Sloppy Second Joes

Sloppy seconds are underrated, especially if they inspire back to back inhalatory attacks.  Do homemade Sloppy Second Joes using Kosher meat from my local butcher in Mount Kisco, NY compare to the same intensified level of joy I received from sucking down every last parcel of my delectable Porterhouse during my 1st IT recruiter sales promo dinner at Morton’s Steakhouse in Beverly Hills, as I cursed my father afterwards for exposing to only mere anemic, anorexic Kosher steaks growing prior? No, but I also wasn’t slightly tiffed the next morning, to learn my wife had nearly polished off what little Sloppy Second Joes remained, because she just needed the “extra protein”. Just like I need a memory eraser to delete any instance when my wife used the expression “zero calories” to describe anything because I’m not telling Rolling Stone she’s a hippier version of Jessica Simpson, whose sexual napalm in the sack either.

Sloppy Joes are in need of rebrand refresh because the name alone grossed out all 3 of my kids from the start.  Raw ground Kosher meat looking like Playdo grinded cow brain doesn’t help Sloppy Joes overall appeal, regardless if it’s coated in ketchup, onion and brown sugar from Mick Jagger’s secret stash either.  So I renamed Sloppy Joes, Sloppy Second Joes, to inject more sexualized, loving feeling into my making of them because nobody is going back to make out with the Sloppy Joe Lady from Billy Madison, regardless if you’re in and out of a black out or not.  Also, calling these scrumptious bad boy, sticky sweet, sandwiches nestled between bomb mini egg challah rolls, Sloppy Second Joes, I’m double daring you to resist coming back for repeat inhalatory attacks with sloppy drunk conjuring relish.

The Sloppy Second Joes weren’t huge hits with my 3 kids. Exposing them to Kosher meat based dishes is a new development for them, and they can’t quite get over the look of lumped together, blood splattered cow brain, which is what Kosher ground meat looks like in a Sloppy Joe before being browned into scrumptious, supple soft, garlic and mustard imbibed lifted perfection.  

But I’m not quitter. I’m a doer. That doing doesn’t include my wife anymore, especially since our 3rd kid turned our bed into a 24/7 open milk bar but that’s beside the point. Yesterday, I stock up on another serving of ground turkey and make my own version of Sloppy Second Joes not married to the recipe from the Modern Jewish baker for good old fashioned regular Sloppy Joes either. No, this second batch of Sloppy Second Joes lived up to its name because my son Arthur went back for rabid attack seconds from my vegetable oil fried up cheese-less ground Kosher Turkey quesadillas, flush with diced up bits of rosemary and parley coated fennel, red sweet pepper, red onion and white meaty turnips, which took this improvised, made up reimagining of the standard Sloppy Second Joe so much higher.  I also served my Sloppy Second Joes with some homemade, chunky hot sauce from a local farm, which my son went triple dipping in without my nudging whatsoever, prompting memories of my favorite summer loves dipping past. Sloppy seconds isn’t always a bad thing and we all can’t taste like sexual napalm in the sack either.

Michael Kornbluth

The Regrettable Road Traveled

I thought making brownies with my kids for the 1st time would be a dose of old school American fun. It wasn’t.  Domestic bliss is a lie when a semi straight man tries to make brownies with his kids. Now I know why I occasionally watch The Great British Bakeoff with my wife to feel a tad more snug secure in my drooping masculinity. I’ll never get into the domestic science of experimenting in the kitchen with my 3 kids hovering around me wanting to get involved in making brownies again because caring about perfecting a homemade desert is too fussy sweet for my taste. Also, did you know most brownie recipes, require an entire stick of butter? I’d rather stick to pounding more Sierra Nevada Pale Ale’s, the pale ale that never gets stale, thanks. And microwaving down an entire stick of butter in a measuring cup is gross. It’s like watching what happens to Martha Dumptruck after a whopping minute on the Peloton.  

