10 chicken breast filets
split a pounded
in a food processer add.....
2 chicken livers steamed
1/2 cup of mushrooms
1/4 c wilted arugula(chopped)
1/2 t nutmeg
11/2 c of ground chicken
1/4 cup of heavy cream
1/4 c of crumbed bacon
4 Tablespoons capers
1/2 cup of cream cheese
1/4 cup of fresh parsley
3 crushed garlic cloves
3 tablespoons of grated parmesan
2 tablespoons of conage
1 teaspoon of cayeene peper
1/2 t of fish stock
1 t lemon juice
mix smooth....................................
spread creamed mixture over chicken breast
layer 2 slices of procuttio
roll breast
coat with seasoned flour
(in a blender combine)
1/4 c corn flakes, 1/2 c seasoned bread crumbs)
add to
2 cups of flour
3 T salt
3 T cayenne pepper
paprika
black pepper
onion powder
garlic powder
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
2 cups of panko bread crumbs
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
olive oil for frying
bake for 25 minute on 350 use a thermometer
Serve with
smashed potatoes
and smashed brussel sprouts
and honey-buttered corn
dessert
almond rasberry tart
with pastry cream and vanilla ice cream
with white chocale shavings
Tender chicken breast filets
Lightly dredged in flour
Sauteed then simmered in sauce
lemon and capers
served o'er spaghetti
Romano
cheese
I bathed, one day, in the Dead Sea,
My belly floated like a piece of wood
The water was so salty, it stung the skin
It was necessary to go out and take a good shower,
I have not known Jesus, me, nor Jean Baptiste,
I have not known Simon, nor the small fishermen,
I have not been a saint, nor seen silver nets,
I have let the sun do its work of sun,
I bathed, one day, on the Dead Sea,
Between Syria and Palestine, looking at Israel pure,
My belly floated like a piece of wood
The fame of the place, has enlightened my soul.
Je me suis baigné, un jour, dans la Mer Morte,
Mon ventre flottait comme un bout de bois,
L’eau était si salée, qu’elle piquait la peau
Il fallut en sortant prendre une bonne douche,
Je n’ai pas Connu Jésus, moi, ni Jean Baptiste,
Je n’ai pas connu Simon, ni les petits pêcheurs,
Je n’ai pas vu de saint, ni de filets d’argent,
J’ai laissé le soleil faire son œuvre de soleil,
Je me suis baigné, un jour, sur la Mer Morte,
Entre Syrie et Palestine, regardant Israël la pure,
Mon ventre flottait comme un bout de bois,
La renommée de l’endroit, a éclairé mon âme.
One day while fishing on the bridge,
I hooked a gorgeous speckled trout,
Reeled it in and pulled it out,
Carried home, stored in my fridge.
The trout it was prepared next day,
Two large filets cooked and eaten,
Flavor intense could not be beaten
By any chef, no how, no way.
With spinach green, tomatoes red,
Sautéed perfection in olive oil,
Potatoes piping from the boil,
A perfect meal left us well fed.
A glass of wine, a Pinot Gris,
Washed down the food with complement,
The nose? Fresh flowers, a lovely scent,
Pure vintage, two thousand and three.
Relaxed, forgetting all our sorrow,
After such a sumptuous dish,
I long to catch another fish,
To the bridge again, perhaps tomorrow.
2/3/2019 - Enclosed Rhyme Poetry Contest - Emil Pinet
Reflecting back I see beyond yesterday,
Light glistening brings a new view,
The water's rays rippling about,
I set my bait my soul,
The fish it agitates.
A guilty pleasure, wasting time,
Tomorrow's trouble I catch,
Yesterday's worries swimming under,
My rod and reel are the keel,
Thought enraptures me,
Learning bending recent history.
The safety of this doc disappeared,
I must've gone adrift somewhere near,
A horrid smell not so bad,
The past filets the fish all to well,
Tomorrow I bid, thou shall soon,
Time to fish, out to conclude.
Hook, Line and Sinker
I went fishing by myself today
It is not something I normally do
I like to sit by the water’s edge
Watching the light reflect off the blue
Yes I like the fishing part
The hook, line, sinker, bobber and worm
And just in case I get a bite
I have a grip on the pole that is firm
I can’t think of a better thrill
Then to see the bobber go down
I try to remember all that you said
To make that fish land aground
But whatever has taken the bait
Is not coming in like I thought
It has other ideas in mind
I can tell you that fish really fought
Finally after quite a while
The fish gave up the fight
I was tired clear to the bone
But oh my what a beautiful sight
Twenty pounds at least I thought
I envisioned catfish filets all around
It got it close up to the bank when I heard
The most terrible horrible sound
I lost my hook line and sinker
The sound was the twang of my fishing line
The catfish saw me up close and left
And destroyed my vision of catfish divine
Connie Moore
Free range kitchen; cherished pets all around
In adjoining rooms animistic shrines abound
No clucking, cackling pens we'll hound
But residual carcases we'll gladly impound
A docile harvest plucked from the ground
No pork butts, rump roasts, filets to astound
Only our bleating hearts with consciences tightly wound
Thankfully a Speckled goose cannot be bound
With spindly greens our pristine figures we'll round
With a large caldron of bloody beets our carniverous friends confound
Replace the Carolina turkey with a tofu gam
No Picnic ham only Vegetarian Spam
Cancel the Giblet gravy; with spicy curry our imitations drown
A hearty Lentil soup; bouillon not a gram
The best part of the day
is when we get to play
in the kitchen.
Rarin’ to go
hunger is so
deep we’re itchin’
to turn up the heat
whip up the sweet
tangy sauces
While it comes to a boil
pour on the oil
Salad tosses.
Strip outer layers
from tubers and taters
then steam ‘em
Pound the filets
sizzle and braise
to perfection
Juice freshly squeezed
down on our knees
in thanksgiving
Abundantly fed
we head off to bed…
…
…
for dessert…….
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