Status Update

Nothing special, we’re up for at least 24 hours. Closing up shop will happen by the end of next week in the latest.

Thx,

“Thomas Paine” Frog

 

Tip Jar (Investments)

I’m a little off when it comes to timing, but life calls all hours of the day leaving the nuances and crumbs to be picked up at the end of the hour.

A man’s voice asked me if I remembered an occasion over ten years old in my life. I didn’t throw up or pitch a fit. He knew that I was switching gears into survival mode and did not hesitate to mention a name. I reeled, but recovered. Apparently a large amount of marijuana is being moved around the town if not to forget the county.

So, I am feeling poverty’s call again and being welcomed in. “Hi (insert name here)! I just wanted to tell you welcome to poverty. I’m poor too. I have a couple of million in my house but I am poor. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Thus the lead and trap of a drug dealer. If I said I need help or welcomed his company, it would cost me money and probably blood.

Lastly was from a friend on the wind. Something is coming federally that may push people into isolation and self-defense. Friend says because of it, if I you are not dirty now, you will be. The crux, he warned, will be in loosing guardians. They will not be able to look after charges anymore.

So, I am busy getting back to planning and staying calm. This is more business I have had to handle in years. Organization is the first line of defense today.

W.H. Tespid ERT.

Cooking

Summer Salad

Use whatever you have on hand and chop it into bite sized pieces. Here’s what I used today for a hand blended summer salad:

Chop two large chicken tenders into two inch sections set aside. Slice two boiled eggs into quarter sections, set aside. Slice half an avocado into eight sections, set aside. Chop 1/3 of a Iceburg lettuce head. Slice into thin strips and cut into 2-3 inch sections. Rinse well and place in a large bowl. Rinse 8-10 large leaves of mint in cold water. Slice into strips. Cut in the opposite direction to make boxy shapes. Toss in the bowl with the lettuce. Add three tablespoons of chopped almonds, 1/4 of a cucumber sliced thin, 1/2 a medium onion sliced into strips, 10-15 grape tomatoes. Squeeze the juice of half a lemon over the blend and toss. Place 2 cup of salad in a large wide bowl. Place the avocado in a fan shape at the bottom. Arrange the chicken in a band across the middle of the bowl. Across the top arrange the chicken in a band. Use Hidden Valley Ranch Cilantro Lime for the dressing.

Sweet tea and ice water on the side.

Enjoy,

W.H. Tespid ERT

Note: 1) Use two or three different greens to make the taste pop. Having a clean palette helps for the days you want something light. On that occasion dress the salad with any citrus juice and season with salt and pepper. If you want more body, lightly sprinkle with olive oil and apple cider vinegar, then toss before serving.

2) My favorite trick when making salad is to add in liberally a fresh herb. I use those more suited to culinary arts versus medicinal. Try rosemary, thyme, cilantro, etcetera. I am even apt on occasion to use finely chopped garlic. The point is to learn to balance subtle and heavy flavors instead of dowsing everything in salad dressings. Get to know what food tastes like from as close to the source as possible.

3) Bread a butter sit well with the fare, so feel free to make fry bread or grab a slic eof Mrs. Baird’s best.

4) It is to hot outside to force our digestive systems to do more, so stick to simple fare until the night air is not so claustrophobic.

Writing

>16<

Blood debts in Familial Guise

From my first few steps across the kitchen floor, the three of us had no separation.  Even through the years that followed, others could not help but group our likenesses.  I am older now; one of us passed on through tears, and her daughter is living longer than she did. I am the last, it seems, until I bear child and God only knows when that time will be.

I remember when young, all the banter of our similarities in countenance and dress. The comparison was so overwhelming that I lost my balance and identity those early years.  As I fell down, I grieved for not having my own distinctions and joys to celebrate myself.  What I remember of the end of my independent will is happiness wandering about Grandad’s house while playing the social butterfly to family friends. After forgetting my obligations to act “the little host”, I chose to play hide and seek alone in the back hallway. Remembering home base towered behind the kitchen table; I rounded the closet wall, dashed into the dining room, and landed at the feet of my mother and grandmother. Side by side, they leaned over gazing into my face. In the two, looking as one, I saw the years place themselves side by side.

Similarities became more profound as I grew older. Through high school, I looked at photographs from old albums. I stared at mom, Granma, and me from different joys and family passions. It took years well after college, but I finally saw the wells beneath eyes and curves of hips that would form into what I would look like come age thirty, forty, and eventually fifty-something.

I must tell you, some curves came from my father’s mother. Every time I saw her, once every five to ten years, the curve was her insistence that I looked like her aunt and sister.  The cheekbones were telling. The first time I remember grandmother pinching my cheek and creating a curve with of her palm to bounce beneath the short curls of my hair. That afternoon she claimed me into that side of the family.  That defense of a blood claim became the glue that kept her close in my mind even when the physical distance of family became reality. This was long after my mother’s divorce from my biological father. Truly, when mom and dad where done, someone may have symbolically offered me into the cracks of the judicial system. However, the chill of a filing, divorce does not end the heat of blood relations; it just means a regular switch-up come Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas. It meant I might forget who I am in the milieu. It may mean some topics are silent until long after their divorce or after resolving struggles well into my sixtieth year. Still, know my father’s family speaks my name aloud and claim me as their own. This claiming is as comfortable to my soul as Saturday night homily.

