Baking Quotes

Baking is like washing
the results are equally temporary. ~ Patricia Briggs

Stirring the pastry cream and putting it in the blast chiller in the island, a total chefly indulgence that I have never once regretted. The house filling with the scent of rich, dark chocolate as the cakes rise in the oven. The treat of the moist trimmings as I even up the layers before spreading the thick custard filling between them. The fudgy frosting smoothed perfectly over the whole thing, and then immediately marred with chocolate cookie crumbs. ~ Stacey Ballis

He was so close it was hard to breathe. It was exactly like being next to an oven baking a really spicy apple pie. ~ Lili St. Crow

... her skills more akin to the baking of macaroons than solving the complexities of the universe. ~ Guy Portman

Whatcha making?" I call out to Tucker. "Soup," he calls back. "And baking some bread." I sigh. "Sometimes I worry about him," I tell Allie. "The more domestic he gets, the bigger the risk of his penis falling off." She tsks in disapproval. "Sexist bastard." "I think you mean sexy bastard," I say helpfully. "No, I got it right the first time. ~ Elle Kennedy

When I got to Zomick's Kosher Bakery I realized I didn't know very much about food at all. I'd never had a real cake. I'd had those cakes from cake mixes or the ones that have a lot of baking powder in them. A really good Zomick's challah doesn't have anything like that in it - it's all egg power. ~ Zomick's Bakery

Lydia, five years old, standing on tiptoe to watch vinegar and baking soda foam in the sink. Lydia tugging a heavy book from the shelf, saying, "Show me again, show me another." Lydia, touching the stethoscope, ever so gently, to her mother's heart. Tears blur Marilyn's sight. It had not been science that Lydia had loved ~ Celeste Ng

When you opened the door a bell tinkled, but just once, high and clear and small in the neat obscurity above the door, as though it were gauged and tempered to make that single clear small sound so as not to wear the bell out nor to require the expenditure of too much silence in restoring it when the door opened upon the recent warm scent of baking; a little dirty child with eyes like a toy bear's and two patent-leather pigtails. ~ William Faulkner

Here is your schedule," she said, sliding a piece of paper to me.

I picked it up and read it aloud. "Wildcrafting 100, Alchemy of Baking 100, Teamancy 100, Magical Weapons Training 200, Creatures of Wonderland, and History of Wonderland. What, no Quidditch?"

"What's Quidditch? ~ Melanie Karsak

Cookie cutters are for baking, not branding. ~ David Brier

My idea of baking is buying a ready-make cake mix and throwing in an egg. ~ Cilla Black

Baking has always been one of my many hobbies. After I uploaded my first baking tutorial video, I got a really positive response from the online community, and they started to demand more videos like that. ~ Rosanna Pansino

The smell of good bread baking, like the sound of lightly flowing water, is indescribable in its evocation of innocence and delight ...
[Breadmaking is] one of those almost hypnotic businesses, like a dance from some ancient ceremony. It leaves you filled with one of the world's sweetest smells ... there is no chiropractic treatment, no Yoga exercise, no hour of
meditation in a music-throbbing chapel. that will leave you emptier of bad thoughts than this homely ceremony of making bread. ~ Mary Francis Kennedy Fisher

Of baking pans so that we can make individual brownies with ~ Paula Danziger

Rorshach's journal. October 16, 1985. Been waiting in Moloch's fridge for three hours. Ate two raw eggs and packet of honey mustard sauce. Just realized I am sitting on baking soda. Freezing ass off. Really have to take leak. ~ Alan Moore

A pie, like a building, requires construction after all. ~ Janet Clarkson

Brioches are a light, pale yellow, faintly sweet kind of muffin with a characteristic blob on top, rather like a mushroom just pushing crookedly through the ground. Once eaten in Paris, they never taste as good anywhere else. ~ M.F.K. Fisher

It was baking hot in the square when we came out after lunch with our bags and the rod-case to go to Burguete. People were on top of the bus, and others were climbing up a ladder. Bill went up and Robert sat beside Bill to save a place for me, and I went back in the hotel to get a couple of bottles of wine to take with us. When I came out the bus was crowded. Men and women were sitting on all the baggage and boxes on top, and the women all had their fans going in the sun. It certainly was hot. Robert climbed down and fitted into the place he had saved on the one wooden seat that ran across the top. Robert Cohn stood in the shade of the arcade waiting for us to start. A Basque with a big leather wine-bag in his lap lay across the top of the bus in front of our seat, leaning back against our legs. He offered the wine-skin to Bill and to me, and when I tipped it up to drink he imitated the sound of a klaxon motor-horn so well and so suddenly that spilled some of the wine, and everybody laughed. He apologized and made me take another drink. He made the klaxon again a little later, and it fooled me the second time. He was very good at it. The Basques liked it. The man next to Bill was talking to him in Spanish and Bill was not getting it, so he offered the man one of the bottles of wine. The man waved it away. He said it was too hot and he had drunk too much at lunch. When Bill offered the bottle the second time he took a long drink, and then the bottle went all over that part of ~ Ernest Hemingway

