Monthly Archives: March 2015

Speculaas (Dutch cookie)

Dutch Dessert

(Dutch cookie)


1¼ cups butter (2½) sticks
1⅓ cups brown sugar
1 medium egg
½ teaspoon baking powder
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground cloves
½ teaspoons ginger
1 teaspoon nutmeg
3 cups flour plus some to dust cookie mold


speculaas mold, other cookie mold, or cookie cutters
electric beater
sewing thread
1-to-2 cookie sheets
1-to-4 glasses of mulled red wine
wine bottle for bopping oafs

Makes 18 cookies. Takes 15 minutes to make dough, to sit overnight in refrigerator, and maybe 1 hour to make the cookies, plus 15-to-20 minutes each time you put cookie sheets in the oven. You will get better and faster at putting the dough in the speculaas mold, trimming the dough with the sewing thread, and getting the dough out of the mold and onto the cookie sheet in one piece. While getting the hang of things, I say chill out and have some wine to calm yourself down. Note, the upper limit of drinks is for those who use speculaas or other embossed cookie molds. If you just plop down some dough, you only get one glass. There you go.


Add butter and sugar to first, large mixing bowl. Mix using electric beater set on CREAM until butter/sugar mix becomes creamy. Add egg. Mix with electric beater set on CAKE until well blended. Add baking powder, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and nutmeg to second, small mixing bowl. Mix together with whisk. Add spice mix from second, small mixing bowl and flour to first, large mixing bowl. Knead mixture until it forms a firm dough ball. Refrigerate dough ball overnight.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Dust speculaas mold for each cookie. Press dough into mold. Gently trim all dough above the line of mold with sewing thread. The top of the dough should be flush with the top of the mold.

Turn mold over and rap it against the cookie sheet. The dough should come out easily and intact if the mold was sufficiently dusted with flour. If not, gently, slowly pull dough out of the mold. If it the shaped dough comes apart in only one or two spots, gently smoosh the pieces together with your fingertip. If someone happens to see this and makes a snarky remark, hit the oaf on its head with the wine bottle. Bake cookies at 350 degrees for 15-to-25 minutes or until cookies turn golden brown.


1) The first weekend of September is the Redhead Festival in Breda, Netherlands. It started as a local photographer’s quest to find a redhead model. It soon got out of hand. Well, sort of. Redheads walk around seeing other redheads. They even celebrate the color red.

2) It could have so exciting. Why not really celebrate the color red by having tomato fights?

3) Or have ketchup wrestling. That would draw a big crowd.

4) Or have professional drivers race around Breda in red fire trucks instead of race cars.

5) Or let tourists do high diving into a pool of tomato soup.

6) Or hold a contest to build the highest pyramid out of red bell peppers.

7) Or have a contest to eat the most habañero peppers.

8) Or even celebrate ginger. Redheads are often called gingers.

9) Who wouldn’t want to enter a contest to see who could eat the most buttered ginger toast?

10) Go bowling with tomatoes. Professional tomato bowlers recommend a perfectly round. The flattish, not entirely round ones do not go as straight as the perfectly round ones. You’ll never knock down any pins with your tomato if it heads straight for the gutter. Oh, it must be said that the typical tomato has no finger holes as opposed to the standard three-hole bowling ball. This makes tomato bowling even more challenging.

11) Play golf with ginger root! Be careful not to hit your ginger in the woods. It blends in with the leaves. You’ll never find it.

12) Even better, play basketball with tomatoes! Given that tomatoes would make a big splat the first time the ball handler batted the tomato to the ground, fears of players getting away with uncalled double dribbles would be thing of the past.

12) Play football with tomatoes! Since tomatoes are so fragile, soft hands for the quarterback and receivers would be a must.

13) Stage your own bullfights. All you need is a red tablecloth and fast feet.

14) What about ten tons of tomatoes and a bulldozer? Revelers get five minutes on the machine, or fewer if they miss the tomatoes and run into a building.

