Posts Tagged With: Philadelphia

Spotlight on Perry Block, Author of “Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute”

 

About the Book

 

Like you, Perry Block is a Baby Boomer who turned around one day in 1978 and suddenly found himself 40 years later at an age he always thought was exclusively reserved for people’s parents.

Through a series of often hilarious essays, Perry tries to make sense of it all, aided by his son Brandon and a host of other real and fictitious characters, including Batman, Cupid, the Legendary Jewish Vampire Vlad the Retailer, Richard Nixon, Moses, and more.

Every Boomer concern is here – aging angst, fatherhood, the singles life, friendships, fading looks and physicality, social trends, the1 960’s, religion, Judaism, the writing life, parody and satire, self-deprecation, and the nagging worry that not only has he measured his life in coffee spoons, frequently the coffee hasn’t even been hot.

 

Excerpt from Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute

 

The LOJM

 

I’ve never been one to believe in tall tales, myths, or urban legends.

I don’t believe the tooth fairy could ever turn a profit on used enamel, doubt the existence of Bigfoot and Nessie, and scoff at aliens crash-landing at Roswell because beings that advanced would know there’s no other place to crash-land than Orlando.

Beware the LOJM!

Today is my birthday. On this day I am 40 years old, just as I have been for many years and always will be. But today somehow the rest of the world will look upon me and see something obscene, loathsome, and truly terrifying!

The world will see a man who is 67.

 Beware the LOJM! (pronounced “LOW-JIM”)

Known more formally as the “Little Old Jewish Man,” the LOJM is a foul and malignant creature known to torment and bedevil Jewish men of a certain age.

And I am its victim!

I can no longer have my picture taken in peace. The instant a camera is produced, the LOJM dashes in front of me with blinding speed. It’s like the DC Superhero the Flash if the Flash were endowed with the additional superpower of speaking fluent deli!

 The LOJM next positions itself between me and the camera, musters its most hideous visage, and then vanishes as soon as the picture is snapped! Moving at hyper-speed, the monster arrives and departs undetected, leaving only the surrogate image of its gruesome face as evidence of its foul and deceitful visitation.

Then I see the picture!  No winning boyish grin, smooth and supple cheeks, or lush brown hair swooping low across my forehead.

 But the creature’s evil work is not yet done. The LOJM mesmerizes those around me so they actually believe its foul face is my own!

Even I sometimes cannot detect the deception.

 Curse You, LOJM!

 

A Fine Bromance

 

“Sorry to hear things aren’t going well in your marriage,” I said to my friend Mark as we sat at the bar one evening.

“That’s an understatement, Perry. My wife is never home anymore. She’s always out shopping.”

“Well, that’s not unusual. Many women like to go shopping.”

“For small arms weaponry?”

“Oh. So what do you want to do? Get a divorce? Look for a woman on the side?”

“No, I can’t afford either.”

“What then?”

“I want a bromance. A close friendship with another man to fill the void.”

“I’ve heard of bromances. But where do you go to meet another guy to have bromance with?”

“Perry, there are bromance bars all over town! Ben Affleck and Matt Damon just opened a string of them. Sometimes they show I Love You, Man on continuous loop.”

“So you’re going to frequent bromance bars and hit on guys to have bromance with?”

“Yeah, baby! I’m gonna be out at night cruisin’ the bars looking for hot bromance!”

“Well, do you have any idea how to hit on guys in a bromance bar?”

“I think I’ll pick out a sensitive looking guy who seems like he’d be swell to discuss the Eagles or Flyers with, and then pitch him a slick line.”

“Something like ‘Where have you been all my life? Shopping for power tools at Home Depot?’”

“Yeah, or maybe ‘Come here to watch televised sports often?’ or ‘Buy you a drink, tall, dark, and platonic?’”

“So let’s say you start connecting with a dude and you’re finding you have a lot in common, how do you then ‘move the party’ elsewhere, if you catch my drift?”

“I think you ask the fella if he wants to go hit some golf balls. Then if all goes well you invite him back to your place for a nightcap and when the timing is right, you pop the question: ‘Would you be my bromance!’”

“I think you’d better wait on that.”

“Why?”

“You want to make good and sure it’s true bromance, not just puppy bromance.”