While Ginger didn't like the evil-recipe days, she certainly loved the treat-making days. She liked rolling dough and cutting it into perfect shapes. She liked grating chocolate into curlicues and pouring syrups into lollipop molds. ~ Suzanne Selfors

Bake with love.. ~ Manuela Kjeilen

Bad bread wrecks my outlook on life. ~ Jeffrey Steingarten

Now into the small ceramic pan I grate the block of couverture. Almost at once the scent rises, the dark and loamy scent of bitter chocolate from the block. At this concentration it is slow to melt; the chocolate is very low in fat, and I will have to add butter and cream to the mixture to bring it to truffle consistency. But now it smells of history; of the mountains and forests of South America' of felled wood and spilled sap and campfire smoke. It smells of incense and patchouli; of the black gold of the Maya and the red gold of the Aztec; of stone and dust and of a young girl with flowers in her hair and a cup of pulque in her hand.
It is intoxicating; as it melts, the chocolate becomes glossy; steam rises from the copper pan, and the scent grows richer, blossoming into cinnamon and allspice and nutmeg; dark undertones of anise and espresso; brighter notes of vanilla and ginger. Now it is almost melted through. A gentle vapor rises from the pan. Now we have the true Theobroma, the elixir of the gods in volatile form, and in the steam I can almost see-
A young girl dancing with the moon. A rabbit follows at her heels. Behind her stands a woman with her head in shadow, so that for a moment she seems to look three ways-
But now the steam is getting too thick. The chocolate must be no warmer than forty-six degrees. Too hot, and the chocolate will scorch and streak. Too cool, and it will bloom white and dull. I know by the scent and the level of steam that we ar ~ Joanne Harris

It is hardly surprising that to this day New England is considered to be the pie capital of America, whose inhabitants traditionally eat (sweet) pie for breakfast. Apple pies in particular became deeply embedded in the history of America - associated with the old country, the new country and the pioneering spirit, and indelibly identified with the sense of nationhood and patriotic sentiment. ~ Janet Clarkson

After the last shovel of dirt was patted in place, I sat down and let my mind drift back through the years. I thought of the old K. C. Baking Powder can, and the first time I saw my pups in the box at the depot. I thought of the fifty dollars, the nickels and dimes, and the fishermen and blackberry patches.
I looked at his grave and, with tears in my eyes, I voiced these words: You were worth it, old friend, and a thousand times over. ~ Wilson Rawls

I sprinkle some flour on the dough and roll it out with the heavy, wooden rolling pin. Once it's the perfect size and thickness, I flip the rolling pin around and sing into the handle - American Idol style.

"Calling Gloriaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa . . ."

And then I turn around.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Without thinking, I bend my arm and throw the rolling pin like a tomahawk . . . straight at the head of the guy who's standing just inside the kitchen door.

The guy I didn't hear come in.

The guy who catches the hurling rolling pin without flinching - one-handed and cool as a gorgeous cucumber - just an inch from his perfect face.

He tilts his head to the left, looking around the rolling pin to meet my eyes with his soulful brown ones. "Nice toss."

Logan St. James.

Bodyguard. Totally badass. Sexiest guy I have ever seen - and that includes books, movies and TV, foreign and domestic. He's the perfect combo of boyishly could-go-to-my-school kind of handsome, mixed with dangerously hot and tantalizingly mysterious. If comic-book Superman, James Dean, Jason Bourne and some guy with the smoothest, most perfectly pitched, British-Scottish-esque, Wessconian-accented voice all melded together into one person, they would make Logan fucking St. James.

And I just tried to clock him with a baking tool - while wearing my Rick and Morty pajama short-shorts, a Winnie-the-Pooh T-shirt I've had sinc ~ Emma Chase

(on fading passion) Sex was like the can of baking powder she kept on a high shelf in her pantry, something she didn't need right now but that she knew she could get her hands on without too much trouble. ~ Sarah Dunn

I... I remember, she realized.
A feeling came over her, so strong that for the smallest of moments, it warmed her soul. Pictures flew through her mind: She and Elsa talking in their bedroom, baking with their mother in the kitchen, running down the central staircase. Do the magic! she heard a voice say, and now she realized it was her younger self begging Elsa to create more snow. Together they had skated around the Great Hall and made snow angels. They had built Olaf! She used to marvel at Elsa's magic and always wanted her sister to use it. Do the magic! she heard herself beg again, and then she saw the moment when everything changed. In her haste to stop Anna from falling off a snow mound, Elsa had accidentally struck her. That was when she and Elsa had been ripped apart.
She remembered everything! ~ Jen Calonita

Apparently after six days baking pigs and herding bricks, the inhabitants would kick back with a spot of cock-fighting, bullbaiting, and ratting. It was the sort of place an adventurous gentleman might venture only if he didn't mind being beaten, rolled, and catching an exciting venereal disease. ~ Ben Aaronovitch

Dessert pies have moved well beyond fruit and custard, and the line is blurred between pies and cakes with some pies resembling cakes with a crust (pecan pie springs to mind). Some sweet pies are even made with vegetables. ~ Janet Clarkson

I know how lucky I am to have had such wonderful first and second acts in my career. I'm still not sure what my third act will turn out to be (Sexy Baking Competition Hostess? Flamboyant Peruvian Bingo Caller?), but if you happen to run into Betty White, tell her thank you.