– Paul De Lancey, The Comic Chef

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on

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Spotlight on Tameri Etherton, Author of “The Stones of Kaldaar (Song of the Swords Book One)”


The Stones of Kaldaar (Song of the Swords Book One)


 An excerpt from Chapter 7



Her backside rebelled when she pulled herself into the saddle. She was fairly certain she had blisters in places that weren’t polite to mention.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be riding?” She adjusted her position, finding little relief.

“At least a sennight.” Rhoane said before clucking his stallion to join the others.

A week. She groaned and kicked her mare forward. With all of its power, she didn’t understand why the people of Aelinae employed primitive resources. The least they could do was invent comfortable saddles.

As they moved through the meadow, her stomach growled, and she put a hand over her abdomen. When Faelara gave her a concerned look, Rhoane held back his stallion to hand her a pouch containing dried bread and cheese, along with meat from their meal the previous night.

Growing discontent settled in Taryn’s thoughts. She didn’t like depending on Rhoane, or anyone, for food, for shelter, for anything. Fields and grasslands sprawled in every direction, an unfamiliar landscape with unknown horrors. Until she knew her way around Aelinae, she would be exactly that—dependent on him or one of the others for her survival. The depressing thought weighed heavily on her.

Faelara moved beside her, saying in her gentle voice, “Do you see those trees over there?” She pointed in the distance. “That’s the southernmost border of the Narthvier. And over there,” she indicated to their left, “is the Spine of Ohlin. Those mountains stretch all the way from the Summer Seas to the Temple of Ardyn in the far north.”

At the sound of the familiar name, Taryn shot Rhoane a glance. “Is that where we’re going, to the temple?”

“No, darling,” Faelara looked away from the mountains toward the north, “we’re headed to Ravenwood, the country home of Duke Anje. He sent an urgent message, so we’re going to offer assistance.”

“Is that what you do? Wander around helping people?”

“It does seem that we travel much more than I’d like. The world is a curious place lately, and we go where we’re needed. Today, that just happens to be a day’s ride north.” Faelara reached over to pat Taryn’s leg. “This will give you a chance to see some of the countryside. When we get to Ravenwood, you’ll meet Hayden, Duke Anje’s son and heir. Very pleasant boy and your age.”

“Which age is that?” Taryn mumbled, distracted by the shadow that had tormented her for most of the previous day. She’d hoped it was a fluke, but its presence once again set her on edge. Each time she tried to look for it, the shadow would dissipate, but if she kept her focus straight ahead, she was able to keep the blot in her peripheral vision. Whoever or whatever it was, it was keeping pace with them but at a discreet distance.

Faelara gave her a strange look. “The only one you are.”

“Which is thirty-five in a few weeks?”

“Yes, that’s right. You and Hayden were born two days apart.”

Taryn studied her riding companion. Faelara wore a deep-green riding jacket with matching hat and split skirt that allowed her to sit astride her horse. Taryn admired how graceful she looked upon her mare and shuddered at how she must appear to the regal woman. Dirt smeared, disheveled, disoriented. Never before had she given a thought to how she looked to others, but being near the elegant woman made her self-conscious. Grimacing at the state of her hands, she picked at a cuticle, tearing the skin.

Faelara took her hand in her own. “Let’s see if we can’t get you more familiar with your surroundings. Make you feel more at home.”

The tone of her voice, and slight upturn to her lips, suggested she knew where Taryn had been all those years, but she dared not confirm her suspicions. Rhoane had warned her to keep her past hidden and that’s what she would do.

She listened with quiet intensity as Faelara explained the topography of the land they traveled. They rode through meadows of thick grasses and past fields gone fallow, the pace faster than the day before as Rhoane had promised. Every so often Rhoane would range ahead to scan the area or Baehlon would hang back to ride behind them, but neither seemed to see the shadow. After a while, she stopped looking for the flicker at the edge of her vision.

With every rut or mud-filled road they crossed, more knots formed in her shoulders and backside. Her knees were numb from gripping Cynda, and she was certain she’d forever lost all feeling in her hands from clutching the reins too tightly. They stopped briefly for a midday meal and to rest the horses but were back in the saddle much too soon. Myrddin pushed them faster as the afternoon wore on. When dark tendrils stretched across the road and the sun’s rays slanted beyond the trees through dusk, Baehlon turned them down a tree lined drive. Too weary to see straight, Taryn barely registered their location until Faelara touched her shoulder.