Thanks to grandmother, I know that I did not hatch from an egg. I also know that I am not an orphan. Even the small absurdities and fears from pre-pubescent childhood hold weight and shape. Conquering my lingering fears from then is worthy of a knight’s tale to begin. Still, carving swords and minding the poor calls for a bravery that I just cannot sense in my bones just yet.

II.

What I know now is that belonging comes from blood. Even though DNA is the determination in the science of it all, it cannot be the whole reason behind building our clans around foreign fires. Blood sings of itself in every droplet. Family spirits and distant ancestors dwell there as well. Blood sins make us all libel to an older word and sound of guidance.  For now, knowing blood means not just having my grandfather’s button nose, my father’s hair, or my mother’s gait that shows me I have a place at a larger table. That hum I hear with every cut and bruise calls me to sit and listen to memory.

A problem for me is that mom does not hear it. I wonder if some days I depend too much on her judgment. How do I know? Her reactions upon being questioning for an explanation resonate deep. What I have received is a strange look out of the corner of her eyes. Another issue to consider is that her mother is not alive to ask. As for other relatives, I am staid in the fact that if I have to explain and defend blood song then they are truly without a clue. To correct that failing, I will practice by explaining to you.

A former mentor and I sat on the floor of the living room at her temporary residence.  Conversation was born mostly from her mouth and with every turn of phrase, I was learning new concepts.  After lunch, the casting sunlight in the living room shifted past artwork in reflecting glass and she said looking directly in my face, that blood rings out in sound not just for tonality, but musically.  If the telling starts there, then you know the aroma of blood tells a story of its own.  The story is so distinct that it tells nuances that genealogist could never flesh out with as much accuracy. Mentor said there are those that read blood for histories, heritage, strength, and temperament. Understanding her, she intimated that if we listen with intent and respect we can hear clearly, what graveyards only whisper. However my curiosities, she did not prick my finger, but looked into my flushed face to tell me who my people were and from whence they travelled. After listening intently, I, over 2,000 miles away from my heritage home, became dumbfounded. Doubt faded and I finally conceded to open my ears to let every word fall on my head and heart. Humming is all I remember hearing as I left the house that late afternoon. All the whispers about “the store” doubting mentor’s talent and integrity quickly left my mind.  The time for defending her was over.  Now I knew that her reserve and distance from me in public heeded swells of emotion, knowledge, and wisdom that could only be shared in quiet seclusion.  There was no need of a proving ground or repeated challenges; she moved within her power and no amount of reason could deny that.

As for blood, every drop is important.

Since mentor, I know it is nothing that I can waste.

In my mouth now, are faint tastes of salt.

III.

Jehovah’s witnesses forbid blood transfusions. Mormons may speak of blood sin, blood debt, and blood poisonings and for me they are all too elusive to expand upon.  I thought I read once that the spirit in the blood is unique to us all; it is cannot spilled on the ground or be left for waste. I remained in fear during my youth about having to die because I would have to refuse a blood transfusion. Eventually I took my confusion to task and walked away from that faith out of practicality and survival. Up to the point of leaving, the fear had swelled in my bone. Fleeting visions from memory say I came to hate my blood shortly after the call to womanhood. To me, menses was my enemy. It was not until college where I became determined to subdue the pain, frustration, and burgeoning self-hatred for being female.

The doctor came back into the waiting room to talk to me. The Pap smear was painful and I was not very receptive to anything she had to say. I wanted out- out of the room, out of the office, out of this unsaid contract of being female. Sitting across from the doctor, I hunched over in the chair and began to wring my fingers around my wrists. It was one last attempt for help: so I answered her questions and waited to ask my own. The opening came and I asked her about blood.  I wanted so badly to know why the smell was so bad.  I wanted to know why there was so much blood some nights. Lastly, I cried, “why, oh why won’t the pain leave?” I finally told her that I could not stand the sight of my blood and she backed off. The doctor-patient conversation suddenly ended.  The room turned cold and I drew back into the chair and became quiet. After that, the memory ends.

Years went by before I understood the blessing of blood flow. Cleansing, tuning senses, and childbirth, are but a few of the many accomplishments of womanhood.  In that growth, I carry on that visage of mother, Grandma, and me.  If I ever bear, I know my current and distant histories will read in the blood.  My child will know the reasons for self-rejection and have counseling to meet the rigor of life passages.  I can say with honesty and won reserve that the terrors of youth and their shadows end at the acceptance of a physical body, a dedication to preserve life, and living a bloodline commensurate with its wisdom.

©N.A. Jones      2016       All Rights Reserved

Cooking: Assignment (Addendum)

This was a three part challenge. I will be working on the last part for the remainder of this week. The challenge was fry bread and I took up the whisk without sourcing Native American cooking. Still, I did have inspiration from an Amish “No fail” pie crust recipe.

For now I have not put a dent into the flour jar just yet. From me to you, good eats follow:

Fry Bread

1-cup flour

1-teaspoon baking powder

½-teaspoon salt

2 egg yolks

¼ cup granulated sugar

1/8 cup coconut oil

¼ cup almond milk

2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar

3 Tablespoons ice water

2 egg whites beaten stiff

1-2 cups peanut oil for deep-frying

 

Syrup

(Makes two servings)

1 cup filtered water

½ cup granulated sugar

½-Tablespoon orange zest

2” cube of fresh ginger sliced into thin chips

4 gratings of black pepper

1-teaspoon whole cloves

¼-teaspoon ground nutmeg

Place ingredients for the syrup into one pan. Boil on low temperature until the liquid turns dark brown. Strain out the spices and return to the pot to thicken on low boil. When the syrup begins to thicken turn off the heat. Thin out with a tablespoon or two of water or fruit juice. Set side, but keep warm.