I'd like to be her one day. ~ Lauren Graham

Au Gratin Potatoes About 5 lbs thinly sliced potatoes 2 large thinly sliced onions 1½-2 cups grated sharp cheddar or imported Swiss 1 cup chicken stock Salt and pepper A 9- by 13-inch baking dish Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter baking dish. Put in layer of thinly sliced potatoes, then the thinly sliced onions. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, then sprinkle on cheese. Continue this way until you have three more layers ending with cheese. Pour in one cup of chicken stock. Cover pan with foil, bake one hour. Uncover pan bake another ½ hour. ~ Isis Crawford

What are you thinking? Sandwiches?" Finn asked in a hopeful voice. "No. I'm in the mood for something sweet." I grabbed the butter out of the fridge, then rummaged through the cabinets. Flour, oats, dried apricots, golden raisins, brown sugar, vanilla. I pulled them out, along with some mixing cups, a baking pan, a spatula, and a bowl. Finn settled himself at the kitchen table and drank his coffee while I worked. By the time Jo-Jo walked back into the kitchen, I was sliding the batter into the oven. "Whatcha making?" the dwarf asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Apricot bars, ~ Jennifer Estep

Okay, so how, exactly, did I get into this mess - up onstage at a comedy club, baking like a bag of French fries under a hot spotlight that shows off my sweat stains( including one that sort of looks like Jabba the Hutt), with about a thousand beady eyeballs drilling into me? ~ James Patterson

Coconut oil Deodorant Recipe Here is what you need: -1/4 Cup Baking Soda -1/3 Cup coconut oil -4 tablespoons of cornstarch (adds an antiperspirant effect) -1/4 Cup arrowroot powder - 10 drops of essential oils (optional, but you can use cinnamon or sweet orange) Directions Mix the baking soda, arrowroot powder and cornstarch in a bowl, then add the coconut oil and blend all the dry ingredients together using a fork or pastry cutter. Add the drops of essential oils and then add more coconut oil or baking soda to achieve a desired consistency. Use the natural coconut oil deodorant just as you would use any ~ Gigi Ann Louis

The clock in the kitchen chimed and Anna looked up. The first batch of cookies would be ready any moment; then it would be time to put it in another tray. After that, there were four different types of bread, krumkaker (she wouldn't fill them with cream in this heat), and at least two spice cakes to make. Her mother hated the idea of her baking cakes that might not sell ("The ingredients cost money"), but Anna knew people would want them, and they made a tidy profit off cakes. It was a win-win. ~ Jen Calonita

My father laughed. "The magic of Summer," he said, "is unlike anything else. Imagine life, fertility, laughter, joy, ripening fruits and the smell of fresh bread baking in the morning. That is Summer magic."
Forever Frost (Frost Series 2) ~ Kailin Gow

Herman and I have been doing a lot of talking about the cake the past couple of days, and we think we have a good plan for the three tiers. The bottom tier will be the chocolate tier and incorporate the dacquoise component, since that will all provide a good strong structural base. We are doing an homage to the Frango mint, that classic Chicago chocolate that was originally produced at the Marshall Field's department store downtown. We're going to make a deep rich chocolate cake, which will be soaked in fresh-mint simple syrup. The dacquoise will be cocoa based with ground almonds for structure, and will be sandwiched between two layers of a bittersweet chocolate mint ganache, and the whole tier will be enrobed in a mint buttercream.
The second tier is an homage to Margie's Candies, an iconic local ice cream parlor famous for its massive sundaes, especially their banana splits. It will be one layer of vanilla cake and one of banana cake, smeared with a thin layer of caramelized pineapple jam and filled with fresh strawberry mousse. We'll cover it in chocolate ganache and then in sweet cream buttercream that will have chopped Luxardo cherries in it for the maraschino-cherry-on-top element.
The final layer will be a nod to our own neighborhood, pulling from the traditional flavors that make up classical Jewish baking. The cake will be a walnut cake with hints of cinnamon, and we will do a soaking syrup infused with a little bit of sweet sherry. A thin layer of the thi ~ Stacey Ballis

