: at the tender age of 10, I have never felt more alive. 

Once drenched and reeking, Kuya Aiden looks up at the setting sun knowing it is his responsibility to bring us home before dark. It is the sun’s call to stop us from exhausting ourselves, the moon and star’s duty to guide us home safe if we ever decide to stay for a while, and if we do stay until the night, the gates of the subdivision protect us from the harm the outside may bring. And so the blue sky turns to yellow, to orange, to red, and to black; the court turns mute; the streets silent — Kuya Aiden flicks his flashlight on, and a little army of ants in a colony that we are, we follow our leader to lead us back to our homes. 

The joke of punctuality is now long forgotten among our group of friends, it is replaced by “when’s the wedding?” and “yies” and coos directed to Kuya Aiden and me. He responds with a hearty laugh whenever the joke is brought up, not knowing the concept of love, but dreaming and seeking it as an oblivious teenager. I, too, laugh, and unlike Kuya Aiden, I have found love in the solitary of the night the park gives. 

Eight in the evening is the perfect time for him to pick me up from home; the perfect time to walk down the streets towards the park; the perfect time to look at the night sky; the perfect time to gaze up at Orion; the perfect time to appreciate the hues of orange emitted by the street lights; the perfect time to hold his strong arm — the perfect time to be. 

Stray cats and dogs are already fed at this time, all are sleeping soundly on the benches and stone tables. We pick up the cats on the bench we prefer to sit, place them on our laps and pet them until they go back to their deep slumbers. Under the night sky with trees hovering over us, Sunnyville knows better than to assume Kuya Aiden and I are the lovers in this scenario. Sunnyville knows my love for the park: it saw the way I gaped at the park when I was 4, it knows the reason why I hurry to bike my way to feel the breeze before my friends could when I was 9, and it understands why I bring my best friend there with me every chance I can get at night when I turned 14. 

With the serenity of the dark, the hushed conversations and secrets we say are guarded by the trees who swore not to tell anyone. At the park, we are honest and bold: we unleash our skeletons from our closet, we talk about the things we’re not supposed to talk about, and we confess our infatuations for the people we are not supposed to love. At the park, he cried when he loved a man. The coldness envelopes us with comfort and assurance, the park lets us be us without judgment. At the heart of Sunnyville, my heart first beat for love, and at 15, when my uncle sold our house to move to another place, my heart broke into two: I buried the other half deep into the soil of the park, hoping it will sow another tree and will bear a fruit for Aling Remy to take.  

[misoplays]

Saag Aloo

Sat sri akaal, tombler!

The recipe we're cooking today is saag aloo, a simple dish that comes from the Northen part of India. 'Saag' refers to leafy green vegetable like mustard greens, spinach, collard greens, or basella, which is then cooked into a dish called -- you guessed it, saag. This is the dal as an ingredient and dal as a dish all over again. Meanwhile, 'aloo' is potato. This dish is popular not only in India, but also in Pakistan.

Today's saag aloo custom content recipe is made by robinksimblr (you can download the recipe here). Please be aware that you would also need to download Robin's Food Enabler for the recipe to show up in your game.

Vienna starts by prepping the ingredients for the dish: potato, tomato, onion, and baby spinach.

Toast cumin seeds until it begins to sizzle, then add the onion, potatoes, ginger, garlic and green chilies. Sauté until it becomes aromatic. Stir in the masala, and cook on a medium heat until the potatoes are tender but not overly mushy. Add more water and let it cook for about 8-10minutes. While the potatoes cook, puree the tomatoes and roughly chop the greens.

Add the tomatoes and cook on high heat until the tomato mixture changed color. At this stage, let your potatoes break down and turn mushy. Mix in the baby spinach and let it wilt. For a more authentic taste, add one tablespoon of ghee and squeeze the lemon juice.

Served with wholegrain roti, Vienna loves this dish (look at her totally geeking out!). She keeps making the smelling-a-good-aroma animation while munching the food.

I actually let her son tries the dish too but he just lost one of his baby teeth and his expression just wasn't good. Look at his sulky little face. Look at Vienna excitedly talking about saag aloo, and look at him. My baby.

P.S. Sat sri akaal (ਸਤ ਸ੍ਰੀ ਅਕਾਲ) means "hello" in Punjabi.

P.S.S. Detailed recipe for saag aloo is derived from this article, this article, and this wiki page.

P.S.S.S. (when is too much too much?) There are still a lot of Indian recipes to cook through but I feel like it starts becoming blurry for me. I want to start another series with Southeast Asian cuisine but I'm still indecisive. Haven't opened the game since the latest update because I'm afraid some of my mods are yet to be updated. Let's just see what food I'm feeling like trying next... Dag dag!

[reflections-in-t]

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.

つるむらさき（蔓紫、学名:

Basella alba）がおいしい

きのうまでは存在そのものすら

知らなかったのに一夜明けて大好物に

ひさしぶりに訪れた豚しゃぶランチの

具に入っていてあまりにもおいしくて

ひとまずうどんに入れてみたけど

ヌメリとややクセのある濃い緑の

味の、旬の野菜

つぎはお浸しや和え物

天ぷらにもしてみよう

.