Heat the peanut oil in a heavy pot. Make at least a three inch well of oil. Then, for the bred, blend ½ cup of flour, baking powder, salt, egg yolks, sugar, and coconut oil. Mix to form thick dough. Thin out the dough by adding the almond milk, apple cider vinegar, and water all at once. Add the remaining flour. Fold in the egg whites. Drop into the oil with a 2” ice cream scoop. Fry until golden brown on each side. Serve three to four portions with each plate. Place syrup on the side with two tablespoons of sweetened cream and ¼ of sliced peaches.

©N.A. Jones      2016       All Rights Reserved

Addendum:

Thoughts from the middle of the night:

1. Substitute graham flour for white flour.
2. Press 2-3 blackberries into each portion as it fries. Do it in such a way that it is a surprise when the bread is broken open.
3. Fold in 1/4 cup of organic rose petals with the batter as well as 2-3 drops of attar of roses.
4. Lightly roast 1/4-1/2 cup of finely chopped pecans tossed with honey. Add to the graham flour batter before deep-frying.

It will be a long hot minute before I can try these ideas. When I do I will give you my take on the taste. Meanwhile, if you are interested, have fun with it.

©N.A. Jones      2016       All Rights Reserved

I just finished a handful of tutorials on leavening courteousy of YouTube.com. The order of mixing ingredients needs to change. I will be starting with egg yolks, sugar, and oil. Then adding the liquids and following up with the flour. Folding in the egg yolks is last.

Writing: Genus Species

Genus Species

I am dutiful, but severely ignorant of what I do.  With that said, and before I make a grave mistake, I will predicate my explanations with an offering of forgiveness. I reached fourteen years of age before I begged God to know what it meant to be a boy. The curiosity was not for my own sake, but for another. Trying to understand boys was born for the sake that, by age seventeen, a friend told me that I caused pain and confusion in the opposite sex. As result, I never experienced numerous occasions of opportunity and growth through social interaction. To this day, I quip over being an introvert mixed with dated and backwards approaches to socializing. Wondering, why I was not included in parties or study hall banter, eventually forced a personal confrontation with my nature.  By the time I finally understood the slight, I could into prevent myself from becoming passive tempered by biting speech in college. The edge of my ailment was that I never saw how I embarrassed myself among my male peers. Being told at the end of adolescence that I was intimidating and harsh towards young men, resulted in a soul that fractured, chipped, and scattered itself in pieces over the bedroom floor.

The years after high school involved rescuing my heart by not shunning men completely. I confess that I needed to learn how to communicate without hiding my intelligence and independence. By age thirty, with enough distance in years and space from the incidence and conversation, I turned from playing blame and guilt conversations in my ears. Forgiveness began in my eyes; I learned to be attentive without interrupting with probing emotional questions. After that came understanding and eventually reaching out. Knowing what it meant to be a boy still lay heavy on my heart. I could continue to presume the mechanical aspects of intimacy, but affairs d’couer are a pinnacle of what woman emotionally evolve. Laying the arts of a whore is never place I planned to explore. Tending a boy’s wounds and conceiving man’s heart would heal me and educate me to defend others.  I never admitted to this and I will only swear under an oak tree; after experiencing woman’s solidarity, I vowed to help women. I vowed to help, but only in the stead of helping men first. An earful of men bashing lasts for many decade, but if you had a love beyond the cackling of women around a fire, you must test the source. Sometimes a woman’s ailment does not stem from pure cause. From reading Greek mythology, Athena tended to men and tested women who in their conceit, all failed. Having taken shelter in her mantle before, I have grown just as well.

I had returned to school while my brother aged through trial after trial over one hundred miles away.  Since his birth, the years between our ages yield to little reason to communicate over the past twenty years. Meanwhile, I secretly labored the guilt of physical and emotional distance thinking it was my responsibility as the elder to close the gap with phone calls and doting presences. My attentiveness failed and in one phone call, over birthday celebrations, I went back to my world. Still, I could not help but wonder what his early years were like growing up young, black, and male. Even if not making up for the heart’s distance, I had to know him for the sake of understanding males in general.  Even from early childhood, most of my friends were boys and later in years, I row closer to men. Failing in my duties as a sister might reflect on my personal relationships with men. I do not want to fail again. I do not want to lose another friend. I do not want to walk away from my brother or another. I want to learn to support instead of letting matters go. The distance that swells between men and I occupies an irrational space. More than likely, the actions born from that paranoia stems from a handful of precepts and gossip about men and boys. Though I have grown an inch or so around the waist and my head is fixated on budgeting, I formulated these beliefs about men that tower and crash in this Easter moonlight.  Maybe this is what keeps me from bonding, breeding, and believing more in a man’s intrinsic worth than in his wallet.

When mutual understanding is present and trust is not an issue, males will tell you directly what they want. No matter the subject, from my experience, the end of his conversation means a significant change in the relationship. When I was in elementary school, I knew all the kids on the street. Though I was short, leggy, and quiet, I tended to hang around the older kids learning to play their games and thrill at their interests. Notably, I was the little one in the group and the only female. Playing “King of the Hill” with Craig and John behind the backfield on the farmer’s land is an easily recalled memory. The hills we played on I understand now as possible Indian burial mounds. If I had known then, I would have behaved with more respect. Though in my heart, I feel the dead are just as happy to have visitors who play or pray without deviant intent.