He was now suddenly hot, as hot as if he'd been in a kitchen baking cinnamon rolls in August. I already knew vampires could sweat, under certain conditions, like being chained to a wall of a house with sunlight coming in through the windows. He was sweating again now. Some of his sweat fell on me.
I've always rather liked sweat. On other occasions when I've had a naked, sweating male body up against mine, I've tended to feel that it meant he was getting into what was going on. This usually produces a similar enthusiasm in me. Not that there was anything going on…exactly.
Yet. Remember how fast and suddenly this was all happening. And if he
was in shock so was I. Maybe my brain hadn't fully come with me in that
zap through the void, like my clothes manifestly hadn't. With a truly masterful erection now pressed against me I turned my head again and licked his sweating shoulder.
What happened next probably lasted about ten seconds. Maybe less.
I don't think I heard the sound he made; I think I only felt it. He moved
his hands again, to tip my face toward him, and kissed me. I can't say I
noticed any fangs. I had the lingering vestige of sense not to try anything
clever with my teeth, which with a human lover I would have. But I was
nonetheless busy with tongue and hands. I wriggled a little under him. I kissed him back as he tangled his fingers in my hair. I arched up off the floor a trifle to press myself more thoroughly against ~ Robin McKinley

He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding. Have I not tarried? Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. Have I not tarried? Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening. Still have I tarried. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word 'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips. ~ William Shakespeare

You don't have any baking stuff, do you? I like to bake when I'm hyper. My mom and I were supposed to make all the Christmas cookies tomorrow, but it looks like I won't be there for that. We always make chocolate chip ones shaped like trees and stars and such because sugar cookies are good and all, but there's no chocolate and when chocolate's an option, why wouldn't you have it? ~ Cindi Madsen

Emma told me once that baking powder was an act of love, invented by a chemist for his wife, who was allergic to yeast. ~ Jordan Weisman

I spent another sleepless night in my apartment and in the early hours of the morning I snuck once more into my little kitchen, to prepare a huge torta di ricotta. I needed a cheesecake: it was the only thing that could give me the peace of mind I craved.
Had I been too hasty in offering to give l'Inglese lessons? I asked myself, as I ground green almonds with my pestle. The power of my wrist quickly turned the almonds to powder. If only I could grind my worries away as easily.
I beat the ricotta, egg yolks, honey, sugar, lemon juice, and rind into the almonds. I beat and beat and beat the mixture until a sweat formed on my brow and my body began to glow with warmth. Even then I did not stop beating. I welcomed the exhaustion that began to creep up on me: I could feel the healing power of my cooking.
Really I knew nothing about l'Inglese. Nothing at all. Except that everything about him spelled danger to an inexperienced woman like me. I was afraid of him, yet could not bear the thought of not seeing him again. I was always thinking of him, imagining our next meeting: amusing myself with every possible scenario.
I whisked the egg whites into peaks in a matter of seconds. I reasoned that I had been right to speak out to him when I did. I knew how I would have hated myself if I had let the moment slip by. I knew how wretched and foolish I would have felt at my impotence, and yet this turbulence inside me was almost as bad. Acrobatic butterflies fluttered in ~ Lily Prior

What an honor to live in a part of the world that loves good old-fashioned baking. ~ J. Ryan Stradal

I've done everything from stocking shelves at a natural food co-op, to baking bagels at Brueggers and bussing tables. Then I realized that jobs suck, but if you could get up at 6 A.M. and bake your own breakfast, that is very satisfying. ~ Marco Arment

Only those who will love longer than they expected to can truly love pecan pie, which doesn't explain its status as death rows most requested last dessert, or why chopped pecans, corn syrup, directions from the Karo bottle's cherry-red side are what mercy taste like to some. But there you have it. ~ Kate Lebo

There are people in Europe that struggled during an entire life to save as much as possible in banks that bankrupted and left them homeless. ~ Robin Sacredfire

All right, so give me some idea of what you can do," says Haymitch.
I can't do anything," says Peeta, "unless you count baking bread."
Sorry, I don't. Katniss. I already know you're handy with a knife," says Haymitch.
Not really. But I can hunt," I say. "With a bow and arrow."
And you're good?" asks Haymitch.
I have to think about it. I've been putting food on the table for four years. That's no small task. I'm not as good as my father was, but he'd had more practice. I've better aim than Gale, but I've had more practice. He's a genius with traps and snares. "I'm all right," I say. ~ Suzanne Collins

Hauk laughed unexpectedly. "You know, Ryn, I keep thinking back to what my father used to say to me. There are two kinds of people in this world. Those like my mother who can walk into the most backwater dive hole with the worst riffraff in the universe and in ten minutes, she'll have them baking cookies and singing love songs together. Then you have those like my father. The kind of man who could walk into an antiwar monastery and in ten minutes have the monks at each other's throats." - Dancer Hauk ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