So, what does raising my kids Koshertarian have to do with my brownie bust experiments? Did I use Kosher salt over Pinko Himalayan Salt?  No, I stuck with Kosher salt because using Pink Himalayan salt didn’t feel Kosher to me because whenever I think of Nepal I think of mind melting hash I got baked with in Amsterdam, which would’ve stripped the old school, this land is your land, American vibe I was trying to tap into for my brownie bust experiment regret of 2020 man.  Still, trying to make brownies with my kids was important to me at the time, because I wanted to instill a sense of American community and a dash of do it all dad bliss, so I could prove to mama, whatever you don’t do, I can do a smidgen better.  The ghost of Robert Frost can go pound Kosher salt, because I took the road less traveled to please my kids and do a group of activity that didn’t involve me wrestling with my kids on our yoga mat, throwing them around our blown up pool this summer from China or playing blackjack with our fancy poker chip set, and regretting every second of it. Our 1st batch of brownies was too cakey, the other batch was too sugary, and I don’t have a spare third testicle, so doubling down on my shot at becoming Betty fucking Draper tweaked on Adderall to feel like a more essential domesticated homemaker hearth warmer failed to fill me with good intended cheer, leaving me with nothing but morning after disgust generated from doing Martha Dumptruck more than twice.

So, what is the magical recipe for domestic brownie bliss. Easy ,use flower, egg, coco powder, sugar, butter and your wife to do it, unless you want to feel like those permanent eunuchs in Empire Of the Sun. Do I sound like a bitter clinger to my non-baker bust past? Yes, but I’ve lost all interest in acting like an American sweetheart when I don’t want to be. Gen X Dads understand. We grew up in the age of Aids, 9/11, multiple recessions and now have massive mask shaming hysteria to contend with from our NPR worshiping wives. So, don’t expect us to do cartwheels over the prospect of relishing the campy, airy, non-divisive feel of The Great American British Bakeoff. No, our tastes in sweets and coffee is like our preferred taste in comedy, dark and bitter, with a dash of some fun filled, foam party conjuring foam on top. Gen X dads are the Macchiato generation, hyper focused, around the clock hustlers obsessed with American made success and teaching our kids more than Different Strokes did such as how a Macchiato is a circumcised Cappuccino, which makes you feel like a less empty, blowhard baby boomer inside.

Michael Kornbluth

Sexualizing Book Review Requests

Dear Fans,

The Great American Jew Novel is finally available in old school book form.  I trimmed the fat, which detracted from the thrust of my plot long time.  You can consume the book in one inhaling easy.  I’d love reviews in exchange for a signed a copy, which will be worth big bucks someday. The meatier offering version of The Great American Jew Novel, loaded with more mouthfuls of hilarity is available on Audible, for those who require an occasional breather from time to time.  Have I sexualized my books enough for your tastes yet?

Email me anytime for a complimentary book request on the house at  I blogged the Great American Jew Novel into existence under the Corona lockdown of 2020 through the grace of God and his sustained belief in me rising to the occasion.  I also wouldn’t haven written this book with such extreme gusto without the sustained interest of all you hardcore WordPress fans throughout every new chapter post I made. My daughter Matilda, inspiring me to write a mini star vehicle in her honor and entertaining her 2 younger brothers with creative play while I banged out my 1st semi-autobiographical novel on the cusp of my 44th birthday helped long time to, despite the last thing my wife wanted to hear was that I was writing another book again.

Thanks for making me a big dreamer doer again, WordPress fans at large. My Do It All Dad Year Podcast, this blog and past 4 books wouldn’t have possible without you being the best open mike audience God has blessed with me outside of my 3 biggest fans in the universe on the stay at home comedian front, no offense.  Also, thanks again to my old school Twitter peeps, for all your past retweet joke love, which helped give me the confidence to take down all the big dogs in comedy throughout my pre-election comedy special Resist This book. You’re the best to.

Last, on Yelp they don’t call me Michael the Emoter Kornbluth for nothing. So, I’d have zero problem reviewing any of your books in exchange for a review of The Great American Jew Novel or for Resist This, only 60 plus pages, available in print form now to.

My Very Best,

Michael Kornbluth