Those days we played are little more precious than I can explain. The boys accepted me as their own, at least until they recognized my change. John’s fickleness started the following year in the fall back in the woods. Several of the boys decided to build tree house in the forest behind the houses. They selected the site and collected wood over late autumn. Eventually struck by winter snows and cabin fever, I ventured outside bundled in coat, scarf, gloves, and hat to hold a hammer while the boys secured the foundation and arranged the wood structure. “We need something to hold the wood. The nails are not holding,” said the fair-haired other. I volunteered to get screws and would return shortly. Trekking long through the snowdrift I arrived back home excited with news. I went downstairs to the basement with my stepfather to select screws. He gave me a small handful of long screws. Not thinking, I gripped the metal in my hand instead of tucking it away secure in my pockets. After carefully walking back down the icy street, I turned to the left, and cut between houses to get back to the site. Sinking in snow while walking up the hill, I met John and the others coming in the opposite direction. Just as I pushed my fist out toward him, handing over the screws, he started screaming. He began calling me a bitch over and over and over again as he stepped one foot at a time closer to me.  With each of his steps advancing toward me, I took a careful step backwards. When I finally understood that “bitch” was not a kind word, I dropped the screws, turned around, and ran home. I never spoke to him again. Two years later, my family moved and my confidences changed.

I learned a small handful of cautions from my experience. First, what my inner child understands is that boys become irrational with little information. They may not realize that vulnerability strikes both ways when being swayed by others. One caveat is that I never knew if gossip fueled his anger. Second, boys can trust even when altruism no longer secures the conversation. Third, boys can play with girls even when puberty rises as a question between solid friendships. Some boys learn the boundaries of respect from women and honor that space and guardianship with their young female friends. When Craig and John became friends, I nearly lost it. I was losing a playmate. When the two bonded over a common astrological sign, I knew I had to find something to bide the hours after school. I read. I made a magazine. I stopped playing with dolls. Come spring I wandered the woods and followed the creek bed to its source. Meanwhile, the “Victorious Virgos” found support in common manhood. I, on the other hand, found solitude.

©N.A. Jones      2016       All Rights Reserved

Part II will be posted next week.

Tipjar Southwest

Pangeli? Pantelly? Forgive me. I tried to commit the name to memory and I have almost lost it completely. The long and short of it is they are a domestic terrorist group from what I heard. The frequent between Texas and Oklahoma and may dwell in both. I do not know how reliable this information is, by I am taking a guess it holds a bit of weight. Marijuana trafficking was mentioned before and after the name.

Takin’ a chance on my ears,

W.H. Tespid

Grant Op II

The synopsis for this grant opportunity is detailed below, following this paragraph. This synopsis contains all of the updates to this document that have been posted as of 2/1/2016. If updates have been made to the opportunity synopsis, update information is provided below the synopsis.

If you would like to receive notifications of changes to the grant opportunity click send me change notification emails. The only thing you need to provide for this service is your email address. No other information is requested.

Any inconsistency between the original printed document and the disk or electronic document shall be resolved by giving precedence to the printed document.
General Information

Document Type: Grants Notice Funding Opportunity Number: 16JD01 Funding Opportunity Title: National Sheriffs’ Institute Facilitation Opportunity Category: Discretionary Funding Instrument Type: Cooperative Agreement Category of Funding Activity: Other (see text field entitled “Explanation of Other Category of Funding Activity” for clarification) Category Explanation: National Sheriffs’ Institute Facilitation Expected Number of Awards: 1 CFDA Number(s): 16.601 — Corrections_Training and Staff Development Cost Sharing or Matching Requirement: No

Posted Date: Feb 1, 2016 Creation Date: Jan 29, 2016 Original Closing Date for Applications: Mar 1, 2016   Current Closing Date for Applications: Mar 1, 2016   Archive Date: Mar 31, 2016 Estimated Total Program Funding: Award Ceiling: $150,000 Award Floor: $0

Eligibility

Eligible Applicants:	Others (see text field entitled “Additional Information on Eligibility” for clarification)
Additional Information on Eligibility:	An eligible applicant is any public or private agency, educational institution, organization, individual or team with expertise in the described areas.

Additional Information

Agency Name:	National Institute of Corrections
Description:	The National Institute of Corrections (NIC) is soliciting proposals from organizations, groups, or individuals to enter into a cooperative agreement for a 1 year period, with 2 additional option years, to begin at the date of the award. Work under this cooperative agreement will involve facilitation of 2 offerings per year of the week long National Sheriff’s Institute beginning in FY’16. The successful awardee will have the resources to identify and select first term sheriffs, disseminate and collect pre-class assignments and testing, provide instructors for each offering and collect and evaluate participant feedback provided by NSI participants. This project will be a collaborative venture with the NIC Jails Division.
Link to Additional Information:
Contact Information:	If you have difficulty accessing the full announcement electronically, please contact: Melanie Simms Administrative Officer Phone 202-353-0484 Technical

Pa. Journals

Enslaved by human trafficking | News | lancasteronline.com

lancasteronline.com/…trafficking/article_37f4bc7b-7a…

LNP Media Group

Jul 29, 2012 – Critics say Pennsylvania’s anti-trafficking laws are weak, leading to few prosecutions. … But a few decades ago, she points out, people didn’t believe drugs and … “It’s very underground.” … The case was the first of its kind in Pennsylvania’s Eastern District, which includes Lancaster County, Conway says.