“Ravenwood,” she whispered.

Taryn jerked in her saddle and straightened her posture, her exhaustion a nagging memory. Ravenwood meant a bed. Possibly a shower. Definitely a break from the pounding of riding.

She followed Fae’s outstretched hand and whistled low in her throat. “That’s a bloody castle.”

“Manor house.”

“Whatever.” Taryn took in the turreted corners and delicate battlements. Though built for show, it still managed to appear imposing perched upon a hill. The group made their way up the gravel road, past landscaped borders and decorative hedges.

Too busy admiring the scenery, Taryn didn’t notice Myrddin had slowed, his hand outstretched in a silent signal to the others, until she was even with his horse. He placed a finger to his lips, his glare boring into her.

Rhoane and Baehlon drew their swords.

Nervous energy rippled over her in waves, making her palms moist, her throat dry.

Instinctively, Taryn moved closer to Faelara. Gravel crunched with each hoof their horses placed on the ground. Myrddin reined in his gelding, and the others followed, quietly dismounting. Within several yards of the manor, Taryn paused in her step.

The front door stood wide-open, without a soul in sight.

Taryn tapped Faelara’s arm, but the woman shook her head and motioned to the manor. Streaks of ShantiMari circled everyone except Baehlon and Taryn, which did not instill her with confidence.

Myrddin felt around the doorway and then stepped into the house. The men moved from room to room looking for signs of life or a struggle, finding neither. With each new room, Taryn’s heart thumped harder, threatening to burst from her chest.

They moved up the stairs to the first landing, and Myrddin motioned for her to stay with Faelara while the men crept up and down the hallways, checking each room. Halfway up the next flight of stairs, Taryn’s pendant burned against her skin. She stifled a gasp, causing Rhoane to look back. When she pointed to her cynfar, his eyes narrowed for a moment, and then he continued up the stairs, saying nothing. They stopped on the upper landing, where, again, the men crept down the hall.

Taryn moved away from Faelara to follow Rhoane. When he stepped from an empty room and nearly collided with her, he frowned, but she put a finger to her lips, motioning for him to follow.

At the last door, Taryn stopped. “In here.”

Rhoane flinched when he touched the wood. He waited until the others joined them before slowly opening the door. Taryn was last to enter the dimly lit bedchamber. Furniture crowded the large room, and in the center rested a huge four-poster bed with heavy curtains tied to the posts. Beside the bed, a man sat hunched, the sound of his soft cries filling the space. Faelara and Myrddin went to him while Baehlon and Rhoane continued to check the perimeter. A fetid odor like the scent of pork left out overlong assaulted her senses.

Help me, a voice whispered.

Taryn spun around to see who had spoken, but no one was near. She stepped around a chair and covered her mouth to keep from crying out at the ghastly sight before her. Atop the bed, uncovered but clothed, lay a young man. A glowing sword hung suspended above his heart.

The stench increased the closer she moved to the bed. It infiltrated her nostrils, her throat, her mind until she felt as if maggots crawled through her thoughts. Bile burned from her belly to her tongue. She gagged, dizzy all of a sudden.

No time. Please, the voice begged.

“Who are you?” she whispered aloud to the empty air.

Bed. Help. Now. Desperation choked the voice.

Lavender strands of ShantiMari enclosed the man’s body, with the thinnest of threads holding the sword aloft. Even as she watched, the sword moved a fraction closer to piercing his shirt. “Oh my God.”


His anguish permeated her mind to her very core. She swallowed down the bile and took a deep, calming breath. “What do you want from me?”

Sword, the voice rasped. There was no pain in his tone, just a sense of panic and fear.

She had to do something before the sword broke free. Rhoane prowled the opposite side of the room, his focus away from her.

“Hang on.” Before she could change her mind, she sprinted toward the bed. When she’d nearly reached it, she jumped as high as she could, kicking out. A cacophony roared through her mind when her foot connected with the metal. Shards of ShantiMari tangled around her leg, and a burning sensation shot up from her heel. Rhoane stepped out of the way a split second before she crashed to the floor, the sword landing with a heavy clang beside her.

