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Chatti pathiri

Chatti pathiri is a layered pastry made in the North Malabar and Malabar region, of Kerala, India. It is made in both sweet and savoury variations. Forums
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Malabar madhuram (chatti pathiri)
Excelling in henna design, pathiri making
How to make… Chatti Masiyal
How to make...Chatti adai
[30-11] My grandma was of Marsi origin, they were smaller; the closet allies of the Cherusci, besides the Chatti. The Marsi…
Chatti pathiri
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Chatti pathiri is a layered pastry made in the North Malabar and Malabar region, of Kerala, India. It is made in both sweet and savoury variations.
* [The Chatti are] distinguished by great physical hardiness, tautness of limb, savagery of expression, and unusual mental vigor....
* Roll’s facebook experience (sorry it’s mostly in Finnish). [0:04:10] Roll: Skype is the place to be[0:04:23] Roll: Facebook on ihan kamala[0:04:32] Roll: Halusin vain katella valokuvia ja heti ihmiset tuli ahdistelemaan[0:04:37] Roll: luuserit[0:04:42] Roll: Oon niitten kaikkien yläpuolella[0:04:45] Roll: Don’t talk to me Oikeesti miksi facebook näyttää muille että oon onlinessa vaikka mun chatti ois offilla. Mitä paskaa tämä on.
* “…his resentment being heightened by personal motives, as Arminius had carried off his daughter who was betrothed to another.” (The Annals, Tacitus, 1.55) I hated and loved him the first moment I saw him. Erminatz - Arminius - the great prince of our tribe, returned to us a Roman. I hated him from those ridiculous caligae - a Roman would come to the muddy, wild Harzland in open boots - to the red crest of his shining helmet. Only Roman arrogance could drive a man to make himself such a target for archers, and all of their officers wore it. I hated the way he strutted about the village, our own German people now his soldiers, cowed to him by his Roman-granted authority. Our men scuttled and bowed before him, desperate to curry his favor. Even my father humiliated himself in his effort to negotiate new taxes with his former prince. The breakdown of those talks was a slight my father would never let go. And yet, he was undeniably, unforgivably Cherusci. The Romans couldn’t stunt his growth or the way he towered over everyone but the German auxiliaries under his command, who stood only slightly shorter. They couldn’t hide his crystalline blue eyes, eyes unnaturally bright to their own people. They couldn’t diminish the way he shown gold from his skin to his hair, like Donar himself come to stand among little lumps of self-important coal. When he saw me watching him, his face shifted. The garish mask of forced charisma slipped into something softer, more real. I had watched him make his rounds with the patriarchs, collecting Rome’s taxes, behind the well-groomed veneer of a cocky Roman son. The moment he saw me, though, he was startled and unguarded. I did not know why I should shake him so, but seeing him as he was, I couldn’t look away. Gooseflesh rippled across my arms and my stomach did a flip. Surely it was the Norns warning me of my fate, for it was not as if I’d never seen a handsome man before. I must have blushed because even at a distance, I saw the subtle squint and the little tug of amusement - or was it pleasure? - at just one corner of his mouth. I came back to myself, turned on my heel and marched away with as much Cherusci dignity as I could muster after embarrassing myself in front of the Roman’s prized attack dog. Falling in love with him was easy. First, my father forbid me to see him. “You are already betrothed,” he hissed, “and even if you weren’t, I would never allow that two-faced princeling to get one past me.” Then he made me laugh.     He approached me within days of my father’s strict admonition, and like a dutiful daughter, I made zero efforts to avoid the man, just as he seemed a font of excuses to run into me. Our exchanges were terse and brief. He parried every jab at his Romanization without ever bristling, let me leave with my head high, and returned as reliably as the sunrise each week for his rounds. “Is that him?” Erminatz took a loud bite of an apple and pointed with the fruit toward Reimar, my betrothed. He came to visit my father and brother every third turn of the moon now from his own Chatti lands. I paused my milking long enough to look from Erminatz to Reimar and back again. Erminatz had nearly two hands height on Reimar, and a decade of muscle honed from hard Roman training, but Reimar had an impressive beard, even moreso than his chieftain father. Reimar would make me a queen. “Yes.” I turned back to my work. The goat mewled and gave me a gentle head butt against my shoulder. Erminatz took another bite, crunching away. “Really? He doesn’t look like much.” He shifted to lean indolently against the barn gate. Reimar kept shooting me a worried look from across the village, but he was busy helping my brother with the fruit harvest. “Reimar, son of Reginald, chief of the Chatti. He is a coward. He would be a Roman bitch if not for his father.” I was done with the goat, which gave me an opportunity to stand and scoff at this ridiculous creature. Before ushering the animal away to take the next one, I leveled a hard gaze up and down Ermanitz’s