It’s real: Human trafficking in Pennsylvania – WGAL.com

http://www.wgal.com/news/its&#8230;trafficking-in-pennsylvania/29784098

WGAL

Nov 17, 2014 – It’s real: Human trafficking in Pennsylvania. At least 1 multi-million dollar ring has been shutdown in Lancaster County. UPDATED 6:32 PM EST …

Police: Mexican drug ring busted in Reading – WGAL.com

http://www.wgal.com/news/police-bust&#8230;drug…drugs…/32004724

WGAL

Mar 25, 2015 – Police: Mexican drug ring busted in Reading; $2.2M worth of drugs seized … were confiscated when police busted a drug smuggling operation Tuesday in Reading. … Tags Reading drug bust Mexico Berks County Lehigh County …. Lancaster, PA … Hearst Television LAKANA CNN Weather Underground.

Heroin Highway – Philadelphia City Paper

citypaper.net/articles/030598/cov.heroin.shtml

… and dope from Philadelphia to North Central Pennsylvania is clear and evident. … Lancaster County Drug Task-Force undercover detective James Blaine keeps … edifice of the Ephrata Public Comfort Station, an underground bathroom built in ….. The Amish have nothing to do with the heroin traffic, says Czabafy, yet more …

Pennsylvania Drug Threat Assessment – US Department of …

http://www.justice.gov/archive/…/670p.pdf

United States Department of Justice

drug trafficking organizations, local and statewide independent transporters, some mem- bers of street gangs, … primary drug threat in Pennsylvania because highly pure, low-cost heroin has led to ris- …… Williamsport and in Lancaster County.

Veteran York County officer facing federal corruption charges

WGAL Lancaster–Dec 18, 2015

A 17-year veteran with the Fairview Township Police Department in York County has been arrested and faces federal corruption charges, …

North Dakota oil boom lures Mexico’s cartels

WGAL Lancaster–Dec 14, 2015

(CNN) —The Mexican drug cartels have extended their reach into North Dakota, a federal law enforcement official told CNN.

A look inside Mexican drug lord’s prison escape – and how he did it

FOX43.com–Jul 13, 2015

A look inside Mexican drug lord’s prison escape – and how he did it … to a vertical passageway going more than 10 meters (33 feet) underground. … “In addition to his crimes in Mexico, he faces multiple drug trafficking and …. Man pleads guilty to threatening ex, fleeing from police in Lancaster County.

Sex traffickers are branding girls

WMUR Manchester–Aug 24, 2015

Sex traffickers are branding girls … Drug dealers do the same thing to the baby mama’s that provide free room and board courtesy of the …

Police: Man making pot-laced cereal now behind bars

WGAL Lancaster–Oct 28, 2014

Two men are behind bars following an investigation into marijuana trafficking in Berks County. The men … BERKS COUNTY, Pa. —Two men …

Drug-laced fudge, Rice Krispies Treats and muffins seized at Pa …

WGAL Lancaster–Aug 11, 2015

The drug-laced desserts included: Fudge, chocolate, Rice Krispies Treats … a music festival held annually in Liberty Township, Tioga County.

Burger #2

Untitled Burger #2

Bread
½ cup of water
½ cup of milk
2.5 Tablespoons of butter
2 Tablespoons of sugar
½ teaspoon salt
1 pkg of quick rising yeast
3 cups of flour
Place water, milk, butter in a pyrex cup and heat for 40 seconds in the microwave. Test temperature to hover between 110-115 degrees Fahrenheit. When temperature range in reached, add in yeast and stir. Proof the yeast by adding the sugar. When small clumps of active yeast rise to the top of the slurry, it is ready. Place flour and salt in a non-reactive bowl (no metal). Pour in liquid and stir till combined. Knead for 30 seconds and roll out into a ½” thick square. Cut four squares out and slice a shallow “X” on the top of each square. Let rise for an hour. Bake on 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 30-40 minutes.

Burger
1 pound of ground turkey
2 links of Johnsonville Farms chorizo, casing removed
1 teaspoon ground garlic
½ teaspoon ground cumin
¼ teaspoon ground coriander
1/8 cup of brown sugar
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 slices of bacon (Fry after the burger patties are done and set aside for assembly)

Place all ingredients into a bowl and combine by hand until well blended. Fry in ½ cup portioned patties. The meat will be done when the patty has shrunk considerably and turned brown. Be aware that the patty will lose much water, but not juiciness in the final bite. So take care not to fry at to high of a temperature thus encasing raw meat. As an added precaution or flavor after pulling the meat, squeeze the juice of a fresh lemon over the patty.

Sauce
(makes 2 servings)
3 Ancho chilis
3 Arbol chilis
2 cups water
1 Tablespoon olive oil
4 Roma tomatoes
1 medium apple
2 Tablespoons of brown sugar
¼ teaspoon of salt
2 Tablespoons of granulated sugar

Remove the stem and deseed the chilis. Place them in a pyrex cup with water. Soften the skins by cooking in the microwave for 2-4 minutes. Let the chilis soak in the water for 5 minutes. Puree the chilis with ¼ cup of reserved liquid and olive oil. Add more water if necessary. Strain the liquid and reserve. Save the remaining chili meats in the refrigerator to add to another dish.