Time slowed as the ringing continued. Vomit roiled in her gut. Images, flashes of light and dark, tore at her thoughts. Shouts and cries echoed in her mind. Julieta’s screams. Kaldaar’s banishment. Rykoto’s laughter as he raped Julieta.

Rhoane was speaking to her, helping her up. She stared at his face, focused on that one reality. A gasp from the bed pulled her attention back to the young man and the threads of ShantiMari tightening around him. He couldn’t breathe. She moved without thought and grabbed the sword that lay at her feet.

When she touched the handle, a shock ran up her arm. Not like the one in her leg, which felt as though it were on fire, but a soothing feeling, as if the handle welcomed her touch. The voices stopped. Her mind cleared. Her stomach calmed. Gripping the hilt with both hands, she raised the sword and brought it down over the man, slicing the lavender cords.

“Taryn, no!” Faelara cried out. Amber streaks of Mari shot toward her, but they were blocked by Rhoane’s Shanti.

“Hold, Faelara.” Rhoane’s voice was like iron. “She will not harm him.”

Taryn ignored the strange tingling of her skin as she cut the threads. When they were too small for the sword, she tossed it aside and broke apart the remaining bits with her fingers, digging through them until the man inhaled and his chest heaved with the rush of air.

The stink of death lingered. “Open the windows,” Taryn commanded. Baehlon moved with silent swiftness, opening first one and then all of the windows, letting in the last of the sun’s rays and fresh, pure air.

After a few minutes of coughing and sputtering, the man took several deep breaths. Taryn stepped back, allowing Faelara to fuss over him. Myrddin’s scowl was her last sight before everything went black.


Author’s BioTameriPic


Rocker of sparkly tiaras, friend of dragons, and lover of all things sexy, Tameri Etherton leaves a trail of glitter in her wake as she creates and conquers new worlds and the villains who inhabit them. When not masquerading as a mom and writer, rumor has it she travels to far off places, drinking tea and finding inspiration for her kickass heroines—and the rogues who steal their hearts—with her own Prince Charming by her side.




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Bangers and Mash

British Entree



1 large onion
2 pounds potatoes
5 tablespoons butter (2 tablespoons more later)
6 tablespoons milk
½ tablespoon mustard
¼ teaspoon pepper
½ teaspoon salt
8 pork sausages (Do try to get authentic British bangers.)
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 tablespoons butter
4 cups beef broth
⅓ cup red wine
4 tablespoons flour

Makes 8 bangers and mash. Takes 1¼ hours.


Thinly slice onion. Peel and cut potatoes into 1″ cubes. Add potatoes cubes to large pot. Cover potato with water. Bring to boil using high heat. Reduce heat to low and simmer for 15-to-20 minutes or until potato is tender. Drain water. Mash potatoes with, well, a potato masher. Add 5 tablespoons butter, milk, mustard, pepper, and salt. Cover and set aside.

While potato cubes are simmering. add pork sausages and vegetable oil to pan Fry sausages for 20 minutes using medium heat or until sausages turn golden brown. Cover and stir occasionally. Remove sausages and keep covered.

Add onion and 2 tablespoons butter to pan. Sauté onion for 5 minutes on medium-high heat or until onion softens. Add beef broth and red wine to pan. Bring to boil using high heat and cook for 5 minutes. Stir occasionally. Add flour. Cook on medium-high for 10 minutes or until gravy starts to thicken. Stir occasionally.

Place a sausage and an equal amount of mashed potatoes on each plate. Cover with an equal amount of onion gravy.


1) Rationing in Britain during World War I and immediately afterward resulted in butchers adding water to their sausages. This way they could still sell the same amount of sausages with less meat. The water in the sausages expanded during cooking and would burst open the casing with a bang.

