Cake Boss Recipes Fondant

I love Harry Potter. Those seven books were part of my childhood so transcendental. Because at some point, I only read harry potter. I read, reread, reread, read, reread, read the stories di ragazzine che inventavano finali aletnativi ad Harry Potter.
Ed io rimango fedele ad Harry Potter, perhcé è l'unica cosa vagamente fantasy che io abbia mai letto in vita mia, twilight a parte. Ma oggi pensavo al pensatoio. Il pensatoio è, un oggetto magico, che secondo la Rowling serve per depositare i ricordi. È un bacile in pietr,a in cui si possono svuotare i ricordi e visionarli con più calma, rivivendoli, anche se senza poter far niente per cambiarli.
Io oggi ho pensato che vorrei tornare ad Istanbul. Esattamente sei mesi fa, prendevo il tè in quei bicchierini adorabili, con un sole magico che si squagliava in un Bosforo d'argento, con la città formicaio tutt'attorno. Esattamente sei mesi fa, i richiami sweet Muezin I woke up in the morning and kept me company all day. Istanbul.
Istanbul is perhaps the biggest city I've ever seen, and is, without doubt, among my favorites. When I think back to the promenade along the Genoese quarter, the Golden Horn, the Bosphorus and all'airan boat, a drink made with yogurt, salt and water, I get the Magone. Why Istanbul is like that. Ti remains in the eyes, ears, skin sula. It is like a brightly colored dress that you sew on him and you can not ever take away. With that raw sun, the heat exhausting, and that the Bosporus, which bisects the city so damn fascinating.
If I had a Pensieve ... Perhaps return Istanbul. Walk again, with the bag full of spices and all the hustle and bustle of people around, maybe go back there to savor the smell of incense and wooden mosque ... But sure, go back again to drink the tea that night, or rather this morning (there were two in the morning) in that hotel for a thousand and one night where customers dad had brought us the dessert by opening at midnight (we arrived at one, because there was a concert in the city orck). I think of that scene and I remember that garden wrapped in an oriental fairytale given him by the Bosphorus and the quiet countryside around. I think the tea glasses in those fragile. And I think those glasses are the essence of Istanbul: fragile almost ready to burst, but tastefully decorated. This is Istanbul, in my opinion.
note: This post was written in a moment of madness ... Baci