12 pork chops
thick about one inch
make a flour mix
2 tablespoons of salt
ground ginger 2Tablespoons
2 Cayeene pepper
2 T of Onion powder
1 T garlic powder
1 T Paprika
5 T breadcrumbs
1/2 c of parmesan cheese
1 cup of crushed corn flakes
2 C of flour
3 eggs 1 cup of milk egg wash
dip and fry in Olive oil
until golden brown (not done)
transfer to a baking pan
in a skillet
sautee
11/2 cup of onions diced
4 T crushed garlic
3 cups of sliced mushrooms
1 grated apple
3 tablespoons of fennel bulb grated
2 cups of red bell pepper
1 tablespoon of pepper flakes
saute until onions are translucent
add 1/4 cup of lemon juice
1/2 cups of vermouth
2 T brown sugar
4 tablespoons of butter
1/2 c of heavy cream
1 c of veggie stock
1/2 cup of chopped parsley
1 teaspoon of liquid smoke
make a loose sauce and pour over pork chops
bake 350 degrees for about 45-50 minutes
or until done.
Categories:
crampon, music,
Form: Bio
Blue bird,pink bird,orange bird,black bird. Wow. A beak festival. No headdresses required. Just peck peck peck. Now that is remarkable particularly when in such perfected rhythm. Thrusting throwing thieving taking telling. And a bowl of grain giggling to a floor. "I contain" said the bowl. "Whilst you are simply walked on, brushed and hoovered". Then a spotty bird flew in and landed on the doormat singing. To which there was a resulting silence from the colourful feathers. But to arrange is not to dominate. Or dedicate. Nor is it to designate. Meeting movingly mingling minds. The birds stood facing. Then a racoon entered the building with a large multi track cd player. To this there was response. Much swooping. Much flapping. And all formations were displayed. Such wondrous colour. Charms. Cape not a crampon then. Bowl span. Guidelines. *** ornithological z
Categories:
crampon, beach, beautiful,
Form: I do not know?
I can feel the frigid air bite my lungs
as my shallow breaths try in vain to
soothe and stop the burning pain.
Each struggling footfall could be my last,
yet the mountain taunts me to keep onward.
The snow has consumed my crampon booted feet
with numbness as trembling loins beg my brain for rest.
Heartbeats match the pounding in my head.
I just can’t stop now when so near the summit.
Blinding snow begins to fall as I leave my two
closest friends behind on the promontory.
They plead with me to turn back with them.
All sensibilities have vanished into the whiteness.
“As I feel the snow fly, I will conquer or die”.
Let these words be my epitaph I call to them,
should the mountain claim my sorry soul.
August 10, 2014
For Charlotte Puddifoot's
Dark Poetry Contest
Categories:
crampon, dark, life, mountains, snow,
Form: Free verse