Posts Tagged With: Justin Bieber

One Day Injera – Ethiopian Flatbread

Ethiopian Entree



1½ cups teff flour
2 cups water

½ teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons ghee or vegetable oil

Makes 4 injeras. Takes 24 hours to ferment and 20 minutes to cook.


no-stick pan
cheesecloth or thin towel


Add teff flour and water to large mixing bowl. Mix with whisk until well blended. Cover batter with cheesecloth, or thin kitchen towel, and let sit in the open air for about 24 hours. This ferments the batter. Batter is fermented when surface cracks and bubbles appear. You can cook with the batter sooner if you wish, but you will get less of the customary sourness of injera.

Add baking powder and salt to mixing bowl. Mix with whisk until batter is well blended. Add ½ tablespoon ghee to pan. Use low heat to melt ghee. Add ¼ of the batter, about ⅔ cup, from mixing bowl to pan. Shake pan so that batter completely covers the surface of the pan. Batter should be somewhat thicker than a crepe. Cover and cook batter for 3-to-5 minutes or until bubbles appear on the top and the edges of the batter begin to curl. Do not flip the injera flatbread. Be careful not to brown the bottom of the batter. (Use your x-ray vision to check. If you fell asleep when your teacher taught how to do this, lift up an edge of the injera with a spatula and take a peek.) Repeat for remaining injeras.

Remove injera flatbread carefully with spatula. Serve with doro wat (chicken stew), siga wat (beef stew), sega wat (lamb stew), mesir wat (red lentil puree), or whatever you wish. Simply tear off pieces of injera and eat by hand. Alternatively. roll up injera and then eat by hand.


1) Injera is the national bread of Ethiopia.

2) One-day injera sounds a lot like “guantanamera” a famous song from Cuba.

3) A guantamera is woman from Gunatanamo, Cuba. So “Guantanamera, guajira, Guantanamera” means “Guantamo, Cuban woman, peasant girl, Guantanamo, Cuban woman.” It sounds a lot better in Spanish, doesn’t it?”

4) Guajira sounds a lot like “tequila.”

5) Guantanamera sounds a lot like “one-ton tomato.”

6) So the whole phrase seems to be “One-ton tomato, tequila, one ton tomato.”

7) Perhaps that is part of the original lyrics and the musically awkward refrain of “Guantamo, Cuban woman, peasant girl, Guantanamo, Cuban woman” is the misheard version.

8) It has to be. I mean if you’re a peasant farmer from Guantanamo, or any place for that matter, wouldn’t you want to grow a one-ton tomato? I know I would.

9) This desire to grow a huge, money-making tomato would naturally manifest in peasant song as any culinary psychologist would tell you.

10) This need to produce the world’s biggest tomato would find voice while drinking hard, native liquour. Hence, the inclusion of the word tequila.

11) Tequila is the muse of many of the world’s greatest songwriters.

12) Tequila is the muse of many horrible neighborhood singers. These cauterwaulers sometimes get shot. Hence the phrase, a shot of tequila.

13) So how did “One-ton tomato, tequila, one ton tomato” get corrupted into “Guantanamera, guajira, guantanamera?”

14) Simple, on Valentine’s Day, 1958, the beguiling, Juanita Albondigas sashayed by the handsome Pablo Desayuno. “Hola, Señor.” She batted her eyes. “Are you singing about me?”

Pablo, plastered enough to sing about a humongous fruit often miscalled a vegetable was sober enough to realize that a hot chiquita was hitting on him. “Ho, ho, I am indeed singing about you. You are the Guanatanamoan peasant girl of this song.”

Juanita’s peasant garb fell to the ground. The besotted Pablo fell to the ground as well. Choruses of “Ai, ai, ai” filled the air. A month later, they got married and set immediately to growing the first one-ton tomato. In early 1959, they produced the world’s first nineteen pound tomato. This incredible feat garnered them the cover story of the prestigious, “Tomato World.”

15) Juanita and Pedro became so involved in their efforts, they scarcely noticed the Cuban Revolution of 1959, the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962, and the Justin Bieber phenomenon of 2009.

16) Tomato enthusiasts report that the Desayunos are currently growing 983-pound tomatoes. The worthy farmers are growing old. They will very soon be turning over their quest to their many children and grandchildren. I wish them well.

– Chef Paul


My cookbook, Eat Me: 169 Fun Recipes From All Over the World,  and my newest novel, Do Lutheran Hunks Eat Mushrooms, are available in paperback or Kindle on

The cookbook is also available as an e-book on Nook

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

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Cannibal Rat Cruises Announces New One-Way Voyages


Do you have an annoying neighbor who blasts Justin Bieber until five in the morning? Do you have a tyrannical boss? And how do you simultaneously reward your nagging spouse and collect on that rather large insurance policy you thoughtfully took out yesterday?

Well, Cannibal Rats Cruises has the perfect thing for you. We are proud to have taken possession of the Lyubov Orlova. The previous owner’s bankruptcy is in our gain. Left abandoned in Newfoundland for two years, it rapidly became one of a kind, a floating zoo, except for the lack of lions, tigers, bears, and many other creatures. Okay, this floating zoo consists entirely of rats. But how many cruise ships can claim a rat zoo?

Originally sold to the Dominican Republic, a nation proud of its rat-free cuisine, the Lyubov Orlova never made it there. The vessel broke loose from the tow ship the very first day at sea. This fact was never noticed.

“Hey, Pedro, have you seen that cruise ship we’re towing?”

