Creativity oozed into the conversation
Knowing that an impression would be needed
to curve the conversation from music to
food. We wanted both the music gig and the
catering gig.
The guy loves catfish and scallops so she
Came up with a fused meal that could make
an impact. A blackened catfish and blackened scallop with a coconut shrimp and catfish mousse. The mousse would be baked separye with coconut cream and chili oil with ciatro and lime. Piped and baked and centered between both scallop and fish. Cutting disks from the fillets the scraps to be made into a mousse.
Stacked and served with a salad and vineggerette, . I heard the rehearsals and were impressed, our turn started with the fish dish.Wanting to serve an elk and melon dish for the seafearing. A horseradish and cheese poto side with asparagus and carrots. I called the dish " Ballet El Songo" the rhubarb and raspberry tartes dessert is meant to " clear the way for this tenor to sing".Wish us luck!
Seashells galore
Collected fragment crafts
Necklaces, rings, and lucky charms
Mollusks, scallops, and clams
On the menu
How do I
To breathe?
To see the shooting stars?
To eat the pineapple
On my pizza?
How do I
To write to mom,
To sleep
In Chicago?
To drive a Ferrari?
How do I
To love Montaigne?
How about scallops?
To travel to Sicily?
How do I
Without you, huh?
To think?
To believe in tomorrow?
To make my poem heard
Beyond the mountains, huh?
How do I
Without you
To write my poem?
It can’t have been the scallops,or the rump of Islay lamb,
washed down with white Rioja, and followed by sweet meringue.
It wasn’t the skate au poivre or the salmon canapés,
nor garlic stuffed green olives or the double chocolate glaze.
The ruby red Barolo is surely not to blame
( it was so very very good, we had some more of the same).
The piquant piccalilli that came with the ham terrine
was absolutely to die for. In French, “cuisine sublime”.
The roasted veg in garlic, the rich redcurrant sauce,
all perfectly delicious - and then we passed the port!
Replete we left the table, of coffee to partake,
with a couple of Glenlivets, to sup for old times’ sake.
A perfect evening, then off to bed, to dream of happy days.
‘‘Twas not to be. A sudden waking, with a screeching shout of pain.
The hounds of hell were gnawing at a foot now sore inflamed
and throbbing, throbbing, throbbing.
Relentless, there’s no respite. In purgatory now moaning,
in agony exclaiming, as tormented he writhes about,
“Must be a change in the weather
has caused this devilish gout”.
We live by the sea, just we two, you and me
It offers us all that we need
From our heads to our toes, you make all of our clothes
From sea grass and sometimes sea weed
If our ocean provides it, you will utilise it
I so like the way that you think
Our clothes made from stuff that you found on the beach
But your feet, well they surely do stink
Those earrings you made from a couple of cockles
That pendant you made from a shell
Your bikini top is a strap and two scallops
But your feet, they surely do smell
I keep us well fed from the sea and sea bed
While you keep us suited and booted
You’re my Wonder Woman it has to be said
But your feet, well they really are putrid
We sit on the shore and we like nothing more
Than watching the waders and dippers
But we can’t stay long, there’s a God-awful pong
For your slippers are made out of kippers
[For the uninitiated, kippers are butterflied, smoked herring.]
sandpaper savage today
buttermilk wavelength tomorrow
directions are like buffets in multidirectional earthquakes
yet and still i cherish the day
downward spiral clouded pepper today
scallops dipped in butter sauce tomorrow
arrows are like indecisive enthusiasts continuously banging their heads
yet and still i cherish the day
driving off of an embankment today
sucking nipples carelessly on a pillowtop mattress tomorrow
pathways are like emotional guessing games defiant to antiquated rules
yet and still i cherish the day
going to a new place where flowers bloom
you have a taste for flounder and shrimp scampi
i have a taste for scallops and coconut shrimp
i say rice and cheddar biscuits
you say lobster potatoes and baked beans
we are now at home with everything
i look all over for the cookbook
of course you find it in under five seconds
we laugh at that for a spell
we wash our hands throughly and begin cooking our special little feast
chop chop chop
whisk whisk whisk
shake shake shake
clank clank clank
michael franks is setting the cool, calm mood
open goes the oven
we smile at our impromptu mess of achievement
you then come closer to me and bury your head in my chest and take in the hemp and lavendar soap
i myself take in your fresh scent of calm waters
though we are far from each other's type, we worked to find Love in the center of an unexpected Common Ground
while waiting for the food to finish cooking, we relax, rejoice, and enjoy the comforting company of each other
He sculpts a guitar mouth out of air-hands.