– Paul De Lancey, The Comic Chef

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on

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Muamba Nsusu (Congolese chicken peanut soup)

Congolese Soup

(chicken peanut soup)


2½ pounds chicken breasts
½ teaspoon salt
1 large carrot
1 red chile
1 large yellow onion
2 tomatoes
5 cups chicken stock
¾ teaspoon cumin
1 tablespoon lemon zest
¾ cup creamy peanut butter
5 ounces tomato paste
1 tablespoon red palm oil (1½ tablespoons more later)
1½ tablespoon red palm oil
⅓ cup peanuts

Makes 12 bowls. Takes about 1 hour.


Cut chicken into 1″ cubes. Rub salt onto chicken cubes. Dice carrot, chile, onion, and tomatoes. (Don’t remove seeds from chile and be sure to wash your hands afterward.) Add chicken stock, cumin, lemon zest, peanut butter, diced tomatoes, and tomato paste to large mixing bowl. Mix with whisk until well blended.

Add 1 tablespoon red palm oil and chicken cubes to large pot. Sauté on medium-high heat for 5 minutes or until chicken is no longer pink on outside. Stir frequently. Set aside. Add 1½ tablespoons red palm oil, carrot, chile, and onion to pan. Sauté on medium-high heat for 5 minutes or until onion softens. Stir frequently. The chicken in the pot and the red palm oil/carrot/onion mix in the pan can be sautéed at the same time.

Add chicken stock/peanut butter/tomato mixture from mixing bowl to pot. Simmer on low-medium heat for 20 minutes or until the soup is well blended. Stir occasionally. Add chicken cubes to pot. Simmer for 5-to-10 minutes or until soup thickens. Garnish with peanuts.


1) All chefs make the occasional mistake. It’s useful in these events to have a prepared excuse. Mine is plate tectonics. The shifting positions of the Earth’s continents made me burn those eggs. If the mistake was caused by someone ELSE, zap the offender with your sonic obliterator. You don’t need that negativity in your life.

– Paul De Lancey, The Comic Chef

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on

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Papo de anjo (Cheesy egg puffs)

Brazilian Dessert

(syrupy egg puffs)


1 cup water
1 cinnamon stick
3 cloves
1¾ cups confectioner’s sugar
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
9 egg yolks
1 egg white
no-stick spray
1 tablespoon butter


12-cup muffin tin
electric beater
casserole dish or oven-safe ban large enough to hold muffin tin

Takes 2 hours or more, depending on how long you wait for the syrup to permeate the egg puffs. Makes 12 egg puffs.


Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Add water, cinnamon stick, cloves, and sugar to pot. Cook using low-medium heat for 2 minutes or until sugar dissolves. Stir frequently. Add vanilla extract. Bring sugar water to boil using high heat. Stir constantly. Reduce heat to low and simmer for 5 minutes or until sugar water becomes a syrup. Stir frequently. Remove from heat and cover.

Add egg yolks to first mixing bowl. Beat egg yolks using electric beater set on whip until they are frothy and have doubled in size. Add egg white to second mixing bowl. Beat egg white using electric beater set on whip until egg white forms soft peaks. Fold egg white into first mixing bowl with egg yolks.

Spray muffin cups with no-stick spray. Coat muffin cups with butter. Ladle equal amounts of egg mix in muffin cups. Put muffin tin in casserole dish. Add water to casserole dish until it comes halfway up the muffin cups. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or until egg puffs become firm and become golden brown. Remove from oven and cool on wire rack for 30 minutes.

Add syrup and egg puffs to mixing bowl. Poke holes in egg puffs with toothpick. syrup. Ladle syrup over egg puffs. Let egg puffs sit for at least 30 minutes to absorb syrup. Refrigerate if egg puffs will sit in syrup for several hours or overnight. Tell adoring guests to use forks when eating this dessert. Tell unappreciative people to syrupy cheese puffs with their hands.


1) Papo de anjo is an anagram for Joan Pod Poe.

2) Joan could be a descendant of Edgar Allan Poe. It’s hard to say.

3) It’s also quite possible that Joan goes every year to the Bloco de Lama or Mud Festival in Paraty, Brazil.

4) This year the festival was held on February 16.

5) Which is still useful information if you have a time machine.

