The Chicken Cutlet from the Edgemont Deli on Central Avenue next to Danny’s Cycle in southern Westchester County, 30 minutes north of Manhattan was always the best. My old school dear friend Ari, now a Kidney doctor who part owns his own practice in CT, a graduate of Washington University, no dummy, would agree with me, we became fixated on hunting down the perfect chicken cutlet sandwich ever since. I remember inhaling down this chicken cutlet thinking, I was in the presence of greatness, just based on the crispy enough, herbed spice breading on it alone. Back then, I didn’t know the difference between sage or rosemary. I wasn’t aware of how cilantro was used as an herb in salsa. Shit, an underclassman fooled me into buying oregano for weed senior year in high school, so I wasn’t obsessing over the herb installation componentry embedded in my bomb chicken cutlet from the Edgemont Deli at the time, that wasn’t Calista Flockhart skinny but more Jo plump like from Facts of Life, which gave you something more excitable to chomp into again and again. The perfectly shredded lettuce, semi-thin, actual fleshy red tomato on top, nestled between the banging Kaiser roll, which was never drowning for dear life in an amorphous plop of mayo goo didn’t hurt the chicken cutlet sandwich’s overall appeal one bit either. Ah, those were the days, pre-Yelp, where you actually had to rely on your own intuition and New York bred sense of adventure to try and consume it all, like a less hyper articulate, perpetually suave, mini Anthony Bourdain in the making, minus the French royal rocker look working in your favor either.
Now, that I’m getting my 3 kids more courageous about trying different Kosher meat creations because they know I’m writing a book about it and unlike others, they still believe me in pounding my dreams of comedic superstardom into freaking reality already, especially when I involve them in the act of pulverizing the homemade Kosher chicken cutlets I made tonight with real deal Hebrew Hammer fury. I told my son Arthur to choke up on the mighty mallet before pounding the chicken cutlets for round 2 with the intention of smooshing those cutlets into barely recognizable form like when Mitch Blood Green came up with the bright idea to start a street fight with Iron Mike in Harlem during his prime time domination years, where he knocked out legendary heavy weights by the time you banged another one out to Taste Of Amber again.
My wife had to Nazify my dream chicken cutlet recreation tonight, using a combination of panko breadcrumbs and homemade ones while also using a mishmash of chopped parsley, sage and rosemary, by insisting on calling it the meal “Schnitzel”, saying, “I haven’t had Schnitzel since Oktoberfest in Germany.” Meanwhile, I’m thinking, “Chances are you had pork schnitzel for starters, which is fine, but don’t lump my dish into your non-eating Kosher past in Germany before the open borders invite to invade and resist assimilation lead to no-go zones, proving too much for Angela Merkel’s hunched shoulders to bear alone. Where is W to give Angela Lansbury’s, more homely, less talented, dour dumpy clone to give an unsolicited back rub, when you need him? Also, I didn’t know what the hell Schnitzel was in high school, I just knew how to order a chicken cutlet at the deli, with shredded lettuce, tomato, mayo, Russian dressing or getting some melted provolone on it if I was feeling particularly eccentric for lunch, that day, that’s it. Granted, tonight, I did fry up gargantuan flatted breasts which looked like Pauly from Rocky passed out on Bridget Nielson’s tits. But I wouldn’t call a schnitzel dish using Panko breadcrumbs and Kosher certified chicken as a sterling example of keeping it real Arian like either. Actually, for those food nerd historians at home, schnitzel was actually invented in Austria before famed Nazi hunter Simon Wiesenthal helped track down Adolf Eichman’s Nazi footsteps in Buenos Aries pleasuring himself to more Malbec and Nazi trading cards bound for the ashbins of truly deplorable history. Before shiny shoes got hanged in Israel for being Farrakhan’s dreamboat exterminator against you know who Gervais, and it wasn’t your mole infested British commoners working as Bank Tellers for Barclay’s Bank either.
I’m most impressed with my how kids continue to embrace and try any new meat creation I make for them, because they know it’s made with love and kids always love you back twice as much, when you make them like feel like the center of your universe instead of the reverse. Last, your kids can’t help but look up to daddy a little bit in the kitchen knowing he’s doing his best to please God and obey his dietary laws in exchange for blessing him with the greatest home team imaginable, which grows closer every day, yeah, yeah.
I’m about to put my 3-year old son Samuel in the car today on our way to pick up a couple of last minute, improvised inspired ingredients and he says with a wink and brightened smile, “I hate your jokes and your books to.” I laughed long time. The fact my 3-year-old son already understands the full spectrum of silly minded, sarcastic fueled ball busting while also comprehending what work I’ve been pounding away at since he was born is a sign that God really is looking after my back through this miracle wonderkid. Samuel Chosen Curls Was Bound To Woo really is the pubescent, Total Package, Lex Luger after all.
Dear Terrie Wolf,
Resist This is a pre-election comedy special book, flush with clean, smart, edgy jokes you’ll never hear on Bill Maher, about the resistance insanity and endless excuse tour that’s consumed Big Tech, Hollywood and the media online and off, since the big, bad, blond wolf beat Hillary Hammer Time Cankles fair and square, proving baby boomer arrogance, and millennial mouseketeer petulance never dies. Chapter 11 What Gen X Dads Understand , contains all family related material in the book, which closes out this killer set for the ages with hardcore, punchy pop. It will take a brave Literary Agent with keen bullshit detection lens to embrace my material from start to finish. I hope you’re one of them.
Tech censorship is a major problem in this country. Hate Speech is a term used to silence those who praise President Trump or those who dare to criticize the continuous divisiveness generated by Obama Be Good or from any of his media enabled minions in pop culture or in Congress who wants to cancel Israel. Do I need to name names? How much time do you have exactly? Last, I think the sales potential for the audio version of Resist This is huge, 64 million branded racists and growing, to be exact. I also envision enormous international sales in Canada, Australia, India and Israel. Tell me I’m not funnier than Russell Peters and I’ll make my not my President mother happy and become a garbage man for a living like a good deplorable provider for my family of 5 already. Below, is a link for Chapter 1, Hate Speech Dragon On Fire.
My Very Best,
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 firstname.lastname@example.org. 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,