“Oh, right. Well, I’m off to hit some bromance bars. Care to come with?”

“No, thanks.”

“How come?”

“Call me old-fashioned, but I’m still looking for romance.”

“I understand.”

“But, Mark, just in case …”

“Yes?”

“Save me a seat.”

 

Bio

 

Perry Block is a writer living in Havertown PA, which is close enough to the Philadelphia Main Line so that he can wrongly brag he lives there. In his lifetime, he hassucceeded in virtually every sphere of human endeavor, but failed miserably in the rectangular and triangular ones. Writing has been a passion for Perry ever since he learned that it does not require math. His website is at www.perryblock.com. Perry Block – Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute is his first book. Kindly put your life on hold waiting for the next one.

**********************

Paul De Lancey
www.pauldelancey.com

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Categories: book reviews and excerpts | Tags: , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Palaw (Pilaf) From Turkmenistan

Turkmen Entree

PALAW
(pilaf )

INGREDIENTSPalaw-

2 pounds steak (rib eye, round, or chuck)
3 medium yellow onions
6 large carrots
¾ cup vegetable oil
4 cups basmati rice
6½ cups water
2 tablespoons salt

Makes 12 bowls

SPECIAL UTENSIL

Dutch oven
Food processor for thin slicing

PREPARATION

Cut steak into 1″ cubes. Dice onions. Cut carrots into thin slices 3″ long. (A food processor that does thin slicing is a big help.)

Add beef cubes and oil to Dutch oven. Sauté beef for 10 minutes on medium-high heat or until beef starts to brown. Add onion and carrot. Sauté for 10 minutes or until onion and carrot soften. Stir occasionally.

Add rice, water, and salt. Raise heat to high and bring to boil. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 30-to-40 minutes. Stir three times. Be careful when stirring, especially if the food is near the top of the Dutch oven.

TIDBITS

1) This dish, palaw, is the inspiration for the hit TV show, PA Law. In this series, Detectives Donna Goreng and Ed Dejaj investigate rice crimes in the greater Philadelphia area. It’s not easy work for the bold and dedicated duo. The crimes are perpetrated by the Jell-O,TM Mold Militants, JMM!

2) Prior to 1970, every homemade dish was a Jell-O mold. These concoctions were often quite strange and offputting, like the tuna, oyster, Rocky Mountain oyster, bacon, peanut butter, sautéed eggplant and other science-fiction-like molds that graced the dining room table in that era.

3) Naturally, these molds made Americans cranky, resulting in many riots during the 1960s. Then we discovered palaw from Turkmenistan, hamburgers, and ice cream. Things calmed down something considerable. Except for the JMM. They hate our culinary freedoms.

– Chef Paul

LutheranCookbook

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

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

or on my website-where you can get a signed copy at: www.lordsoffun.com

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

Spotlight on Concha Alborg, Author of “Divorce After Death: A Widow’s Memoir”