long form and patted the Roman eagle on his molded leather breast plate. “Fair enough.” He raised his hands in surrender and tossed the apple core into the goat pen. “He is a coward, though.” I bit my tongue but couldn’t stop the eye roll. I tried to focus on my work, but his mere presence incensed me. “Why? Why is he a coward?” I bit out the words, and he offered me an infuriating smirk. “Watch this.” He stood straight and crossed his thick arms across his chest. His plumed helmet sat next to him on the fence, blowing gently in the spring breeze, belying the authority that came with it. The easy, open expression he wore only with me vanished into a hard wall broken only by a pair of ice blue eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. My blood ran cold, suddenly afraid for Reimar. Such an expression could only mean something terrible. I stood so quickly I nearly knocked over the milk bucket and sent the goat jumping away. My chest began to rise and fall quickly. How could I intervene? Erminatz was the captain of the Cherusci auxiliary. Reimar’s rank with the Chatti meant nothing here. When Reimar turned his attention back to us and caught the receiving end of that look, he jerked with a start. He took a step back, then another, then his foot caught on a stone and he fell clean on his rump. Erminatz snorted and turned his grinning, beaming face at me. I had to clap a hand over my mouth to quell my own laughter. I turned away quickly so Reimar could not see my amusement at his expense. Erminatz had drifted so close to me, I nearly collided with him. I did not want to step away from him, in fact, I didn’t even think of it. I wonder now what I must have looked like in his eyes, shining with unconstrained laughter. He looked so happy that day, so pleased with himself for finally eliciting something other than an angry dismissal from me. For a moment, I could picture the young boy he must have been before he was packed off as a Roman hostage. “You’re terrible!” I smacked his chest again, but it was all a poor farce as I was still giggling. He caught my hand in his and held it where it landed. The day felt markedly warmer just then. “Naw, you like me. I know the truth now.” He was right, and I could not hate him for it. When I discovered his plot, I knew him to be a true Cherusci, and I knew I loved him then. “How long have you known?” he asked me. His face was a knot of worry. His eyes shifted around us, scanning, searching for interlopers. There were none. There never were at this little bend in the river. We had been meeting here every time he reappeared in my town. “My father rants about you every chance he gets.” He was chagrined but not surprised. After a long silence, he pulled a necklace over his head and held the icon in his hand, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “So, you know what’s coming, then?” I nodded. The auxiliary encampments had been cleaning and packing, ready to leave with the legions within the month to their winter barracks. “So you know why I can’t marry you yet. I want you to have this.” He held out the necklace to me. I took the necklace. It was Donar’s hammer. I felt my mouth tick up in a smile. No other god would suit Erminatz. I slipped the chain on, tugging my heavy golden braid free. “You can’t marry me at all. I am marrying Reimar tomorrow.” It pained me to speak the words aloud, but I tried to keep my voice and manner light. This wedding brought the leaders from all the Cherusci villages, the Chatti, and most of our tribal neighbors. My father took it as an additional insult that Erminatz was capitalizing on the occasion to finalize his battle strategy. “Scheiß auf ihn.” Erminatz spit on the ground on his other side, away from me. “I can take you to my father’s longhouse today and post guards. No one would dare-” “No.” I shook my head. I wanted to hold him and kiss him. We had avoided this conversation for nearly a year now, each of us dancing around it, offering each other non-answers for these questions. “It’s too late to repair your relationship with my father, but you cannot lose the Chatti.” “I don’t give a shit about the Chatti!” his voice rose and he pushed to his feet in his agitation. He paced back and forth on the wet, sandy riverbank before me. “They haven’t even committed to fight unless I’m already winning. I’ve already planned to win without them. And since when are you a military tactician? You don’t even know-” He was still talking when I stood and took his hands in mine, and he abruptly stopped. Fear, anger, hurt, and confusion warred on his face. “I don’t need to be a Roman officer to know that you need every warrior you can find, and I know the Chatti bring nearly 5,000 men. It would be foolish to make enemies of them.” His expression softened. He reached forward to take a curly lock of my hair between his fingers. “You would marry Reimar just to help me win a single battle?” “Yes,” I responded. There was no question there for me. As I learned more about his plans, it quickly became clear to me what I’d have to do. It gave me a sense of peace to know that although I may never love Reimar, I was doing the right thing for my people. For Erminatz. He pulled me into his arms and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I don’t deserve you, Thusnelda.” We stayed like this for a long time. I