And then it occurs to me. They are frightened. In me, they see their own daughters, just as ignorant, just as unmindful of all the truths and hopes they have brought to America. They see daughters who grow impatient when their mothers talk in Chinese, who think they are stupid when they explain things in fractured English. They see that joy and luck do not mean the same to their daughters, that to these closed American-born minds "joy luck" is not a word, it does not exist. They see daughters who will bear grandchildren born without any connecting hope passed from generation to generation. ~ Amy Tan

The house had a private walk down to a private spit of beach, and in the mornings the four of them would troop downhill and swim - even he did, in his pants and undershirt and an old oxford shirt, which no one bothered him about - and then lie on the sand baking, the wet clothes ungluing themselves from his body as they dried. Sometimes Harold would come and watch them, or swim as well. In the afternoons, Malcolm and JB would pedal off through the dunes on bicycles, and he and Willem would follow on foot, picking up bits of shaley shells and the sad carapaces of long-nibbled-away hermit crabs as they went, Willem slowing his pace to match his own. In the evenings, when the air was soft, JB and Malcolm sketched and he and Willem read. He felt doped, on sun and food and salt and contentment, and at night he fell asleep quickly and early, and in the mornings he woke before the others so he could stand on the back porch alone looking over the sea. ~ Hanya Yanagihara

I feel so fortunate to get paid to be an actor. I pinch myself. I get it from writing, I get it from baking, gardening ... I sort of open myself to the creative flow, which is hard to do, by the way. ~ Lauren Bowles

Jeanne's sisters thought nothing of themselves ... Helen stayed up late in Brookline, baking. Lemon squares, and brownies, pecan bars, apple cake, sandy almond cookies. Alone in her kitchen, she wrapped these offerings in waxed paper and froze them in tight-lipped containers ...
Helen was the baker of the family. What she felt could not be purchased. She grieved from scratch. ~ Allegra Goodman

Excellent," says Gray, rubbing his hands together, a gleam in his eye. "The last
person to sing gets to buy the drinks."
Ivy grins wide. "You're on, Cupcake. I'm going to sing the house down."
We all pause, our gazes darting back and forth as a certain sense of terror falls
over the table.
Ivy sees us and slaps her palm onto the table. "Oh, for fuck's sake. I know what
you twats are thinking! If I suck at dancing, I'll suck at singing? Well, I don't. I'm
awesome."
Awkward silence ensues, and she snorts.
"What? You think I don't know I suck at dancing? I just don't give a shit." She
glares at Gray, though there really isn't any anger in the look. "So you can stop
dancing like an ass now."
A strangled sound leaves him. "You knew?"
"Of course." She tosses a lock of her hair over her shoulder. "You're too
coordinated on the field, and you kind of forget to suck when you do those victory
dances."
He gapes at her for a long second, then gives a bark of laughter. "I fucking love
you, Special Sauce." With that, he hauls Ivy into his lap and kisses her.
Fi, however, finally snaps out of the trance she's been in since Ivy confessed.
"You sneaky shithead," she shouts over the music. "All these years I've been
covering for your craptacular dancing, and you knew!" She shakes a fist. "I swear to
God, Ivy Weed…"
"Oh, please," Ivy counters. "You pretend you suck at baking so you don' ~ Kristen Callihan

After sending Bella a Christmas card for years with no response, a few years before I'd decided to add something more personal- one of Mum's recipes. I had included various Christmas recipes each year since, from gingerbread to chocolate and cranberry brownies- Bella's favorite as a child. I saw these as a reminder of the good times we'd shared and hoped she'd feel the same. Just writing down those recipes reminded me of Mum in her kitchen- the soft, wobbly fold of flour into butter, the grit of sugar, the heady fragrance of chocolate, sweet vanilla and the warmth of ginger. ~ Sue Watson

When you see a beautiful loaf of bread, slow down, appreciate it, enjoy it, then give yourself a chance to think! ~ Chris Geiger

How lucky am I to be right here, How lucky am I indeed. A lifetime of love and song and pie, What more could a person need? ~ Sarah Weeks

The profession I have keeps dragging me into drama and taking me away from baking, flowering and gardening. ~ Lykke Li

The city of Gloucester, by ancient custom, presented a lamprey pie to the sovereign at Christmas time, as a token of loyalty. Lampreys are scaleless freshwater sucker-fish resembling eels, desirable in the past for their oily, gamey flesh. The tradition of gifting lamprey pies to the royal family continued until the end of Queen Victoria's reign, but was revived for the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953 when a 42-pound pie was cooked by the RAF catering crops. ~ Janet Clarkson

Paul's story is good news for those of us who are tempted to put our trust in ourselves, in our own ability to work hard enough to merit God's favor. Grace is so surprising! It's surprising because while it may seem likely that a prostitute would recognize her need for rescue, the homeschooling, bread-baking, devotion-reading mom who attends her local church faithfully (while trusting in her own goodness) will choke on the humiliating message of gospel rescue. Rescue? Why would she need rescuing? ~ Elyse M. Fitzpatrick

