Dessert dream Sometimes a dessert is so excruciatingly delicious, it erases the memory of the meal.  This baby….ice cream mousse with a hint of ?(still trying to figure out the secret punch) , supported by a crunchy biscuit crust topped with almonds. A culinary dream….I whispered to my husband, “‘Please don’t talk'”.  Savoured every last bite….slowly.


GUIDAMINO Restaurant in Mesagne,(Brindisi) Italy  Via de Florenzia, 62  Chef-Maria Concetta Biscosi & Son, Francesco Dipietrangelo Tel. ++39 0831 738653 Chiuso/Closed Lunedi/ Mondays

**Ms Biscosi is humbly delightful and personable as is her son, Francesco.

Posted in brindisi, food photography, gastronomy, guidamino restaurant, International Travel, italian desserts, italy, mesagne, Puglia | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

I Am The Hill And The Mountain

My heart remains in bruise mode,

Countenance in alert

Experiencing racial injustice at times, know it’s intended to hurt.

Supremacy in any form, shape, color or size

is bonafide genocide.

I Am The Mountain and The Hill(Tribute to Black Women)

I Am The Hill And the Mountain(Tribute to Black Women)

My country ’tis of thee

Result of cause and effect

We.. sardined in Middle Passage ships and boat$,

quarantined, milked welfare cheese,

then denied the right to vote.IMG_1208

Recent crap filtering over european seasconfederate flag wearing no clue skeletons

worse than a bag of fleas.

IMG_4059(I personally explained to the wearer of this emblem about  the negative connotation, that it was racially insensitive to me as a black woman and later he donned a hat with the same confederate emblem…’nuffsaid’…..)

Don’t you dare touch my buttocks

and feign ’twas a mistake

Venus Hottentot’s in my heritage

And your interpretation of being a man is definitely a fake mistake.

I Am The Hill and The Mountain

I Am The Mountain and The Hill(Tribute to Black Women)

I Am The Hill  and The Mountain (Tribute to Black Women)

that you once held down, whipped, and kept blind.

I, We.. are screaming now for you to cease

and desist

Before we are rewound back in minus time.© whenquiet

Posted in african american poetry, black history, black voices, Contemplation, Cultural Pride, Life Perspective, mental health | Tagged , , , , | 8 Comments

Cool When Hot!!!

Giussy's CatCool for me? Being warmly welcomed at Isabella Cataldo Scuola de Ballo Dance School in Sava, Italy, participating in a Zumba class with a 17 year old “hammer” instructor, Damiano, then being allowed to choregraph two pieces for a group of young dancers, then invited to perform at the school’s dance concert!  A BLAST!! Not bad for a 58 year old cancer survivor!  Put a big smile on all of our faces!!  2)  Learning the Pizzica in Fragagnano and inflecting my interpretation that included rolling/dancing on the floor..Another BLAST!:-) 3. Together with hubby, envisioning the transformation of an abandoned and deteriorating farmer’s stone sun relief abode cradled by olive trees, painstakingly and passionately actualising the project(took us three years)) and now, God has accepted and blessed our remix:  We remain true to the intrinsic rhythm of the countryside by the usage of tuffo stone for our home construction, an Albanian constructed barrier stone wall using stones from the countryside, the production of our own extra virgin olive oil(the olives fall into properly placed netting), and we frequent local farmer’s markets.   What a piece of paradise( We are blessed!) 4)  Observing the artistry of a genuinely talented Giusseppina Foggetti of ArteLù Di Giusy Foggetti of Manduria.  Giussy has stepped into the world of authentic frame making and lifted it to another level.  Original and breathtaking artistry.  Giussy’s tour guide talents emerged when she revealed her historical knowledge of Manduria, then exposed us to some of the gems of Mandurian culture, including the visit to “Fonte Pliniano” di Manduria, (the Fountain of Pliny, the Elder), from which an almond tree flourishes from an endless well.  After I descended into the cave,  I stepped into the waters(Legend has it that pilgrims voyaged many miles to submerge into the healing waters).  I recalled a similar spiritual feeling of being baptised in the waters during my first baptism in my southern baptist church of Lenoir, North Carolina. 100% positive that this water experience, among other experiences,  assisted me with my victory against bone marrow cancer.  5)  Sant Maria di Bagnolo, the XVIII century Abbey of Uggiano Montefusco, a deterioating, yet exquisite place of respite, a place where i frequent regularly to pray.  This abbey was dedicated to an angel named Grace.  She is still vividly  present.   6)  Giusseppe, a country farmer,  who works from sun up to sun down and gifts us with freshly picked pommodori, zucchini, zucchini flowers, figs, lemons, red and white onions.  A true reflection of one of God’s angels at work.  7)  La Locanda di Antonvito, Manduria – Restaurant …Exquisite Puglian cuisine, the plates never stop coming, the fava dish is scrumptious.  8) Getting past my fear of snakes-I’ve seen a few -Coluber viridiflavus-black snake-our veterinarian friend swears it is non-venomous.  Okay, I don’t really smile, but I don’t run anymore:-)  9)Decaf cappucino, cherries, watermelon, panzerotti and patient doctors when I have suffered sunstroke and dehydration.  * 10)  Serendipity, chance meeting another American singer, Fawn Tolson, in Grottaglio, at an archery lesson.  How cool is that?IMG_4062 Cool when HotIMG_4030FullSizeRender 5Jumping over my fear of snakes..well, yeah, jumping! IMG_3995IMG_4034Raphael, our archery instructor. IMG_3785Giussy, in her shop in Manduria, and in her kitchen, serving up authentic Puglian cuisine.