The Matchmaker. DesencuentrosConchaCover

Let’s face it, we would all like to meet someone cute, someone sitting next to us on a plane or a train like in a movie—think of Before Sunrise. I have my own fantasy; I see a gorgeous, tall man who looks familiar at a writers’ conference and he starts coming toward me saying in a foreign accent “You look familiar, have we met before?” Trite, I know, but oh so perfect! But when all else fails, when we have tried several Internet sites, when we have placed an ad in The New York Review of Books and have answered a few of them as well, when our friends and relatives have introduced us to several suitable acquaintances and we have tried to strike up a conversation in airports, supermarkets, local bookstores and just about everywhere we go, there is always the matchmaker.
Yes, I’m not inventing this, a matchmaker, like in an old-fashioned film, say Fiddler on the Roof or Crossing Delancey. George, from my Pilates class, told me about her. I tried to hush him up, embarrassed to death that our teacher would hear him in the one place where I haven’t made it obvious that I’m on the prowl. He couldn’t say enough good things about Jo. She was lovely, so knowledgeable and courteous. With such a high recommendation, I jotted her number down on my gym membership card. She hadn’t yet given me her charming pink business card with a gold heart in the middle.
I drove to her place in suburban Philadelphia, a few exits off US 95 North from the center of town. Her tiny office walls were covered with pictures of happy, smiling couples just like an OBGYN doctor has hers covered with adorable babies. Jo was so chatty and friendly that I wondered if she had met her husband as a client. She kept saying how nice my skin was and how young I seemed—I shouldn’t tell my age to anyone—that I looked at least ten years younger. How was I not to like her? She wasn’t cheap, but gave me an introductory price of $200.00, perhaps given my lovely skin. That fee was good for two months and guaranteed four matches.
Going to a matchmaker, just like joining a new website, helps one focus. “What exactly do I want in a partner?” Jo asked. First of all, he has to be accomplished, cultured, attractive, energetic, financially conservative and politically liberal. He must want to travel. Of course he will be kind, pleasant, good company and all the usual social requirements. My therapist says that I’m not demanding, but that, since I have lots to offer, I want lots in return. Maybe I’ll have to lower my expectations if I ever want to find a mate.
Since I like to make a research project out of everything, I had some questions of my own for Jo: Who are her typical clients, how does she meet them, are the women happy with her services? Turns out that she has been in business for more than twenty years, and she advertises in the local press and on dating sites, but most of her men and women come referred by someone else. “No, they are not desperate,” Jo assures me, they are all professionals, like me, and they just don’t have time to waste on the Internet.
But, just like in a dating site, there was a protocol to follow. I would get a phone call from the men first. “Don’t expect to talk too long; men hate chatting on the phone,” Jo said. If it goes well, then a short date is set for coffee or an after-work drink. No one wants to spend time and money on dinner if there isn’t chemistry, a word she used often, making her service sound more like science than magic. She expected a call with my first impressions after the initial meeting and then we were on our own.
I’ve done some matchmaking myself, with little success I might add. I have been known to fix my ex-boyfriends with some of my own girlfriends. I think of it as a way to soften the blow, if I was the one who initiated the breakup. But, for some reason, the guys get touchy about this and by the time they make the contact I’m not even sure it was a good idea. Like the time I suggested to a Rutgers University professor, who loved his Maltese puppies, he would like to meet Mary, who was crazy about her Dalmatians. I’m not sure if he didn’t like her or her dogs. I also fixed Mary up with Charlie, a tango instructor, since she loves ballroom dancing. I don’t know what happened, but that was a fiasco, too, and I retired from the business of meddling in my friends’ love lives.
Jo fixed me up right away with three men and, she was right, their phone conversations were indicative of what there was to come. In fact, Jack and I never made it beyond the first phone conversation. Jack admitted that he hadn’t been in Philadelphia since the fifties and didn’t like it anyway. I said that he didn’t even know the city; it has changed so much in the last six decades! No wonder he mentioned Famous Deli as a good place to meet, which is about the oldest, most stuffy place to eat off South Street, while I was thinking of one of the many trendy places I’m familiar with, like Amada or Garces Trading Company.
He also told me he had written a memoir of his Italian family and their move to New York City. The unbelievable part is that, even though it hadn’t been published, it had been picked up by a director and it was being made into a film. Saying that I was envious doesn’t even come close to how I felt. The producers had given him a Lexus (he usually drove a Ford Taurus) and a credit card, so he could go from his Southern Jersey home to the big city to be a consultant. He couldn’t take me out yet, because they were filming in New York, and on the first snowy day he would have to leave immediately to shoot the outdoor scenes. All this conversation took place in what I would call immigrant volume. I remember how my family screamed on the phone when they used to call from Spain before the days of Skype. “Helloooo,” Jack would say and, without meaning to, I would answer “Whaaaat?” in a very loud voice. I never heard from him again.
The first man I met through Jo was Pietro, also an Italian, this one from South Philly. He was as good-looking as she mentioned, dressed all in black, with a tight muscle shirt to show off his physique. He smelled good, too. Come to think of it, all of Jo’s men smelled delicious. His best feature was his silver hair, sleeked back with lots of product, framing his handsome face and his eyebrows, which were shaped like upside down Vs. Think of Rocky Balboa without the broken nose. Unfortunately he was covered with gold jewelry: a big watch, a thick chain bracelet and most prominently, an elaborate crucifix, hanging from a gold chain, in the middle of his powerful chest. There was no doubt that Pietro was more handsome than I’m pretty, and I’m no wall flower. He spoke with a South Philly accent, which is funny if you hear it on a TV or radio ad, but is very embarrassing if you are in a sophisticated Society Hill bar and one of your neighbors is right behind him. Luckily, my neighbor was not with his wife, so he also pretended not to see me.