His music is dead and so it haunts,
handles your ears like fresh seas scallops,
spooks your eyes into new visions,
whispers the yet unsaid to you,
so you can copy
it all down
as a poem.
Miss Ocean wears her blue-green dress,
Sprinkled with tiny crystals beads
That sparkle in the morning sun.
She shakes her ruffled petticoats of white
And shows off for the passers-by.
She dances on the jetty rocks
With seaweed hair that streams behind
Before she dips her head again
And swims far out to greater depths
To play with dolphins, whales, and fish
And mermaids in their hidden lairs.
She sweeps the ocean floor and brings
Her treasures to the sandy shore,
A trove of scallops, slipper shells and
Mussels clinging tightly to the kelp.
Empty conch shells, pink and clean,
Pearly stones and worn green glass.
Miss Ocean wears her blue-green dress
Embroidered with tiny crystal beads.
They sparkle in the morning sun.
scavenger hunt
sandy summer beach
welcomes a scavenger hunt ~
hot sand samba dance
lacy edged scallops
rippled shells like wind kissed surf ~
trim tidal ball gowns
fallen stars – starfish
through clear waters see the sky ~
starlets seeking fame
building spiral rooms
nautilus remodel grows ~
under construction
precious sand dollars
bear reminders of the cross ~
hidden doves seek sky
from many seashores
loves sandy, sheltered, beaches ~
cockle shells sea hearts
grazing the seabeds
cerith night hunter in swirls ~
aquarius shell
many alias
periwinkle and magpie ~
whelks create red dye
lazy summer days
tidal froth splashes through surf ~
shells decorate beach
a vulgar morning
unveiling the naked fragrance of sun-burnt dog turds.
It came to me,
played tunes on the cords in my nostrils
until my left eye caught them hiding
by the roots of loblolly pines.
The poor trees, their trunks still wet where about two
bladders were emptied at daybreak.
The turds, seared like good scallops, made me think
of Bangor and Lewiston;
I saw a big woman beat two conches to make a salad.
I am no ordinary man;
twenty heads of cows made me think of a fleet of oilers & tankers.
I saw a Jew in a shtreimel,
I thought of Presque Isle where the sun stayed in my hair
except at night when the earth turned away.
It can't have been the scallops
Or the rump of Islay lamb,
Washed down with white Rioja
Followed by sweet meringue.
It wasn't the skate au poivre
Or smoked salmon canapes
Nor garlic stuffed green olives
Or the double chocolate glaze.
The ruby red barolo
Is surely not to blame
(It was so very very good,
We had some more of the same).
The piquant piccalilli
That came with the ham terrine
Was absolutely to die for,
In French, "Cuisine Sublime".
The roasted veg in garlic,
The rich redcurrant sauce,
All perfectly delicious -
And then we passed the port.
Replete, we left the table
Of coffee to partake,
With a couple of Glenlivets
To sup for old times' sake.
A perfect evening, then off to bed
To dream of happy days.
'Twas not to be, a sudden waking
With a screeching shout of pain,
The hounds of hell were gnawing
At a foot now sore inflamed
And throbbing, throbbing, throbbing,
In purgatory now moaning,
In agony exclaiming,as,
Tormented, he writhes about,
"Must be a change in the weather
Has caused this devilish gout !"
maybe i need a sweet change
driving down an avenue
looking at all new things
digging cherry flavored scenes
chicken kabob feeling
taco salad nature
wish for peppercorn ranch waterfall
i will even take a drizzle
maybe i need a sweet change
driving on an island
looking at candy houses
wanting their twin sisters
clam chowder serenity
grilled scallops soothing my mind
wish for sweet buttered cornbread
how i long the sound of a simple sizzle
onions
garlic
fine white win
butternut
squash
quince and mince
leek
scallops
clotted cream
turkey stuffed
pastry puffed
chives give hives
people gaseous
pissed
nauseous
happy holidays to all
Figs stuffed with proscuitto and mascarpone cheese,
a plate of bacon wrapped scallops and pineapple.
French onion soup is bound to please
or garlic steamed mussels with which to grapple.
Artichoke hearts smothered in sherried cream;
pears with sugar and cinnamon in butter sauteed;
pork tenderloin medallions make a demi-glaced dream
while crisped lyonnaised potatoes are made.
Now with a sip of Pouilly-Fuisse'
tastes flush the palate like a gourmet concert.
A toast to good friends on this wonderful day
as ice wine chills to serve with dessert.
A plate of old fashioned Bananas Foster-
perhaps in the morning, eggs benedict with lobster!
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