Remove the skin and puree the tomatoes with one apple (cored and skin removed). Place the puree in a pot with the reserved chili liquid, brown sugar and salt. Simmer to thicken for 10 minutes then finish off with the granulated sugar. Refrigerate until needed.

Fried onion rings
Use one medium onion and slice thin rounds through the complete onion. Either dust in flour then fry golden brown, or turn each round in a beaten egg, then dust with flour, salt, and pepper before frying. Set the onion stack aside for assembly.

Assembly
Toast the bread until light brown in a toaster or on the griddle after the burgers are cooked. On the bottom of the bun place a tablespoon or two of sauce. Then top with two or three rounds of onion rings, two patties, then shredded cheddar. Then two more patties, shredded cheddar, and 2 slices of bacon. Take the top of the bun and slather with French Onion Dip. Place on top. Place on a serving dish and slice in the sandwich in half. Serve with more sauce and the remaining onion rings. Pair with your choice of drinks, but I would recommend nothing too strong in flavor for it will deter from Burger #2 nuances. That night, I think I had mint tea cold without sugar.

Note: When I cook, I cook for one. What is left goes in the fridge for the ‘morrow. So you may find my proportions off. If you are cooking for more than one, double if not triple the sauce recipe as you need it. The bread and meat should provide for four servings, while you will need to increase your reserves for the bacon, sauce, and onion rings.

Also, for a twist, serve an open plate using all of the components. Slice an ounce of cheddar and make grilled onions for the pairing instead. Sauce, of course, on the side and increase the serving to two for one person.

On the way to other domestic adventures besides trying to swear off sugar until another baking season starts.

YF,

The pastied pastry cook

Sweet Skirt XI

My street education for living out in a skirt has not flared up in months. I have matured more over the past year than in the past decade it seems. I am wanton of embracing a woman’s femininity instead brace behind a seat belt, giggling to tunes that might as well be playing for the Radio Disney station. Bottom Line? I am welcoming womanhood if not in a patient guise then that of a woman in waiting. So, there I go in a skirt – somewhat confident and ever hopeful of a man’s response. That response was persistent that week: doors being held open, gracious “Hellos”, and well placed “excuse me, I am sorry” responses. And yes, smiles. Mutual respect not withstanding, I found the graces of society abiding and abounding.

Yet, that was the glazed side of the donut. In the grocery store, it started with the flustered teenager feeling herself up as I walked past her to the sweet potatoes. It carried on as I picked the freshest bundle of cilantro I could find – a man darted in for lettuce and would not stop staring at me. By the time I headed into the parking lot to my car I realized people where trying to pick me up the whole time. Forgive me, and this is sarcasm, does anybody shop for things other than flesh these days? I was angry. Still am and the coy insults for not selling my self next to the bread on aisle three. Some woman had that post taken already. She was in a skirt as well and I could never have presented my shelf so well. I should keep track of my notes as to pick up times at Wal-Mart. The fragrance of desperation is more pungent some days than others. So, on the way to the car, I was pushing the cart uphill and my boots traction started to slip. The young men keeping quick pace with me finally turned off to their vehicle and cursed something at me as I pushed on. He said “If you are going to dress like that, you better f%$k us or in the least wear something else.” I pushed on to my vehicle dumbfounded. The skirt flares down to  my ankle and is of heavy weight material. The skirt comes down so far that it brushes over the top of my cowboy boots. I also was wearing a black wool jacket.

Putting the 2014 Slut Walk aside I’ve got to wonder how I reeled that guy’s interest in. I think 19th century sex conventions aside my wrists and earlobes were bare. I do not think that was it. So, how do I figure this as sex dress code? What other signals am I missing? Forgive my ignorance but if this is going to impede regular shopping, I have got to know what I am dealing with. Namely, I’ll be starting with the position that I will wear a skirt if I damn well please. I refuse cater to a convention that sexualizes everything in one form or another. As for confirmed pick up joints, this one I can not avoid. Honestly, I do not want to learn the language. I figure if a man would like to get to me, he will prompt conversation directly and not be coy or particular. In the beginning somethings are just understood, logically presumed even.

NCC

Cooking

Fickle
This beginning of a recipe is an unsolved riddle. The remaining notes are no wear to be found in the kitchen or my logs. For a creative bent to solve, I have provided ingredients as well as the problems in creating my concept of a sweet hot snack that crunches. Here I give you have the opportunity to try blending for yourself. Note: The investment in ingredients is high, but you’ll have enough for a several month supply. I also warn you, do not eat your supplies. If you do, they will disappear long before you make the combination of elements.

Tools:
Wooden spoons
One large ceramic or wooden
Wax Paper
One double boiler
Plastic Gloves

Ingredients:
Hot Wasabi Peas
Dried Fruit (Try banana chips, apple chips, or dried apricots – roughly chopped)
Dark Chocolate M&Ms
Granola
Unsalted Peanuts
Almonds, roughly chopped
Chex Cereal – Rice or Corn
Peanut Butter filled Pretzels – (H.K. Anderson’s)
Sweet Potato Chips or (Yam, Plantain, or Corn Tortillas thinly sliced and fried in corn oil till crisp.)
English Butter Toffee (homemade or store bought broken into small pieces in a plastic bag wrapped with a dish towel hit with a mallet.
Sea Salt
Mexican Chili Powder
One cup of Dark Chocolate Chips melted in a double boiler with an ounce or two of paraffin wax.