This Italian jock had never been out of the country; the only time he had been on a plane, he went to Florida. He admitted that he would need to be sedated to get airborne again. As I’ve said before, I won’t go to bed with Republicans, but this guy probably didn’t even vote. He was incensed when he heard that I had been to Cuba with my students and had loved my recent trip to China. “What are you, a Communist?” he said gesturing with his hand under the chin. No, he didn’t go to movies. No, he didn’t know Italian, although he spoke with his hands and showed me some not so nice gestures. How’s that for a match?
We spoke about our children. His daughter was a waitress and his son already had his own heating and air-conditioning business. And there I was telling him that not everyone needs to go to college. If either one of my daughters could hear me now! At that point he told me how perceptive he was and how no one could BS him. What a good time we were having and how much he wanted to see me again! He couldn’t wait to make some of his mother’s spaghetti with traditional gravy for me—that’s the word for sauce in South Philly. What was I to do? I told Jo the truth: that physically Pietro was very attractive, but that he wasn’t my type and that I could never take him home to meet my children.
Steven, a retired corporate man, also dressed in black, was my next match. His hair was perfect as well. I started to wonder if Jo had a dress code for her male clients. I made the mistake of dressing conservatively with a matching outfit that made me look like an Iberian Airlines flight attendant, without the white gloves and the box hat, because despite his business career Steven was a biker now and there were his helmet and leather jacket to prove it. That would teach me to dress to please my date.
Our conversation started well enough. At least he had made money from his real estate investments and I love talking about the ups and downs in the real estate market. But then, I don’t know how, The Bible made an unscheduled appearance and he was telling me that marriage was supposed to be between a man and a woman only, period. Appearances can be so deceiving; despite being Jewish, Jo attracted conservative Catholic men and, despite my goody-two-shoe clothes, I was a Communist and a radical.
Again, I called Jo immediately and told her that Steven and I weren’t a good match, only to find out that he had already called her and told her that there was no chemistry between us. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Concha. And here I had painted my nails a provocative deep red—something I hadn’t done in decades, certainly not for a date, maybe for a fund-raiser gala someplace.
James, however, took the cake. He was one of the most unpleasant dating experiences I have ever had. He was talkative on the phone, although there were plenty of red flags: this country is toxic, his sister is also toxic, his brother’s children are toxic. He described himself as a European because he had lived in Paris for a period of time (not). He did have an interesting career. He was a physician with his own practice that specializes in curing cancer with intravenous doses of vitamin C, although I had never heard of that kind of experimental treatment.
Setting up a date with James was a complicated affair. He was a vegetarian, so we couldn’t meet at a Jewish deli I suggested (as if they didn’t serve salads there). We met at a Starbucks at 12:30 PM, which I thought meant lunch. But when he arrived a few minutes late, I might add, he didn’t want anything, because he had already drank a protein smoothie somewhere and I had to buy my own sandwich and drink. No problem. From the very beginning, the conversation was strained and his toxicity list had grown to include some of his patients and friends. I changed the subject to traveling, mentioning some of the study tours I had taken with my students to South America, Cuba and South Africa…
“Oh, paid vacations,” he said. I thought he was kidding, so I laughed, but he was serious. When I mentioned that perhaps he said that because he never had children; traveling with fifteen or twenty teenagers is never a vacation, he said that he was offended, got up and left. I sat there eating my sandwich alone, shaking in my seat. Being left in a coffee shop, that was a first. This time, I told Jo that I was taking a leave of absence and that I wanted to take a break from dating. I didn’t mention to her how I missed using Google to find out information about perspective dates and how much better it is to communicate on e-mail for a while before having to pay for one’s lunch.
Several months later, out of the blue, Jo called me up with another possible match. I think she felt badly about my last one and I was again between boyfriends, so I agreed to try one more time. Dating is like childbirth; you forget how painful it is and you end up trying again. Clark worked around the corner from my home, so we could meet very easily. He was younger than me, but as young as I looked Jo was sure it didn’t matter. This time a happy hour meeting at a trendy new place, The Red Owl Tavern, was set effortlessly. Clark was not Superman, but he was also attractive, blond and dressed casually with a Hawaiian shirt and khakis. He had never been married, lived on the same street where he grew up in suburban Philadelphia. No, he didn’t come to the city on weekends, since he was there every weekday for work. No, he didn’t see foreign movies. No, he didn’t care for the opera, the orchestra or the ballet. His favorite activity was playing Trivial Pursuit on weekends with a so-called “meet-up” group (I made a mental note not to ever try that possibility).
This time I felt guilty calling Jo with the bad news; Clark was such a nice guy. I kept thinking of a Spanish word I haven’t been able to translate into English, desencuentro. The trusty Google dictionary says that it is a “disagreement,” a “misunderstanding,” a “failure to meet up,” a “mix-up,” and “unmeeting,” (is there such a word?). But none of these do justice to this Spanish concept. Literally it means an “un-encounter.” Let me illustrate it. A desencuentro is when two people would have never met had it not been for an introduction by a well-meaning matchmaker. A desencuentro is when two people would be on a different time zone even if they live in the same city, like Clark and I. Not surprisingly, when Clark called Jo with his report, he told her that I was delightful, but I seemed “a little long in the tooth.” How’s that for an apt American expression?