memorized the way his hand rubbed up and down my back, the way he smelled of soap and saddle oil, the way his stubbled chin felt against my temple. “When we break camp,” he pulled away just far enough to look me in the eye, “please go to my mother. She knows what to do. She’ll keep you safe.” I hummed my consent, but it wasn’t enough. He tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him. I knew I would never forget those eyes. “Promise me, Thusnelda. If I can’t convince you to marry me, can I at least convince you to stay hidden until I win?” This made me smile. “My Erminatz, so audacious he believes he can destroy three legions, but will not simply steal his bride.” “Only a scoundrel steals his bride. And I’d face ten legions easier than your wrath.” That evening I sat at my father’s table, a safe distance from my intended, drinking ale far too quickly and praying to the thunder god to send me a scoundrel. Nobly sacrificing my life to keep Ermintaz’s plans from collapsing was less appealing than I thought it would be. The course of my life ran before my eyes. How was I supposed to live with this man as his wife? He couldn’t look me in the eye, but had no problem following the movement of the more buxom thralls. I grew up watching my father cow and grovel before everyone who could improve his standing with the Cherusci, and Reimer would be no better. He and his coward father wouldn’t even help Erminatz until Erminatz no longer needed their help. They were weak men and I could not fathom how I was supposed to live my life on my knees beside them. “Where are you going?” My brother blinked up at me after I pushed away from the table. Segestes fell silent, studying me through skeptical eyes. “I just need air. I’m fine.” I didn’t have to look at my father to know he didn’t believe me, but he wouldn’t make a scene in front of so many guests. I pushed and and danced my way through the crowd until the cool autumn air hit me outside. I rubbed my hands up and down my bare arms. Winter would be upon us soon. It was strangely silent outside; everyone was back in the longhouse. The wind whispered through the woods that formed the western border of my little town. An owl sang its eerie song somewhere in the distance. A mad impulse overtook me: I could run to the auxiliary encampment in just a few hours. By dawn, I could be Erminatz’s wife instead of Reimar’s. Everyone was deep into their cups already, they wouldn’t notice my absence until I was well ahead of them. I could run straight through the woods and they would have to go around by horse. There was no time to get any of my things, but what would a few old dresses and trinkets matter when I was finally free? I started walking right down the main road in town. I didn’t look back at the longhouse to see if I was being followed. If I looked back, I might doubt myself and then I’d never leave. Hoof beats thumped ahead of me on the dirt-packed road, but I could see neither horse nor rider in the shadows. I knew it was him before the torchlight revealed anything other than a tall, broad silhouette. Even without his armor he cut an impressive figure. My feet picked up the pace and I was running to him before he even dismounted. He caught me up in his arms, raining kisses on my cheeks, my temples, my hair, and finally my lips. He spun me around in a happy twirl, then took my hand to lead me back to his horse. We stopped next to the animal. Erminatz grinned down at me, then leaned in for a lingering, slow kiss. I would never love anyone the way I loved him. Marrying Reimar would have been an agonizing death. “You’ll marry me?” He broke off the kiss long enough to breathe the words into me. “Tonight?” I answered him by pressing my lips against his again. “Yes. Yes, make me your wife.” He lifted me onto the saddle so quickly and easily I could only squeak in surprise. He swung up behind me, took the reins in one hand and my waist in the other. Before urging the horse into action, he turned my chin to look at him. “Only a scoundrel steals his bride.” His eyes shone bright, whether from the excitement of what we were doing, his own private amusement at having won something over Segestes and the Chatti, or the thrill of finally claiming me, I couldn’t say. Maybe it was all of those things at once. It was for me. “Then we are a matched set,” I said. “Since I ran to you willingly, I am a scoundrel, too.” He thew his head back for a loud guffaw. Shouts rose up from the longhouse. Anyone else might have been frightened by the prospect of all those warriors running him to ground, but Erminatz laughed and squeezed his calves against the horse, spurring her into action. We rode until the sun began its crest over the horizon, and I never once looked back. There was only Erminatz in my future, and even now, I would have it no other way. My father told anyone who would listen that Arminius took me by force, that I was dragged screaming from my family and rightful husband, but that’s simply not true. You cannot steal that which is given freely.
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Chatti pathiri
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Chatti is old German for the region of Hesse at the birth of Christ, first cited in Tacitus. Katten es en alemán antiguo el nombre de Hesse y del nacimiento de Cristo, mencionado por Tácito.