Salisbury Steak Recipe from the internet

SLOW COOKER SALISBURY STEAK

8

 

20 MINUTES

 

4 HOURS 30 MINUTES

 

4 HOURS 50 MINUTES

For beef patties:

2 pounds ground beef

5 garlic minced

2 whole eggs

⅓ cup breadcrumbs

4 tablespoons finely chopped parsley

1 tablespoon worcestershire sauce

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoons black pepper

4 cups thinly sliced cremini mushrooms

2 bay leaves

For gravy:

4 tablespoons butter melted

4 tablespoons all purpose flour

2 cups no sodium beef broth

1 tablespoon lemon juice

1 teaspoon seasoned salt

Combine ground beef, egg, garlic, breadcrumbs, 2 tablespoons chopped parsley, 1 tablespoon worcestershire sauce, 1 teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon black pepper. Make 8 (4 ounce) patties. Arrange in a 6-quart slow cooker.

Spread mushrooms and bay leaves on top of patties.

To make gravy: In a bowl whisk together melted butter and flour to form a paste. While whisking, gradually add in beef broth to avoid lumps. Add in lemon juice, seasoned salt then mix.

Cook on low for 7 hours or on high for 4 hours and 30 minutes.

Garnish with remaining 2 tablespoons of parsley.

Tip: For a thicker sauce add in 2 tablespoons of cornstarch to flour.

The Come Apart revised

The Come-Apart

It seems to be about the tag. It gets
more illuminated than the thought at times.
On this ordinary night, doing the ordinary

thing we do, we calculate who will be
chopped and who will remain to claim
victory on a show we watch. Invariably,

Molly decides to stand directly in front
of me on the huge purple ottoman I bought
with her in mind. Sometimes, I get pissed

that she won't sit down, allow me to watch
the expected stream of innocuous competition
which steadies me in my most difficult times.

Tonight, as a competitor took her knife
to the soft underbelly of an unknown white
fish, my eyes were fixated on the rabies

tag dangling from my big red dog's collar--
bone-shaped--reflecting light from the television,
from the lamp purchased in the middle of what

I thought was the end. It was after my father's
death and before Molly came to live with us,
love us, destroy the us-ness of this house, bestow

upon us her dog-love thing, slobber and chewing
a constant proverbial pain in the ass, a reminder
of what it takes to love when everything you know

has been obliterated, and all of love as you ever
knew it is perpetually at risk. The measure of all
of your remaining days becomes more real than

ever imagined in the light of great loss; a token
of belonging hanging from my dear dog's neck
becomes the angst my heart wishes to shy from,

to retreat, to escape to parts unknown as it weighs
out the inevitable odds attached to losing a beloved,
wearing jeans or a shiny signet of love unfettered.

The Come-Apart

The Come-Apart

It seems to be about the tag. It gets
more illuminated than the thought at times.
On this ordinary night, doing the ordinary

thing we do, we calculate who will be
chopped and who will remain to claim
victory on a show we watch. Invariably,

Molly decides to stand directly in front
of me on the huge purple ottoman I bought
with her in mind. Sometimes, I get pissed

that she won't sit down, allow me to watch
the expected stream of innocuous competition
which steadies me in my most difficult times.

Tonight, as a competitor took her knife
to the soft underbelly of an unknown white
fish, my eyes were fixated on the rabies

tag dangling from my big red dog's collar--
bone-shaped, reflecting light from the television,
from the lamp purchased in the middle of what

I thought was the end. It was after my father's
death and before Molly came to live with us,
love us, destroy the us-ness of this house, bestow

upon us her dog-love thing, slobber and chewing
a constant proverbial pain in the ass, a reminder
of what it takes to love when everything you know

has been obliterated, and all of love as you ever
knew it is constantly at risk. The measure of all
of your remaining days becomes more real than

ever imagined in the light of great loss, a token
of belonging hanging from your dear dog's neck
becomes the angst the heart wishes it could shy

from, retreat, call a truce as it weighs out the
inevitable odds attached to the life of any you love.

My response to a thread on Bevin getting bitten by a horse

Ken Prophater I say screw him but wish him no ill will. I can't go there. I can't tell you how much I detest the Cheetoh head in power of this country, and I wish he were not in power and wish he would go away and just vanish--like a fart in the wind (to quote The Shawshank Redemption), but I do not wish harm on him. My anger comes from the great injustices done to those most in need who are affected by Bevin and Cheetohhead's ridiculous and uneducated beliefs. I have spent my life helping those in need, and I can see where programs to continue to provide much needed help are on the chopping block. Neither of these (I can't call them humans as they appear to have no inkling of an idea of what it is to be human) characters have a concept of what is happening to so many marginalized, poor, falling-on-hard-times, struggling people. They pretend and go home to their million dollar environs and fancy clothes and dream worlds. It's very sad, to say the least.

Note: I am only posting this as a matter of record. Jeez, I feel Big Brother is everywhere and I can't say anything for fear of someone coming in and arresting me!