Author’s Bio

Concha Alborg was born in Spain during the difficult years after the Spanish Civil War and went to school in Madrid until she emigrated with her parents to the United States, ConchaAutwhere she finished high school. More than any other event in her life, this move defines who she is, an immigrant living between two cultures. She may seem Americanized to her Spanish relatives, but she is from another country as far as her daughters are concerned. Although Concha fits well enough in both cultures, a tell-tale Spanish accent marks her speech as well as her writing.
Concha Alborg earned an MA from Emory University and a PhD in Spanish Literature from Temple University. In addition to numerous academic publications on contemporary women writers, she has been actively writing fiction and creative non-fiction. Recently, she left Saint Joseph’s University, where she was a professor for over twenty years, to write full time. She has published two collections of short stories: Una noche en casa (Madrid, 1995) and Beyond Jet-Lag (New Jersey, 2000) and a novel, American in Translation: A Novel in Three Novellas (Indiana, 2011).
Concha Alborg didn’t think that anything could hurt her more than the death of her husband from cancer, but hours after his death she learned how wrong she was. Within days of being made a widow, she discovered that her marriage and her husband were not what she had envisioned. In Divorce After Death. A Widow’s Memoir, with a unique point of view, due to her bi-cultural background, and a self-deprecating humor, she takes us on a personal journey. Her strength and determination to build a new life led her down a path that allowed her to reject the veil of widowhood and instead embrace a life of happiness, love and acceptance.
Concha Alborg lives and writes in Philadelphia. See more information about the author at www.conchaalborg.com. Her Humor Outcasts’ author page link is http://hopress-shorehousebooks.com/concha-alborg/.

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Philly Cheese Steak

American entree

PHILLY CHEESE STEAK

INGREDIENTSPhillyCheeseStk-

1 pound rib-eye steak
5 ounces provolone cheese
1 green bell pepper
1 large yellow onion
4 cloves garlic (2 teaspoons)
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 hoagie rolls (or Italian rolls or Kaiser rolls or baguettes)
2 1/2 tablespoons vegetable oil

PREPARATION

Slice steak, provolone, bell pepper, and onion as thinly as you can. Mince garlic. Put vegetable oil in skillet. Heat oil using medium-high heat. It’ll be hot enough when a bit of onion causes the oil to sizzle. Add onion, bell pepper, garlic, and salt to skillet. Sauté for 5 minutes or until onion becomes tender. Stir frequently.

Add steak slices and cook on medium-high heat for 3 minutes or until meat browns. Place provolone slices over steak mixture. Heat until provolone melts. Spoon cheesy/steak mixture into hoagie rolls.

TIDBITS

1) Many believe Pat and Harry Olivieri invented the Philly steak sandwich in the early ‘30s. Their original sandwich consisted of chopped steak on hoagie rolls. Joe “Cocky Joe” Lorenza, one of their managers, later added cheese.

2) John Kerry ran for president in 2004. He might have won but for a widely publicized gaffe where he tried to order a Philly cheese steak with Swiss cheese instead of the traditional provolone, American cheese, or Cheez WhizTM.

