Sorry for the final photo. No, I do not live in the cellar, just fotorgafii on the ladle ))). Well, the recipe is not opening, for sure. I think many of the so baked. The search is not found. So. On a bed of birch, Substituting the sun the flank, Lies, gleaming white, Our zucchini. Hark! The husband with his favourite machete, Nettle trampling the thickets, Goes on kabachkov soul. Satrap. Rejecting completely regret About the sad life of zucchini, Macetas he chops down With the barrel. And here on the kitchen sofa (Not for someone not a shock) Is much the third squash of the Bag. For a dinner party or just For a romantic two of us Cooking a casserole. Lasagna Name.