The ordinary activities I find most compatible with contemplation are walking, baking bread, and doing laundry. ~ Kathleen Norris

We all hygger: gathered around a table for a shared meal or beside a fire on a dark night, when we sit in the corner of our local cafe or wrap ourselves in a blanket at the end of a day on the beach.
Lying spoons, baking in a warm kitchen, bathing by candlelight, being alone in bed with a hot water bottle and a good book - these are all ways to hygge.
Hygge draws meaning from the fabric of ordinary living.
It'a a way of acknowledging the sacred in the secular, of giving something ordinary a special context, spirit and warmth and taking time to make it extraordinary. ~ Louisa Thomsen Brits

Nicotine addicted, persecuted, her day is a maddening circle of tea and biscuits, baking, smoking, the necessary fiction of the housewife. ~ James Claffey

There was a mood of magic and frenzy to the room. Crystalline swirls of sugar and flour still lingered in the air like kite tails. And then there was the smell-the smell of hope, the kind of smell that brought people home. ~ Sarah Addison Allen

Baking is ... Life. So when you describe what you're making, you must describe life. Do you see? It's not just recipes.. ~ Jenny Colgan

This guy, when I met him he was 47 years old, he'd just come out of a divorce and he was, you know, very desirable. He had every Cosmo cover girl and undercover girl. They were just coming out of his ears. Baking cakes on his doorstep, one in the back door, one on the roof, one waiting in the basement, another in the elevator. So I know I have to keep an eye on him. ~ Pia Zadora

Stormy, tell me about where you were when John F. Kennedy died."
"It was a Friday. I was baking a pineapple upside-down cake for my bridge club. I put it in the oven and then I saw the news and forgot all about the cake and nearly burned the house down. We had to have the kitchen repainted because of all the soot." She fusses with her hair. "He was a saint, that man. A prince. If I'd met him in my heyday, we really could've had some fun. You know, I flirted with a Kennedy once at an airport. He sidled up to me at the bar and bought me a very dry gin martini. Airports used to be so very much more glamorous. People got dressed up to travel. Young people on airplanes these days, they wear those horrible sheepskin boots and pajama pants and it's an eyesore. I wouldn't go out for the mail dressed like that."
"Which Kennedy?" I ask.
"Hmm? Oh, I don't know. He had the Kennedy chin, anyway."
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. Stormy and her escapades. ~ Jenny Han

I think there really is no other way to write a long, serious
novel. You work, shelve it for a while, work, shelve it again,
work some more, month after month, year after year, and then
one day you read the whole piece through and, so far as you
can see, there are no mistakes. (The minute it's published and
you read the printed book you see a thousand.) This tortuous
process is not necessary, I suspect, for the writing of a popular
novel in which the characters are not meant to have depth and complexity, where character A is consistently stingy and character
B is consistently openhearted and nobody is a mass of
contradictions, as are real human beings. But for a true novel
there is generally no substitute for slow, slow baking.
We've all heard the stories of Tolstoy's pains over Anna Karenina,
Jane Austen's over Emma, or even Dostoevsky's over Crime and Punishment, a novel he grieved at having to publish prematurely,though he had worked at it much longer than most popular-fiction writers work at their novels. ~ John Gardner

The night was aromatic with the smell of autumn and the steely fragrance of freshly dampened blacktop. How she loved the smell of road: asphalt baking and soft in July, dirt roads with their dust-and-pollen perfume in June, country lanes spicy with the odor of crushed leaves in sober October, the sand-and-salt smell of the highway, so like an estuary, in February. ~ Joe Hill

Oh, this smells fantastic." She slid up onto one of the stools. "Italian. And you said you could only make one thing."
"Yeah, I really slaved over this."
He turned toward the oven with a flourish and removed a flat pan with… Ehlena burst out laughing.
"French-bread pizza."
"Only the best for you."
"DiGiorno?"
"Of course. And I splurged on the supreme kind. I figured you could pick off what you don't like."
He used a pair of sterling-silver tongs to transfer the pizzas onto the plates and then put the baking sheet back on the top of the stove.
"I have red wine, too."
As he came over with the bottle, all she could do was stare up at him and smile.
"You know," he said as he poured some into her glass, "I like the way you're looking at me."
She put her hands over her face. "I can't help it."
"Don't try. It makes me feel taller."
"And you're not small to begin with."