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Midnight Apricot

IMG_3960IMG_3964Midnight ApricotIMG_3955Apulian treats,

especially apricots,

embrace Apulian heat..

at midnight, when you may still be hot.

Calms the palate

when one’s desire is more than salad.

And in the a.m. apricot pie dates cappaccino

initiates a poetry flow.

Poetry and Photography by Anna Greene Dell’Era

All rights reserved.
A shout out to #nataschaskitchen for the recipe!
Continue reading

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90 FINE!! (Happy Birthday Tribute to Extraordinary Octogenarian Dance Teacher OTHELLA DALLAS)

IMG_1756IMG_1744IMG_1751IMG_1750IMG_17388Othella Dallas New Dance Studio

Posted in African American History, black history, Contemplation, Creativity, Cultural Pride, Dance, Entrepreneur, health, icons, jazz vocalist, Life Perspective, mental health, Music, switzerland, Uncategorized, Unforgettable Teachers | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Lord, Do You Hear Me?


You must be tired of the black mamas/papas wails of grief
Ricocheting off streets of black concrete.DSC00017

Chaos unisoned
in conflicting waves
Skeletons of past discord
Rattling as the war is waged.


You must be tired
Of seeing black hands against the wall
Up in the air
Bodies fall
Blood seeping into ground
Mingles with water
Recycled to quench thirst of murderer’s daughter.

Lord, you must be tired
That the puzzle’s still left undone
They still don’t get
That Jesus is your son.

Lord, I am tired
of seeing the same ol’ script
Today a gun
Yesterday, a whip.

Tired, yet unafraid
Because evil will not win…..

Watch it shrink and decay like a finished penis
and eat its own ejaculated sin.Divided but One IMG_1298cribs 108


Posted in African American History, african american poetry, black voices, Contemplation, Cultural Pride, International Travel, justice for michael brown, Life Perspective, mental health, photography, Poetry and stories, police brutality, Uncategorized, xenophobia | Leave a comment

Is that FISH?

That looks like Laurence FishburneIMG_1275

No, it’s Giuseppe Ungaretti,(1888-1970), the  late italian modernist poet, critic and essayist, born in Egypt and raised by a Nubian nanny who wrote the following poem, No More Crying Out, a poem which I feel,  reflects the present American social climate concerning the slaying of Black men by police.  This photo bears an uncanny resemblance to actor Laurence Fishburne, once, affectionately nicknamed “Fish”

No More Crying Out

by Giuseppe Ungaretti
Cease murdering the dead.
If you hope not to perish, if you
Want sound of them again,
Stop crying out, cease
The crying out of it.
They have barely heard whispering,
No more that the increase of grass
Happy where no man passes.

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