Alternatively, to incorporate eggs by hand: Let dough cool in saucepan, stirring frequently, until it registers 145°F on an instant-read thermometer. Add eggs 1 at a time, stirring well between additions until each egg is fully incorporated before adding the next, until a smooth, shiny paste forms.
Use choux right away, or hold at room temperature for up to 2 hours before using; how you use the choux will depend on the application, though it’s important to prevent a skin from forming, either by transferring the choux right away to a pastry or zipper-lock bag and keeping it sealed, or pressing plastic wrap directly against the choux’s surface.
load the pastry bag, pipe choux leaving enough room for them to double in size
Choux pastries typically bake for 25-35 minutes at 400°F (200°C). Baking time can vary slightly depending on the size of the choux and the oven. It's important not to open the oven door while baking, as this can cause the choux to deflate.
Dancing in Boulogne-Sur-Mer
I was dancing in Boulogne-Sur-Mer
when a young woman stopped me,
and said, “Madame, you are superbe.”
She told me twice, Madame you are superbe
But I didn’t feel superb.
Hadn’t for a long time, if ever at all.
How is superb supposed to feel
when you're dancing in Boulogne-Sur-Mer?
Later I visited my doctor to
ask if there was anything she could give for
treatment of the human condition; explain the
woman had told me I was superbe.
The doctor laughed, and said
there was nothing for it I could take,
apart from anti-depressants,
if you're depressed, are you, not superb?
She asked if I needed to take a break. Shall I sign you off, she said?
Maybe some time spent, alone in bed?
No, I said. She suggested I chose values,
acceptance, rebellion, indifference or hope.
I went away, bemused
realising there is no choice
to be made, you need all values
in your armour to face despair
when you’re dancing in Boulogne Sur mer.
to depict
what we can
see
within
which is
never revealed
aloud
meta
invisible
landscapes of the
mind
of
left field
the banal
absurd
yet
deadpan
& real
clashing
symbols
appear
in
the eye
outside
the box
imagery
is
all
riddles
in
shadows
make
of it
wat
u
wil
Ode to them
those that love
Ode to those
who stands opposed
Until then
one should wonder
chance what we
have proposed
so that we
might sing before those
sort each word
from it's complication
change the tunes
to compliment those
some might seek
to take us asunder
some might seek to
stand and applaud
some may stand
to mend there
broken hearts
some may come to
turn up there nose
word the storied blunders
that perfection might reveal
Her assignment was to
create a balsamic? Olive oil glaze
for green onions , roasted yellow pepper, cucumber
to accompany a Sour crème and Cheddar Duchess potato
and a Medium Rare Prime Rib
with a tangy creamy herb gravy.
and a hazelnut Tart
with Cream Pastry and Mango
with a Sweet White Muscat de Frontignan wine
springform Pans
Flute Glasses
Pastry bags
whisks
heavy cream
Who sweetens these nights
might those labor that
there perfections
will make an
evening that much more specail..
" The Fuge Compromist"
"Wet the Palette "
Monet's brush strokes blend to show Argenteuil and Seine.
Monet, Renoir prized evoking faded light and scene
Told to Lilla Cabot, US artist "painting means slight around you,"
Frame a blue sib, a rose oblong, a fair line, and paint it as you view.
http://www.nga.gov/content/ngaweb/Collection/art-object-pag…
Written: February 03, 2022
symbolic
surreal
introspections
inspirations
in the complex
radiant
poetic pastel
peinture contemplative
juxtapositions
deep imaginings
as tonal treats
in the eye
unique
dreamlike
symbolistique
I would like to win
Is it a mortal sin
To want to wear a winners grin?
11
So mom said
You call that
Head normal
Sur-reality
Surrounds
In slight
Sounds foot
Crushes leaf
And my feet I leave
(Excerpt from the ebook "Jail Poetry Vol. 1" Available !!NOW!! @ Amazon.com)
(100 poems $4.99)
The sparkling melody mirrors the waves
Of the peaceful Aegean Sea.
With notes floating to my rousing mind,
Sailing boats is all I see.
With winds flowing, boats sail forward
Towards cliffs of jagged rock,
From the town on the bluff I watch
Boats drift towards the dock.
That's the scene I always see
Hearing Ravel’s boat on the sea.
The memory is recalled so simply,
My summer in Santorini.
On the eyes, no one could truly see;
Through your bundle of joy and beauty.
By a million gazes none could know,
How your soul, feather likened floats.
Lo, deep in my mind, lost in my soul,
There recently came along a part,
Floating carelessly - but till it drew,
near enough. Rare one; that was you!
Mystery resolving at every meet,
Flimsy or purposefully.
I'm almost completely satisfied,
'Almost', since I'd daily say goodbye.
On the eyes, no one could truly know,
You hid your beauty in your soul.
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Big Sur.
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/2015
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~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~ Bixby Creek Bridge
"Somewhere
between Heaven
and
Earth."
COLLEVILLE SUR MER
In uneasy rest
He faces west.
They all face west to America -
So far away from this beach,
So very far out of reach.
He no longer feels the chinook
Nor the glance of mother’s knowing eye
Over the range on his Utah farm.
He is the son and brother
Of Omaha, Nebraska, and the Sandhills
Beckon him home.
Silence now
The tolling of the trolley
Car bell over the Bay.
Hear only the swish of beach sand.
He dreams endlessly
In the cold Channel breeze,
From the ocean
Between him and home.
......................................................
NOTES
Colleville sur Mer is where the American cemetery is located in France. All names on the gravestones face west.
Omaha and Utah are the names of invasion beaches on the Channel coast
of France where thousands of US soldiers died in 1944.
A Girl on a Bridge
There she was, staring into the night
Paris lights shimmering in a soft glow
Her mind lost, twirling in tears
Confusion wrapping her in a warmth of fear
She dreams of a knife threw her chest
To stab away the darkness of misery
She smiles with hope, so close
The river flows beneath
Blackness so inviting
The currents of death to take her away
It takes but a leap, of lost hopes and dreams
The depths of the river to take your breath away
And your last wishes become filled with envy
For those who still float above you
Many lovers cross the seine
Hand in hand in the night
Oblivious that all must end
Romantic pains, meet their end
If you are a girl on a bridge
She kissed the river
She caressed the shivering night
She clung to her emptiness
She danced her last fading dance
And wedded death, her last embrace
knee-deep in flowing verdant grass,
near the creek beside
the hill,
carabao slowly feeds on freedom,
leisurely roams
at will.
on its massive back, white egret,
so delicately
slow-dances,
the feathers of its slender neck
the morning breeze
romances!
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