Directions:
Spread one to two feet of wax paper on a counter top. Anchor the paper so it will not curl over the snack as it dries. Combine all the ingredients from 1-10 in a large bowl. Drizzle the chocolate over top and turn the combine with gloves on to coat. Sprinkle ½ teaspoon of sea salt and ½ teaspoon chili powder over the combine for a final turn. Spread the combine over the wax paper and let it dry for an hour or more. At least until the chocolate dries. Package in plastic bags and keep refrigerated.

Clue: ½ cup measurements work well to start.

Curling up with warm dark chocolate peanut butter cookies. O.K. I’ll share. SIKE!

I did the dishes, dried and put them away. You, however, should go to bed.

YF,

The Pastied Pastry Cook.

Cooking W.H. 11

W.H. 11
Breakfast/Brunch Menu and Recipes

Black Tea served hot
Mint Tea served hot
Chicory spiked coffee or a blend with dark roasted grounds (see Chock Full o’ Nuts)
Cream
Milk
Sugar
Ice Water
Tortillas
Salsa
Bacon
Chorizo Sausage (Two per person)
Fried Eggs, Once over lightly (Two per person)
Fried Apples
Beans
Blackened Corn
Potato en Pastry (Working title)
Banana Pancakes IV (Three per person)
Fried Apples
Heat a cast iron skillet with one tablespoon of butter. Meanwhile, after coring, slice one small apple per person into wedges. Place the apples into the hot skillet to brown on one side. Add a tablespoon or two of water per apple. Cover and cook down till soft. Lightly dust with powdered ginger and two tablespoon of sugar. Stir. Cover again and cook for a few more minutes. Take care not to let the apples burn and the sugar caramelize into smoke. Pair the apples with the banana pancakes to serve.

Beans
Rinse beans and place in a pot. Cover with two inches of water. Add in the dry ingredients of one tablespoon of Mint, 1 teaspoon of cilantro and one teaspoon of oregano. Turn on medium heat until it the beans boil, then lower heat to begin the slow cook. Stir occasionally. When they begin to get soft after one to two hours, mash them. Next, add one medium onion, three chopped cloves of garlic, one teaspoon of salt, and 1/2 teaspoon of cumin. Stir and cook off water until the beans thicken to the consistency of raw honey.

Blackened Corn
Two ears of corn shucked and rinsed. Scrape the kernels from the cob and reserve to the side.
If fresh corn is not available, use two cans of yellow corn. Pour off the preserving liquid, rinse with warm water, drain and set aside.
1 small onion finely chopped
2 cloves of garlic finely chopped
1-2 Tablespoon of unsalted butter
1-2 Tablespoons of Olive Oil
3-5 springs of fresh Italian Oregano. Rinse and gentle separate the leaves from the stem. Place in a ceramic bowl.
3-8 large leaves of fresh Genovese Basil. Rinse and chop fine. Place in the ceramic bowl with the oregano.
Sea salt
Fresh Crack Pepper
Juice of one large lemon
In a cast iron skillet melt the butter and heat the olive oil together. When hot, stir in the garlic. After a few turns with the wooden spoon add the corn. Toss in the oil mixture and stir every few minutes. Aim to tan or brown the kernels. Do not let them sit so long that they burn. So keep a close eye on the mixture. Once well browned on several sides add in the onion and stir to distribute well. Transfer the corn into the ceramic bowl. Add in the lemon juice. Stir. Season the puree to taste with sea salt and fresh cracked pepper. Serve. To keep things quick and simple, omit the garlic and onion completely, or toss them in with the corn during the final seasoning.

Potato en Pastry
Yield: 4-10
Serving: 1-2
Oil Dressing

(I have not tried the pastry yet by brushing with this oil blend. After Christmas Day proper, I will be collecting the ingredients. Creating a dressing gives the potato flavor another ingredient to meld with or play down. Even without the blend, the pastries sat hardy and welcome in my palette and being.)
In a small bowl, place the pureed pulp from two Poblano peppers. (Char the skins off the peppers and scrape the remaining black from the body of the pepper. Place the remaining whole in a pan with two cups of water. Boil until soft then puree with the remaining water.) Add the bowl the puree of three seeded jalapenos. Also, add in ¼ teaspoon of cumin, ½ teaspoon of thyme, ½ teaspoon or oregano, ½ teaspoon of sea salt. Thin the mixture with ¼ of olive oil. Blend well and set aside.

Filling
1 medium potato
2 small turnips
½ medium carrot
1 small onion
4 cloves of garlic

Chop rough and small all the vegetables. Place in a pan with two cups of water. Boil until soft. Drain. Puree. Add in small amounts water and olive oil to smooth out the texture. Place the puree in a bowl with ¾ cup of cheddar or Mexican Farmer’s Cheese, ½ teaspoon of salt, ½ teaspoon of pepper, and juice of half a small lemon. Blend and correct the seasoning as needed. Set aside. (Note: The flavor of the filling will understate the oil dressing not compete with it.) In a separate pan, heat oil to a deep frying temperature.

