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Quote by Wilhelm Genazino

“Fazla konuşuyorsun, diye sitem ediyorum kendime, başkalarını fazla dinliyorsun, fazla kahve içiyorsun, yabancı odalarda fazla oturuyorsun, uykuların fazla rahatsız, fazla uyanık kalıyorsun, fazla sığ düşünüyorsun, fazla ümitlisin, kendini fazla teselli ediyorsun.”

Quote by Wilhelm Genazino

Book:Mutsuzluk Zamanlarında Mutluluk
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Mutsuzluk Zamanlarında Mutluluk

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Wilhelm Genazino

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“There are four cheeses! It's a 'Quattro Formaggi' Pizza!" "A 'Four-Cheese' Pizza? Well, duh. That's a standard pizza topping, even in Italy. There's nothing special or even unusual about that! So why the big reaction?!" "Because the four cheeses were blended together and balanced with absolute perfection! The deliciousness of most cheeses is rooted in their mellow richness and sharp saltiness. With those flavors as his baseline... he took four cheeses and balanced them so that their quirks and strengths play off each other brilliantly! That sharp, salty battle is a stark contrast to the thick sweetness of the shigureni beef- the gap between them creating a full-bodied and indescribably delicious flavor! Then there's the texture contrast of the gooey cheese and the crisply fragrant crust..." "And you can't forget the tingly bite of the black pepper sprinkled across the top. What a marvelous accent! All the various flavors blossom to their full potential inside the mouth, each making the salty cheese stand out more and more..." We came out of the blocks with the bitterness of the artichokes... then we jumped to the cynarine-boosted sweetness of the shigureni beef... ... and ended with a leap to a salty Quattro Formaggi Blend!”

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“So I march into this pizzeria, and smell hot cheese and basil and oregano and garlic and onions and maybe pepperoni in the air, and notice some youngsters and loud cowboys eating pizzas and drinking beer at wooden tables, and start studying all the scrumptious pies in the display case in front of the big oven. There's one with sausage and mushrooms and three cheeses, and one with bacon and charred peppers and black olives and shrimp, and another with tiny meatballs and broccoli and whole garlic cloves, and one called the Super Deluxe, with everything but the kitchen stove.”

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“Using a newspaper, sugar packets, and animated hand motions, Callegari reenacts the creation of the Trapizzino, a pocket of crispy dough that eats like the love child of pizza and tramezzino, Italy's triangular sandwich. Skeptics might see in the Trapizzino the sad pizza cone found on food trucks in the United States and beyond, but this is no half-hearted gimmick: crispy and tender, light but resilient, it is an architectural marvel of pizza ingenuity. Not content with traditional pizza toppings, Callegari instead ladles slow-cooked stews of meat and vegetables- tongue in salsa verde, pollo alla cacciatora, artichokes and favas with mint and chili- that perform magnificently against the crunch and comfort of this warm pizza pocket. "The best of old Roman cooking is like great ethnic food- slow-cooked, humble ingredients with big flavor.”

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“The pizzas keep coming: parmigiana di melanzane, planks of eggplant mixed with tomato and Parmesan, roasted in the wood-fired oven until dense and sticky with flavor, then used to crown a pillow-soft disc of dough; la pinsa conciata, a poetic union of pork lard and fig jam and an ancient goat cheese once on the brink of extinction; calzone con scarola riccia, a featherweight shell of blistered impasto stuffed with wilted escarole and anchovy and a tickle of dried chili.”

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“Isaac studied the huge, airy room and went to stand in front of a wall of watercolor apples- each one was set off by a colored background ranging from deep blue to fluorescent green to soft pink. He turned to ask Sanna about it, but she was still in the kitchen, pulling salt-crusted baked potatoes from the oven. Bass kneeled on a bar stool and stirred sliced apples with cinnamon and sugar. On the counter were the fixings for a baked potato bar, with cheese, bacon, broccoli, sour cream, and minced chives. "Are the apples above the fireplace meaningful?" Einars bent lower to talk to Bass, as they layered the apples into a dish, forcing Sanna to answer the question. "Those are all the apples we grow in our orchard." There were at least thirty. He hadn't even known there were that many varieties of apple in the world. "Did you paint them?" "Some of them. Most were done by much older relatives.”

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“The pastry came first. If cooks had their mother sauces, pastry chefs had their mother doughs, and pâte à choux was the grand dame among them. It was one of the first things she'd learned to make and still one of her favorites. There was magic in the way the dough went together, butter and flour and salt, cooked until the raw flavor of the flour disappeared, but not so much that it went dry and crumbly. Then four or five eggs got added one at a time until it transformed into a thick batter. It was traditional to beat it by hand, but Melody had learned long ago she got more consistent results with far less effort by using a stand mixer. Then she spooned the batter into a piping bag fitted with star tip and piped long, uniform lines of dough onto a parchment-lined baking sheet. As soon as those went into the oven, she began to concoct her flavors. A maple-and-vanilla crème that would be topped with a maple glaze and bacon bits. A lemon curd topped with toasted meringue, the filling for which was already prepared and jarred in her fridge from her lemon bar experiment earlier that week. A cardamom-scented custard paired with a brûléed sugar glaze.”

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“I made American pancakes this morning. Would you like some? I am about to serve the first batch to my guests." "I can make some for us," I said, taking in the batter, the greased griddle, and the bowl of apricots. "You can go and fuss over the guests." "Ah, bien," she answered, loading a platter full of beautiful apricot-studded pancakes to take away. "Bon, I pour the batter and place the slices over the top just so. They're very moist because of the crème fraîche, and then I serve them with a crème anglaise." "It looks great," I said, taking the ladle in hand and stirring the batter, just to get a feel for the consistency. "Don't worry about us." Sandrine grinned her thanks, and I turned my attention to breakfast. "I can do that, if you want to sit," Neil offered. I waved him away. "I can make pancakes in my sleep." "I liked that she called them 'American pancakes'." "Well, they are. French pancakes are crepes, and German pancakes are a whole other deal altogether." I ladled four puddles of batter onto the griddle, enjoying the sizzling sound they made as batter met butter. "English pancakes are closer to crepes, just thicker." "Reminds me of when I was in Toronto for a conference. I tried to order a Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza but got tongue-tied." I laughed and began to arrange the apricots. "What did you do?" "I said 'Hawaiian' instead. The guy seemed to know what I was talking about." "Quick thinking." "Thank you." "In truth, between the crème fraîche and the crème anglaise topping, I think these pancakes are a bit more trans-Atlantic than American." "I'll take your word for it.”

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