3 Tablespoons of crown royal
1/2 t of nutmeg
5 Tablespoons of parmesan (grated)
2 Tablespoon of Tarragon
2 T of chive
1 teaspoon of cayenne
salt to taste ( about 1 teaspoon)
1 teaspoon of lemon juice
2 T of parsley
4 Tablespoons of chopped bacon cooked
2 T of ground cooked chicken livers
2 Tablespoons of crushed garlic
2 T of troffel oil
Heavy Cream
3 egg whites
4 Pounds of ground chicken
puree chicken to smooth paste
add cream until smooth
add cheese,garlic,chives,parsley,
and tarragon and bacon
add oil and wine
mix smooth with and add egg whites
mix until pale and smooth
using a whisk fluff up 4 egg whites
into peaks.
incorporate egg whites into chicken mixture and set aside
in a greased muffin pan line each port with puff pastry
add caramelized onions
caramelized mushrooms
and grated parmesan cheese
and prosciutto
top with chicken mixture
bake for 30 minutes or until done
serve with a hollandaise and garnish.
Serve with roasted garlic aparsgus.
Horton smelled a Who, what about Hortense
Did she have that special female 'sixth sense'
It seems she was lacking
But not 'cos of hacking
'Hortense! Stop burning that freaking incense!'
Petite sweet deception-free promises
Blurred the air
Trusting hope
Deep deliberate ingestion of my own fantasy
The air was cool and refreshing
But exhaling nothing but warm beer and salsa
I accepted the dare to believe
That the next glimpse would deepen the hope
That I had become more worthy of the beauty
That my eyes provided
That she was both the rose and the fragrance
But exhaling nothing but warm beer and salsa
I was returned to where I started from
she smelled of unstable
an upgrade from offline
like a magnet folded in two
she had me sputtering over gutters
whenever she was looking for action
there was no getting bored
i was but one of a billions souls
who's timing was all wrong
it's a wonder i ever belonged
i was readily decomposed
changed into another compound
waffling like an improper synonym
and then she asked me for money
something about poweraving
i heard gaslight rhythms
and my PTSD set in
i put her in a cage
she never asked again
The 1965 Chevy Impala with aqua dice
parked herself downhill against all advice
From Frankie, Old Tom, Red Angus and Swanee Bryce
Her wheels slipped on gravel that felt like hardened rice
Her green interior smelled like Old Spice
Her engine was infiltrated by squeaky hungry mice
Some main wires under her hood now have a splice
Her ignition key did not work once or twice
We could not sell her at any price
But we loved the smell of nineteen sixties Old Spice
For it reminds me of my Uncle Pete, dad of cousin Bryce
So I am keeping her forever, which feels kind of nice.
What distract me from my oblagations are
not of trust but of worldly want and desire.
Than what is spoken as Godlydistracts those
of there obligation and duty to God.
My love of my wife has been
made sacred by marriage, and those who wish
to distract me from such obligastion
are forieng and strange
and are then wicked and vain!
This spoke Saffra to the woman
who wished him to
make music for the people
and not make music which honored God!
It smelled nice today,
Like berries and honey and tree,
A soft perfume,
Through the moist dessert air.
It smelled nice today,
As I walked alone and curious,
Perhaps there are more things to surprise me.
* *
Certainly didn't realize my spell smelled
Hope it was pleasant and didn't smell like hell
Deodorant's a must
It helps I trust
Or maybe find another way to recapture my spell
The lips that smelled of spring
are missed by me who did her wrong;
even days of breeze and sunshine
delight the senses and mind
with the passing of a cloud,
but can they make me feel fine?
Before passion ran into the blood,
I conquered many, I was a king;
hearts fell for me like flowers from trees,
gorgeous girls flocked to me like hungry bees...
there was no sense of guilt in me ever,
I didn't mind having fun in any kind of weather.
The lips that smelled of spring are gone suddenly,
the eyes that charmed me with smile have found another,
I won't be holding hands in lovely fields of heather;
are there more lips drunken with sensuality?
Did I ever think once, I'd have been forever lonely:
living an empty life that offers sadness, not joy!
I smelled Autumn today, on the leaves that swiftly blew away.
On this partly-cloudy sunny day.
On this blooming wild flower day.
On the rain-moist dirt roads, on cloud-reflecting puddles.
On the ripening crop fields and the plump summer fed deer.
On the snakes coiled and quiet on the sun-warmed road.
On the storms rolling in.
On this chill feeling wind.
On the shushing trees full of leaf-touched winds, carrying the honking sound of flying geese and the throaty wild turkey clucks.
On the purple alfalfa.
On the sun, muted yellow.
On the whitetail buck with his snorts and his bellow.
On the smells of sweet berries, wild apples and warm horses.
On the air whirling and blowing,
from dark tree-lined footpaths,
through golden sun-warmed wild grasses,
along moist and wooded river banks
and dancing along forest deer-trail passes.
On the fragrant breeze that gently tousles my hair.
I smell Autumn everywhere.
It makes me smile.