According to the Philadelphia Inquirer, “In Philadelphia, that’s an alternative lifestyle”

3) And so George W. Bush won a second term. Barack Obama was elected in 2008 in what could have been Kerry’s second term. And in that time we’ve had a major global recession, terrorist bombings, nuclear weapons programs by Iran and North Korea, global warming, the proliferation of high-fructose corn syrup, and wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

4) So careful when ordering your Philly cheese steak. The fate of the world depends on it.
cover

My cookbook, Eat Me: 169 Fun Recipes From All Over the World, is available in paperpack or Kindle on amazon.com

As an e-book on Nook

or on my website-where you can get a signed copy at: www.lordsoffun.com

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Yemeni Chicken Soup

Yemeni Soup

CHICKEN SOUP

INGREDIENTSChickenNoo-

3 chicken breasts
2 carrots
4 brown potatoes
2 cloves garlic
1 tomato
2 tablespoons hawaij (See recipe for hawaij)
1/2 bunch fresh parsley or 1 cup
1 quart chicken stock

PREPARATION

Cut chicken breasts into 1″ cubes. Peel and cut carrots into 1″ wide slices. Peel and cut potatoes into eighths. Dice garlic cloves. Dice tomatoes.

Add all ingredients to large pot. Cook on high heat until soup boils, stirring occasionally. Reduce heat to low and simmer for 45 minutes. Stir occasionally.

TIDBITS

1) Hawaij is quite close to being spelled Hawaii.

2) Hawaii is the 50th state admitted to the United States of America.

3) In 1950, the New York Yankees swept the Philadelphia Phillies in the World Series.

4) The Philly cheesesteak is a deservedly famous sandwich.

5) Vampires are killed by a stake to the heart.

6) Garlic, though, keeps vampires at bay while being much smaller and cheaper.

7) There is no garlic in my recipe for hawaij. So there is none is this soup.

8) You won’t be able to ward off vampires by showing it this soup. Better to throw the soup at the vampire. Look for your stake and hammer while it’s wiping off its face. Good luck.

– Chef Paul

4novels

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

As an e-book on Nook

or on my website-where you can get a signed copy at: www.lordsoffun.com

 

Categories: cuisine, food, humor, recipes | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Bahamian Banana Breakfast Bread

Bahamian Breakfast

BAHAMIAN BANANA BREAKFAST BREAD

INGREDIENTSBahBBBr-

3 bananas (overripe ones are better)
1/2 cups pecans
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 cup butter (softened or melted)
1/2 cup raisins
2 eggs
2 3/4 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 cup sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 1/4 cups flour

Makes 1 loaf. Takes 1 hour 30 minutes.

PREPARATION

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease 9″ x 6″ or 9″ x 5″ baking or loaf pan. Peel bananas. Put bananas in large mixing bowl. Mash bananas with potato masher or fork.. (Did you know that you can buy on AmazonTM the HutzlerTM 571 Banana Slicer? Look at the reviews. They’re hilarious.) Chop pecans or grind with spice grinder until all the pecan bits are quite small.

Add pecan bits, cinnamon, butter, raisins, eggs, baking powder, sugar, salt, nutmeg and vanilla extract to mixing bowl. Mix with fork. Blend with electric beater set on “cake.” With electric beater running, gradually add all the flour. Blend until the batter is smooth.

Spray pan with no-stick spray. Pour batter into pan. Put pan in oven. Cook for 45 to 60 minutes or until a toothpick or fork inserted into the middle comes out clean. Let cool for 20 minutes. Turn pan over onto a plate.

1) Bahamian Banana Breakfast Bread is a great example of alliteration.

2) Alliteration is when all words start with the same sound or letter.

3) Al Simmons was a Hall of Fame baseball player.

4) He hit .390 for the Philadelphia Athletics.

5) Philadelphia Athletics is not alliterative.

6) But the Anaheim Angels were.

7) Now they are called the Los Angeles Angels.

8) Which is still alliterative.

9) Thank goodness for Major League Ball, keeping alliteration alive.

– Chef Paul

4novels

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

As an e-book on Nook

or on my website-where you can get a signed copy at: www.lordsoffun.com

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

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