While the vegetables are boiling, make two piecrusts from scratch. Courtesy of Betty Crocker:

2 cups flour (plain)
1 teaspoon of salt
2/3 cup + 2 Tablespoons shortening or 2/3 of lard
4-5 Tablespoons of cold water

Cut the shortening into the flour and salt. Then add water one tablespoon at a time. When the dough holds a soft ball, knead briefly, then rollout onto a clean, floured surface. Using a large biscuit cutter make 18-20 circles. Pair the circles or work with less filling to make halves. Take a pastry brush and run the dough circle rim lightly with cold water. Place one tablespoon of filling in the middle of a circle. Top with another circle and seal the edges by pressing them with a fork. Carefully lift the pie and place into the hot frying oil. Watch with a careful eye to fry until golden brown on both sides. Set aside on a paper towel to drain. Brush with the dressing mixture and set aside to serve with a small side of sour cream.
Banana Pancakes IV
Yield: 12-20 pancakes

2 Bananas, pureed
2 Tablespoons Corn Oil
2 Large Eggs separated into yolks and whites. Beat egg whites into stiff peaks and set aside.
Juice of one lemon
1 Tablespoon of freshly grated Ginger
1 teaspoon Cardamom
¼ teaspoon Mace
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

1 cup all purpose Flour
2 Tablespoons granulated Sugar
1 teaspoon Baking Powder
1 teaspoon Baking Soda
1 teaspoon salt
½ – 1 cup Heavy Whipping Cream

Heat a griddle on the stovetop on low heat. Blend butter, yolks, bananas, and spices in a nonreactive bowl. Set aside. Sift flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt into a dish. Set aside. Alternate adding cream and flour into the banana mixture. Start the process by using cream. Add lemon juice. Fold in egg whites.
Using a ¼ measure, place a dollop of batter onto the hot griddle. Brown on each side. Layer three with butter on a serving plate. Serve with syrup.

Evermore poised by the cook top with wrinkly fingers, bare feet, and toes,

YF,

The Pastied Pastry Cook

Safety: On Assignment III

Safety: On Assignment III
A friend or two from the police station had a question or two for me last night. Apparently, two men are coming to the station house in the middle of the night and staying in the lobby for about ten to fifteen minutes. For the length of time, one eats a late brown bagged dinner and the other sits quietly only to pardon himself into a self-analysis session aloud. What neither of them does is ring the intercom bell for assistance.
The time is well after eleven in the evening when this happens and one can immediately raise a red flag. Lunging toward irrationality, we can surmise either or both as terrorists or a visit from someone’s husband or father. Friend was concerned and asked for input before he met with other officers. I did not take the common paranoia road with my response. I offered a few possibilities like the following:
• They maybe on the way to or from work and they have no transportation. Considering the American economy and the push for cars, a handful of years ago, I learned that many people turned around from their purchase to find their vehicle in repossession.
• Maybe the station house is a convenient stop to gather one’s thoughts before finishing the long journey into night home. I remember trekking over twenty some miles a day after I had lost my vehicle. Some of those nights, I was out scouting for jobs and entertaining my lonely days unemployed. Often I would talk to myself walking down the roadside at one in the morning trying to keep my nerves about me in order to arrive safely home. I remember stopping at one station house to ask a few questions to an officer. With chairs in the lobby and a phone in the middle, it seems I had a choice of waiting or getting help immediately. I dialed in and waited. He took me into an interview room and I talked my heart out. He was kind and told me talking was perfectly fine. Mind you, I have a tendency to walk in silence making sure I do not disturb the animals or the natives. It is a gentle fear that dwell when I am on foot no matter the time of day or night. When I do sound, it is out of frustration and need to solve a problem I cannot handle myself. The one man, who went through his mind aloud at the station house, may have needed a safe place to be before returning home. If indeed, he had one. He may have needed the type of help an officer could provide. He may not have been able to move into that next step. Some of us, bound in silence in a different way, have the tendency not to tell or ask for help when there is pain. It is another safety issue stemmed from various and sundry types of abuse and consequential mental illness.
• Because the men do not stay long, I understand there is no harm or ill will meant. The situation seems an act stemming from self-defense and self-preservation while on foot. Offering aid or just a conversation may calm their nerves and help them to be more responsive. After that, giving them both touch points as to how the facility is used is in order as well.
W.H. Tespid ERT

Candy: On Assignment VI

Candy: On Assignment VI

Confessions of a Botched and Forgotten Delivery
The second memory of my early aged tempering of chocolate wells in a pit fall in my character that opened up in third grade. The elementary school encouraged all the children to sell candy for some program, a fund, or trip. During the first day of sales, I vaguely remember the pitch I made door to door. Yet, the pitch was not the difficult part. A big problem was that many kids lived in the neighborhood that went Dible Elementary School. They all had to sell candy as well. So, you can figure as an understatement, that the sales territory was saturated. The second day, a friend and I took a hike about eight to ten blocks out of out of local houses. On short legs, we walked up and down hills for at least two miles. Finally, we picked a street and started pitching door to door. Finally, one woman bought from both of us, paying immediately after signing off. Come the day candy arrived to be distributed, I took to the local sales and put aside into the cupboards my one sale out of the way. “I’ll wait till I can get there,” I thought, “One more day won’t matter”. Considering a forgetful memory, a reminder from my sales partner and across town move later, the box did not arrive at the woman’s door.
Some years later, I was hungry for chocolate and peeked into the dining room cupboards. Nestled on top of tablecloths was a cellophane wrapped box on the top shelf to the right. I knew what it was. Four years later and I still had not forgotten. Assuming no guilt, I handled the box in hunger. Two fingers delicately poised and I placed one piece of aged, dry, and brittle chocolate on my tongue. I cannot seem to explain my hunger for sweets swearing on my dead Granddad’s amputated legs. I will never see that woman again and dearest apologies on my behalf erupt with every long white Russell Stover box I come across. My dear sweet apologies laced with a pledge to take better care of my teeth. I have lost enough.