Picadillo
Picadillo (Spanish pronunciation: [pikaˈðiʎo], "mince") is a traditional dish in Spain and many Latin American countries and the Philippines (where it is known as giniling, and also Arroz a la Cubana) that is similar to hash. It is made with ground beef, tomatoes (tomato sauce may be used as a substitute), and other ingredients that vary by region. It is often served with rice or used as a filling in dishes such as tacos, savoury pastries or croquettes. The name comes from the Spanish word "picar," which means "to mince" or "to chop".
Costa Rica
Costa Rican versions always include the name of the vegetable which represents the main ingredient to the dish (potato picadillo, ayote picadillo, etc.) and which is chopped and cooked with bell peppers, onions, stock, herbs and spices. It can include some type of protein but that is not essential. It is often served with tortillas or rice.
Cuba
Cuban versions include peppers, onions, garlic, oregano, cumin, tomato sauce, stock, olives and on occasions raisins, potatoes, and capers, and is usually sauteed in olive oil and white wine, depending on the region. Cuban picadillo is served with black turtle beans and rice.
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Summer In Dublin
by: BagatelleTake me away from this city,
And leave me to where I can be on my own.
I wanted to see you and now that I have
I just wanna be left alone.
I'll always remember your kind words,
And I'll still remember your name,
But I've seen you changing and turning,
And I know that things just won't be the same.
Ref.
I remember that summer in Dublin,
And the Liffey as it stank like hell,
And young people walking down Grafton Street,
Everyone looking so well.
I was singing a song I heard somewhere,
Called "Rock'n'Roll Never Forget",
When my humming was smothered by the 46A,
And the scream of a low flying jet.
So, I jumped on a bus to Dun Laoghaire,
Stopping off to pick up my guitar,
When a drunk on a bus told me how to get rich,
I was glad we weren't going too far.
So, I'm leaving on Wednesday morning,
Trying to find a place where I can hear,
The wind and the birds and the sea and rocks,
And where open roads are always out there.
And if sometimes I tire of the quiet,
And I wanna get back up that hill,
I just get on the road and I stick out my thumb,
‘Cause I know for sure you'll be there still.
Ref.
[As above]
I remember that summer in Dublin.