-Ehlena & Rehv ~ J.R. Ward

The thing with children is they're a bit like baking a fruitcake: you throw all the ingredients in but you never know how they're going to turn out. ~ Len Goodman

The length of time that the thought is held has also much to do with its accomplishment, for the thought-vibrations have to be active for a certain time to bring about a certain result. A certain length of time is required for the baking of a cake; if it is hurried the cake will be uncooked; with too great a heat it will burn. If the operator of the mental vibrations lacks patience then the power of thought will be wasted, even if it were half-way to its destiny, or still nearer to a successful issue. If too great a power of thought is given to the accomplishment of a certain thing it destroys while preparing it. ~ Hazrat Inayat Khan

As I've heard some bakers say, baking takes a lot of time, but for the most part it's not YOUR time. ~ Michael Pollan

yolks well and add milk and cream. Mix and sift dry ingredients and add to first mixture. Fold in egg whites which have been beaten until stiff. APPLE SAUCE CAKE 1 Cup Sugar ½ Cup Shortening 1 ¾ Cups Flour 1 Cup Warm Apple Sauce 1 Teaspoon Baking Soda ½ ~ Mary Jo Montanye

A short while later, they were all covered in flour.
"Anna, do you have to use so much flour?" her mother asked, waving a cloud of dust away from her face.
"I hate when the cookies stick, Ma, you know that." Anna sifted more flour onto the wooden table that doubled as a workspace. She loved flour and she used it liberally, but it did make cleanup much harder.
The bakery wasn't large and it wasn't bright; the windows were high up, just below the ceiling eaves. Anna had to squint to see her measurements. Spoons and pots hung on the walls, and the large wooden table stood in the middle of the room, where Anna and her mom baked bread, cinnamon rolls, and Anna's famous cookies. The majority of the bakery was taken up by the cast-iron stove. It was as beautiful as it was functional, and Anna was constantly tripping over it- or falling into it, hence the small burn marks on her forearms. Those also came from paddling the bread into and out of the oven. Her parents said she was the best at knowing when the temperature of the stove was just right for baking the softest bread. Maybe she was a little messy when she baked, but it didn't bother her. ~ Jen Calonita

Christmas for me is all about spending time with my family. I cherish any chance we have to spend all day together making gingerbread houses, baking cookies, or sitting around and watching movies. ~ Blake Lively

He felt something on his neck. Warmth.
He hesitated, then turned weary eyes toward the sky. Sunlight bathed his face. He gaped; it seemed so long since he'd seen pure sunlight. It shone down through a large break in the clouds, comforting, like the warmth of an oven baking a loaf of Adrinne's thick sourdough bread.
Almen stood, raising a hand to shade his eyes. He took a deep, long breath, and smelled… apple blossoms? He spun with a start.
The apple trees were flowering.
That was plain ridiculous. He rubbed his eyes, but that didn't dispel the image. They were blooming, all of them, white flowers breaking out between the leaves.
[...] What was happening? Apple trees didn't blossom twice. Was he going mad?
Footsteps sounded softly on the path that ran past the orchard. Almen spun to find a tall young man walking down out of the foothills. He had deep red hair and he wore ragged clothing: a brown cloak with loose sleeves and a simple white linen shirt beneath. The trousers were finer, black with a delicate embroidery of gold at the cuff.
"Ho, stranger," Almen said, raising a hand, not knowing what else to say, not even sure if he'd seen what he thought he'd seen. "Did you… did you get lost up in the foothills?"
The man stopped, turning sharply. He seemed surprised to find Almen there. With a start, Almen realized the man's left arm ended in a stump.
The stranger looked about, then breathed in deeply. "No. I'm not lost. Finally. It fe ~ Robert Jordan

Some days, I'm as shallow as a baking pan, but I still stretch miles in all directions. ~ Rives

American business at this point is really about developing an idea, making it profitable, selling it while it's profitable and then getting out or diversifying. It's just about sucking everything up. My idea was: Enjoy baking, sell your bread, people like it, sell more. Keep the bakery going because you're making good food and people are happy. ~ Ian MacKaye

Continental Baking Company, Ninth and Clinton Streets, ~ Holly Metz

We've got time," Jared says again.
An abrupt panic, like a warning premonition, makes it impossible for me to speak for a moment. He watches the change on my face with worried eyes. "You don't know that." The despair that softened when he found me strikes like the lash of a whip. "You can't know how much time we'll have. You don't know if we should be counting in months or days or hours."
He laughs a warm laugh, touching his lips to the tense place where my eyebrows pull together. "Don't worry, Mel. Miracles don't work that way. I'll never lose you. I'll never let you get away from me."
She brought me back to the present - to the thin ribbon of the highway winding through the Arizona wasteland, baking under the fierce noon sun - without my choosing to return. I stared at the empty place ahead and felt the empty place inside.
Her thought sighed faintly in my head: you never know how much time you'll have.
The tears I was crying belonged to both of us. ~ Stephenie Meyer

I love being at home and cooking and baking. ~ Blake Lively

Every English village seems to have a particular day when some local tradition is celebrated - and the celebratory food is often pie. ~ Janet Clarkson

When I was an undergraduate we were told that history had ended, and we all believed it. When the Berlin Wall fell, what history was made of was over. No more Cold War. No more wars. And yet here it was, and is and all of it falling apart. Endings. Worlds dissolving. Weather systems, baking systems, the careful plans of municipal gardeners. Families, hearts, lives. ~ Helen Macdonald