6) If not, you will have to wait for next year. Plan way in advance! Hotels fill up early as this is a happening event. Where else do you get to smear mud all over yourself and chant, “Uga, uga, uga, rah, rah, rah” with thousands of other mud-covered revelers?

7) Some say the festival honors our caveman/cavewoman roots. Other maintain it pays hommage to the fishermen who would rub mud over themselves to keep mosquitoes away.

8) I don’t know why the fishermen didn’t use bug spray, wear hats with mosquito netting, or simply wear light clothes over every inch of their body.

9) But now, Bloco de Lama, which I hope means blockhead llama in Portuguese, is quite the party, with a blend traditional native music, hip hop, rave, and other musical genres.

10) And dance the night away in your prehistoric bikinis and SpeedosTM.

11) And then go back to your hotel, take a nice, hot relaxing bath, and let the mud gently fall from your body to the bottom of your spacious tub.

12) Boy! I bet housekeeping really hates this festival. Can you imagine having to every day clean dozens of tubs caked with dried mud?

13) No wonder the maids of Paraty, Brazil refer to the tourists as blockhead llamas.

14) Pele, the world’s greatest soccer player, is not a llama. Indeed, no soccer players are.

15) Soccer players do get muddy though when they play on muddy soccer fields. This just happens. It is not done to honor their Neanderthalic ancestors.

16) Indeed mud can be found all over the world, wherever there is dirt and rain.

17) If your town has mud, why not start its own Mud Festival? It’s a guaranteed tourist draw, especially if Joan Pod Poe makes an appearance. Just don’t call her a pod person. She doesn’t like it.

– Paul De Lancey, The Comic Chef

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on

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Easy Beef Pho

Vietnamese Soup



2 cups beef pho broth
12 ounces rice noodles
8 ounces thinly sliced sirloin
4 ounces deli-sliced roast beef

½ cup fresh basil
5 green onion stalks
1 or 2 jalapeno peppers
3 limes
2 cups bean sprouts
½ tablespoon chili garlic sauce
2 tablespoons fish sauce or hoisin sauce

Makes 10 bowls. Takes 25 minutes.


sonic obliterator


Add beef pho broth to pan. Cover and bring to boil on high heat. Reduce heat to low and simmer until all ingredients are ready. Add rice noodle to second pot. Cook according to instructions on package. Drain noodles.

While pho broth boils and rice noodles cook, dice basil and green onion. Thinly slice jalapeno pepper and limes. Add sirloin and roast beef to pot with pho broth. Simmer on low heat until sirloin is no longer pink. Divide rice noodles, basil, green onion, jalapeno pepper, bean sprouts, chili garlic sauce, and fish sauce between bowls. Garnish with lime slices. Ladle equal amounts of pho broth with meat into bowls. Serve to adoring guests.

Some guests might complain that this recipe isn’t authentic, that it skips steps, that it doesn’t use pig knuckles, and so on. You could reason with them, saying you can’t find beef knuckles at your local supermarket, you didn’t even know beeves had knuckles, and that properly prepared pho.takes five days, and that you have a life to live. Or . . . you could simply zap them with your sonic obliterator. You don’t need their negativity in your life.


1) Pho is an anagram for hop. Hop On Pop is a book by Dr. Seuss. Culinary historians think the author had been planning to write No Mo’ Pho but decided against it when he discovered pho is actually pronounced “fuh.” It’s all for the best as Hop On Pop brought Dr. Seuss enduring fame.


 Paul De Lancey, The Comic Chef

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on

Categories: cuisine, humor, international | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Here is my interview with Christina Escue

Reblogging from a great fan of literature.



Name: Christina Escue

Age: 34

Where are you from: Just East of Nashville Tennessee in a town called Lebanon

A little about your self `ie your education Family life etc: I am the mother of two beautiful daughters. Besides writing I also edit for a few select authors and work a full-time job. I love to read, write, listen to music, play with my girls and spend time with my family. I like watching movies, but don’t watch much TV. I absolutely hate to clean house and I am deathly scared of spiders.  


Fiona: Tell us your latest news?

 My second book is releasing on March 28th and I am so excited and nervous. I am also putting together a fantasy/paranormal/dystopian short story anthology under a pen name.