.

#つるむらさき

#蔓紫

#なまえもうつくしい

#Basellaalba

#ヌメリとクセのある

#濃い緑の味の

#緑黄色野菜

#6月から8月が旬

#徳島県応神町産

#LeicaC

#ライカC

#VARIOSUMMICRON

#leicactyp112

.

[pratimamaurya]

पोई साग (Malabar Spinach) सेहत का खजाना, इससे होने वाले 5 फायदे

भारत में विभिन्न प्रकार के साग मौजूद है जो की हमारे स्वस्थ्य के लिए बहुत लाभदायक है उन्ही में से पालक की तरह दिखने वाला  पोई  साग (मालाबार पालक) कई तरह के स्वास्थ्य लाभ से भरपूर है। इसका वैज्ञानिक नाम : (बेसेला अल्बा / BASELLA ALBA) एक सदाबहार लता है। जो प्राय: लाल और हरी दो प्रकार की होती है। इसकी पत्तियाँ मोटी, मांसल तथा हरी होतीं हैं जिनका शाक-सब्जी के रूप में उपयोग किया जाता है। यह प्राकृतिक रूप से उगती है तथा वृक्षों और झाड़ियों का सहारा लेकर ऊपर चढ जाती है। इसके फल मकोय के फलों जैसे दिखते है जो पकने पर गाढ़े जामुनी रंग के हो जाते है। इन पके फलों से गुलाबी आभाा लिये वाल रंग का रस निकलता है।

[theoldpersonliveshere]

The Queens Poisoner

Baehna Celtigar was the youngest child of Basella Velaryon and her husband. When she was 10 she was sent as a ward to King’s Landing to be a companion to Princess Rhaenyra. After Alicent Hightowers marriage to King Viserys, Baehna and Rhaenyra became closer friends and she became a confidant of the princess. A smart girl, she had always had an interest in apothecary and potions and would frequently experiment with new recipes. Eventually she would start to make poisons and use them on her enemies. It was rumoured that she was the one who made the poison that killed Aegon II.

[the-pharmacology-specialist]

Malabar spinach: Thriving In Lusaka; Through Winter Frost Nights To Hot Drought

One Malabar spinach creeper can create an extensive, beautiful drape like a living curtain. Malabar spinach in bloom About Malabar spinach Malabar spinach (Basella alba/ rubra) is a tropical edible perennial vine that thrives in the hot and humid climates of Asia, the Pacific Islands, South America, and West Africa. Basela rubra has red stems, while Besella alba has green stems. While not…

[deshifoodchanneldfc]

মাঠের তাজা পুঁইশাক দিয়ে পুকুরের দেশী ফলি মাছ রান্না Pui Shak Foli Mach R...

[ruathailand]

ผักปลัง

ผักปลัง หรือ ผักปั๋ง ชื่อวิทยาศาสตร์: Basella alba วงศ์ Basellaceae ไม้เลื้อย ลำต้นอวบน้ำ เกลี้ยง กลม ลำต้นมีสีเขียว ใบเดี่ยว อวบน้ำ เป็นมันหนานุ่มมือ ฉีกขาดง่าย ขยี้จะเป็นเมือกเหนียว ขอบใบเรียบ ดอกช่อเชิงลด ออกตรงซอกใบ ดอกย่อยจำนวนมาก ขนาดเล็ก ไม่มีก้านชูดอก แต่ละดอกมี 5 กลีบ ดอกสีขาว มีริ้วประดับ ติดที่โคนของกลีบรวม กลีบรวมรูประฆัง โคนเชื่อมติดกันเป็นท่อ ปลายแยกเป็นห้าแฉกเล็กน้อย เกสรเพศผู้มีจำนวน 5 อัน ติดที่ฐานของกลีบดอก อับเรณูรูปกลม ติดก้านชูเกสรที่ด้านหลัง เกสรเพศเมีย 1 อัน กลม ยอดเกสรเพศเมียแยกเป็น 3 แฉก ผลสด กลมแป้น ฉ่ำน้ำ ผิวเรียบ ปลายผลมีร่องแบ่งเป็นลอน ไม่มีก้านผล ผลอ่อนสีเขียว ผลแก่สีม่วงอมดำ ภายในผลมีน้ำสีม่วงดำ เมล็ดเดียว สินค้าที่เหมาะกับคุณ ลวดหนาม และ รั้วตาข่าย

[tapchidangnho]

Tại sao lại nói “nghèo rớt mồng tơi”? Mồng tơi có phải là loại dây leo để nấu canh hay không?

Vâng, mồng tơi ở đây đúng là một loại dây leo mà người ta dùng để nấu canh, tên khoa học là Basella rubra L., mà Việt-Nam tự-điển của Lê Văn Đức đã giới thiệu và miêu tả như sau: “Cũng gọi Mùng-tơi, Tầm-tơi hay Lạc-quy, sách thuốc gọi Chung-quý hay Yên-chi-thái, loại dây leo quấn, lá dày hình tim mọc xen, trong có nhiều mủ nhớt (cũng nói và viết dớt hoặc rớt – AC), gié hoa không cộng màu đỏ, trái…