I have to go," I say, "I am baking a cake. ~ Matt Cutugno

That's why I named my bakery Flour. It's a reminder that in baking, as in life, simple things are best. ~ Joanne Chang

Outside, I could smell the Zebra. Even if for some reason I stopped feeling cold or hot or rain or sun, I bet I could close my eyes and still tell which season I was in just by the smell of the trees and dirt there. Spring was sweet mud and flowers. Fall has a kind of moldy edge to it, and winter was all dust and bark. As for summer, the Zebra carried a mossy, thick aroma full of baking leaves and oozing sap, which I guessed was its growing smell. ~ Adina Rishe Gewirtz

I'm thrilled that Alice Medrich, one of America's premier bakers, has embraced teff, buckwheat, oat, and rice flours. She understands that these flours are far more than substitutes for wheat flour. These flavor flours are stars on their own, full of character. Her recipes are sure to entice you to move into the kitchen and start baking. ~ Shauna James Ahern

The pie-cook and the pie-consumer are both lucky if the smell of the pie 'sells' not only its desirability as biological fuel but also remembrance of pies past. ~ Janet Clarkson

At their time of life they should be wearing trouser suits and baking cakes, maybe spending their days penning hand-written letters of complaint to newspapers. Not drinking alcopops with crude straws in them. ~ Matthew Crow

Pecans are not cheap, my hons. In fact, in the South, the street value of shelled pecans just before holiday baking season is roughly that of crack cocaine. Do not confuse the two. It is almost impossible to make a decent crack cocaine tassie, I am told. ~ Celia Rivenbark

In America, the unqualified word 'pie' unequivocally means a sweet dessert item, whereas in Australia it just as certainly means a meat pie. ~ Janet Clarkson

Cut my life into pizzas. this is my plastic fork. oven baking, no breathing, dont give a fuck if its carbs that i'm eating' -Catherine Spann ~ Catherine Spann

Mondays are for baklava, which she learned to make by watching her parents. Her mother said that a baklava-maker should have sensitive, supple hands, so she was in charge of opening and unpeeling the paper-thin layers of dough and placing them in a stack in the tray. Her father was in charge of pastry-brushing each layer of dough with a coat of drawn butter. It was systematic yet graceful: her mother carefully unpeeling each layer and placing them in the tray where Sirine's father painted them. It was important to move quickly so that the unbuttered layers didn't dry out and start to fall apart. This was one of the ways that Sirine learned how her parents loved each other- their concerted movements like a dance; they swam together through the round arcs of her mother's arms and her father's tender strokes. Sirine was proud when they let her paint a layer, prouder when she was able to pick up one of the translucent sheets and transport it to the tray- light as raw silk, fragile as a veil.
On Tuesday morning, however, Sirine has overslept. She's late to work and won't have enough time to finish preparing the baklava before starting breakfast. She could skip a day of the desserts and serve the customers ice cream and figs or coconut cookies and butter cake from the Iranian Shusha Bakery two doors down. But the baklava is important- it cheers the students up. They close their eyes when they bite into its crackling layers, all lightness and scent of orange blossoms.
And ~ Diana Abu-Jaber

‪Just discovered that creating a recipe is like writing, the art is knowing when to stop adding and changing the ingredients. ~ Chris Geiger

If baking at Zomick's bakery is any labor at all, it's a labor of love. A love that gets passed from one Zomick's generation to the next one. ~ Zomick's Bakery

A discussion of the pie in movies would hardly be complete without mention of the classic comic device of custard-pie throwing, now legitimized and made semi-serious as the subversive political act of 'entarting'. 'Entarting' is delivering (by 'lovingly pushing', not throwing) a cream pie into the face of a deserving celebrity, preferably in full view of the world's media, in order to make a point. ~ Janet Clarkson

I may plan to make Christ the center of Christmas, but when I wait until December to focus on celebrating His birthday, I become entangled in Christmas lights, holiday baking, and festive engagements, often wondering if I've experienced the illusive "true meaning" of Christmas. ~ Ann Marie Stewart

Baking is one of my many hobbies. I was originally introduced to baking as a child by my grandmother. I continued to bake for friends and family throughout the years for special occasions. I began to create themed treats after receiving continued requests from a lot of my friends. ~ Rosanna Pansino

Only somebody with a mind like a rock could go on with the idea that we on our little island are separate from those other places - that great world is rainbow threads woven into our greys and greens. Where did this leather belt come from? he asked me, of a belt I couldn't see. Not English goats, but Norwegian ones. And the flour for baking bread that feeds our great cities? From Baltic grain, high up in the north. And the ironwork on our new weathervane? Spanish iron. Our little land is flecked with foreignness, the Lord wants our colourful commingling. ~ Samantha Harvey

Army, Marriage, the Church, and Baking: the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse.
Fermin Romero de Torres - The Shadow of the Wind. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zafon