Fiona: When and why did you begin writing?

I started writing A New Beginning in July of 2014 after an idea…

View original post 1,383 more words

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Migas – Mexican Breakfast

Mexican Breakfast



6 eggs
4 6″ corn tortillas
1 avocado
½ small onion
1 tomato
¼ cup vegetable oil
2 tablespoons butter
4 ounces chorizo
4-ounce can diced green chiles
1 cup crumbled queso fresco or Four Mexican cheeses
⅔ cup salsa

Makes 4 plates. Takes 20-to-30 minutes


Add eggs to mixing bowl. Beat eggs with whisk until well blended. Cut tortillas into 1″ squares. Dice avocado, onion and tomato. Add oil to pan. Adjust heat to medium. To see if oil is ready, dip a tortilla square into the oil. The oil is sufficiently hot, when bubbles form on the dipped tortilla squares. Sauté on medium heat for 5 minutes or until tortilla squares are crispy and start to brown. Keep pressing tortilla chips into the oil. Keep turning over tortilla squares to avoid burning. Remove crispy tortilla squares from heat and place them on paper towels.

Add butter, onion and tomato to pan. Sauté on medium heat for 5 minutes or until onion softens. Stir frequently. Add chorizo and green chiles to pan. Cook on medium heat for 3 mintes. Stir occasionally. Add eggs, queso fresco and salsa to pan. Cook using medium heat for 5 minutes or until eggs are done to your liking. Cover. Stir occasionally.. Garnish with tortilla squares and avocado.


1) Migas looks as if it should be pronounced “My gas.” Imagine texting your loved one with, “Honey, come home and taste my gas.”

2) This dish, however incorrectly pronounced tastes great. The following is a list of unfortunately named, but scrumptious dishes:

PregoTM Spaghetti Sauce, Spotted Dick (British pudding), Pissaladière (sorta French pizza),
Stinking Bishop (British cheese), turducken (roasted chicken stuffed in duck stuffed in turkey),
Wurst (German), Pigeons au Crapaudine (French pigeons), Toad in the Hole (British sausage in bread), Pu Pu Platter (Chinese-American appetizers), Horseradish, and Blood Pudding (British).

– Chef Paul


My cookbook, Eat Me: 169 Fun Recipes From All Over the World,  and novels are available in paperpack or Kindle on

As an e-book on Nook

or on my website-where you can get a signed copy at:

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Welsh Rarebit

British Entree



6 slices bread
1 tomato
3 tablespoons butter
2½ cups shredded Caerphilly or cheddar cheese
2 tablespoons flour
½ teaspoon mustard
¼ teaspoon pepper
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
½ cup or 8 ounces beer*

* = You probably opened a 12-ounce bottle of better to get this. This will leave 4 ounces of beer for yourself. Okay, it’s not the greatest perk in the world, but it’s a start.


baking sheet

Takes about 15 minutes, not including the time to preheat your oven.


Preheat oven to 500 degrees. Toast bread. Cut tomato into 6 slices. Add butter and cheese to pan. Cook using low heat for 10 minutes or until all is melted. Stir frequently. Add flour, mustard, pepper, salt, and Worcestershire sauce. Mix with whisk until smooth. Simmer on low heat for 3 minutes or until mixture bubbles. Stir constantly. Add beer. Bring sauce to boil, stirring constantly. Remove sauce from heat.

Top each bread slice with a tomato slice. Ladle sauce equally over bread. Place sauce covered bread in oven. Broil at 500 degrees for 2 minutes or until sauce becomes brown. Serve right away to your hungry horde.


1) The Mongol horde conquered much of Asia and Europe in the 13th century. Numbering in the thousands and thousands they probably would have eaten many more Welsh rarebits than your hungry horde mentioned above.

2) Many culinary historians think the Mongols would not have been so driven to conquer, loot, massacre, and enslave if their cuisine had been as tasty as this dish. Bummer.

– Paul De Lancey, The Comic Chef

My cookbook, Following Good Food Around the World, with its 180 wonderful recipes, my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, a hilarious apocalyptic thriller, and all my other books, are available on

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