If you’ve been following the Nymph this week, you’ve now learned at least two things about the writer: one, that there is an abundance of musical talent in my family that has eluded me with a wide swath, and two, that I make a good pesto torte, which we agree is more aptly called a cheese loaf. If you’ve read this week, you also know I have a fondness for all things Spanish.
To further illustrate these tidbits—and because you know I like occasionally to share the clever writing of others in this place—I must share something that brings these morsels to life.
Like my father, his brother has a gift for parody. My uncle wrote me one when I got married and another for my 40th birthday. After we spent time at his place over the weekend, enjoying food and music, he sent over another—in honor of my pesto torte.
Imagine a tune similar to “Jalousie.” (Among the popular lyrics set to this instrumental tango are: “Jealousy, night and day you torture me! I sometimes wonder, if this spell that I’m under can be only a melody, for I know no one but me has won your heart but, when the music starts, my peace departs, from the moment they play that langourous strain, and we surrender to all its charms one again. This jealousy that tortures me is ecstasy, mystery, pain!”)
If you don’t remember it, the melody goes something like this. Join me in listening, while reading along the lyrics of “Monica’s Spanish Tango.”
“Pesto torte?” I snorted
“A pesto torte?”
They had come for a visit;
I had asked her “what is it?”
It was so beautiful, I must report
I adored her and her “pesto torte”
The only trouble was
It seemed too pretty to eat
Still, I took a slice and shouted
“Hold the fort!”
It didn’t taste like a “pesto torte”
I was thrilled with a rapture
That no title could capture
And I’m lost in the language of España
My tongue trips and slips
Like the heel on the peel of a banaña
It’s not a pesto torte
I’m a linguistic oaf
And I love love love