“No, Pablo, but I haven’t been looking for it”

The Canadian authorities recaptured the wandering ship a little later. But the tow line snapped again. “In retrospect, using a Slinky to connect our tug to the Lyubov Orlova seems insufficient says an imagined Captain Amos Keeto of the Canadian Icy Ocean Patrol.

The cruise was then left to drift unmanned in the Arctic waters. Says Captain Keeto, “It’s no big deal.”

No big deal until now! Salvagers from Cannibal Rats Cruises, CRC, boarded the ship armed with cannister after cannister of rat poison. Within a scant two days the surviving boarders managed to get the rat population down to a comfortable level.

And that’s where you come in. Hee! Hee! No not you, your neighbor from hell, your cheating spouse, your local lutefisk vendor will be ushered into there spacious staterooms. Meal times are flexible. The rats’ moods set the time. Yes, CRC, is the perfect way for your fiends to lose all those extra pounds.

And best of all, the cost of sending your unloved one on this one-way adventure? Only $77 for an interior room to just $277 for a mini-suite! Expire in a garden villa for a mere $477. How does CRC keep it rates so low?

No overhead. No crew!

Treat those special people to a voyage with Cannibal Rats Cruises. They’ll remember it to the end of their days.
3novelsPlease check out Paul De Lancey’s books on
or visit his website for signed copies.


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Great Things Come In Little Packages

Great Things Come in Little Packages


It was a bad day to be a dinosaur. It was a bad day to be a T-Rex. Particularly if your name was Alex and you were the last dinosaur on Earth. Alex glanced at the Sun. Dang, it was hot. Al Gore was right about global warming, at least in a reverse time series sort of way.

Alex raised his claw to wipe the sweat from his eyebrow. Mistake. Being a lizard-or-bird like creature, the scientists are still debating, he didn’t sweat and he didn’t have eyebrows. He did have razor-sharp talons which pierced the skin above his eye. Dang, that hurt. He wished mommy were there to comfort him. But it was probably just as well, seeing how she tried to eat him when he was six-weeks old.

On and on, the last of the T-Rexes trudged. Where to, he could not say. How long, he could not now. He only knew he need food. He needed it fast. Real fast, before this short story ran out of words and he could see by scrolling down it would only be four paragraphs.

He thirsted. Oh, how he thirsted. He thirsted like a shopper at WalMart two minutes before the start of Black Friday sales. On and on, Alex trudged. His breath became more and more labored. He fancied the gentle breeze made rippling patterns on his loose skin.

An oasis appeared on the horizon. He forced his aching legs to give one last effort. Faster and faster, he careened. Then there it was, an oasis with hundreds of hundreds of delicious apatosauri grazing unconcernedly around a pool of life giving water. The cave to the right displayed a big banner, “Get it here, T-Rex big boy.” Alex tried to grin. Couldn’t. Evolution hadn’t given him lips. Be he knew he died and gone to heaven.

Well, he was partly right about that last statement. His last step was off a twenty-foot cliff. The sharp rock at the bottom did nothing to break his fall. Indeed, it shattered his kneecap. (Gosh, I hope for the accuracy of this story, T-Rexes had kneecaps.)

The rock did more than break his kneecap. It destroyed his ability to move. That destroyed his ability to hunt. No hunting. No food. Alex the T-Rex was dying. And he had proto-psoriasis. A bacterium entering the gaping wound in his knee saw to that.

The bacterium flourished in the T-Rex kneecap. One day it split into two. Later it split into four. The grandchild bacteria repeated this cycle of life over and over again. The Earth’s continents shifted. The dinosaur knee cap traveled north, always north until harsh coldness froze the proto-psoriasis colony.

But they did not die. They went dormant and waited, waited for a thaw that would bring them a new host.


Little Timmy Tyler didn’t want to be at Dinosaur National Monument. He wanted to be home playing Mario On Steroids alongside his friends. But here he was and it was hot. He wiped sweat from his brow. Did he thank evolution? No. He was too hungry. His stomach rumbled.

“Mom, can we eat soon?”

“No dear, we came all the way out here to find dinosaur bones for Daddy’s museum and we’re not going in until we find one. Have a snack.”

Thank goodness for the Twinkie in his shirt pocket. It was the last Twinkie ever sold on Earth. He’d had to use Tae Kwan Do moves on several people struggling to get it.

Timmy unwrapped the dessert of all desserts and brought it to his eager tasted buds. A glint appeared by his left foot. There was a tiny bone fragment that bore an uncanny resemblance to Justin Bieber’s profile. Timmy picked up the fragment. Millennia upon millennia of erosion had smoothed this fragment everywhere, everywhere but one spot
That one sharp spot pricked Timmy’s thumb. A colony of proto-psoriasis woke up, flexed their cilia, and stampeded Timmy’s body. Oh how they would attack him. They had eons of mutations stored up. They headed for the stomach where they would mutate and mutate and eat Timmy from the inside out.

Timmy bit into the Twinkie. His stomach tried valiantly to break down Hostess’s golden snack but failed, failed miserably.

But in failure, there is often victory and so there was now. The stomach’s defeated gastric juices had left behind a goodly pool of nasty chemicals, chemicals that rats and cockroaches normally gave wide berth. But the invading proto-psoriasis having been dormant for sixty-five-millions years knew nothing of this. Indeed, the chemicals smelled like a delicacy to them and they gleefully ingested the toxic poisons and died.

The proto-psoriasis would not infect Timmy. They would not spread to other people. They would not wipe out humanity. And Timmy took another bite of the world’s last Twinkie.

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