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Buns Quotes

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Buns Quotes

“As her eyes ran over the lines of text, she took a bite of the melon bun, which was nearly as large as her face. The thick cookie dough encrusting its surface broke open with a crunch, and out spilled the aroma of butter and brown sugar, and the unmistakable taste of melon. Yes, it was exactly like she'd described. The combination of saltiness and sweetness wasn't bad, but the overall flavor was hardly sophisticated. Savoring it alongside the words flowing down the screen, though, its deliciousness seemed to percolate through her body. The idea of combining karintō and the trusty melon bun is, of course, totally stupid. Honestly, I burst out laughing when I saw it there in the convenience store. But here's the thing: when you bite into that greasy, crunchy coating with its hint of soy sauce not unlike mitarashi dumplings, it's like emerging from a tunnel into the light, with the bright, fresh green flavor of melon fanning out all around you. I have to report that I'm now totally addicted. A stupid taste. A stupid price. But you know what, getting by on 'stupid food' actually makes things very easy. It's kind of soothing to feel like you've found a way to cheat at life.”

“I'm sure you are aware of the history of the Crusaders bringing spices and dried fruits back to England. While these would have been luxuries at first, with the establishment of regular trade routes, spiced cakes would eventually become affordable treats for the common people, and were often associated with the festivals of the religious calendar. Spiced buns, marked with a cross, were being eaten on Good Friday in the fourteenth century, the origin of our Hot Cross Buns, and there are also many local peculiarities linking spices, currants and the church. Banbury cakes, baked for the town's St. Luke's Day fair, are made in an oval shape to signify the cradle of the baby Jesus... REV. SAMUEL WAVERLEY, Banbury”

“I sipped my hot, sweet, milky tea, feeling myself settle, center. I couldn't possibly stay in a state of high emotion, and there was a lot to get through in the next few days or weeks. Right this minute, I could enjoy this table in a bakery in a small English village. The place was clearing out, and the chelsea bun beckoned. It was a coil of pastry laced with currants and a hint of lemon zest, quite sweet. I gave it the attention it deserved, since a person couldn't be pigging out on pastries and eggs and bacon all the time. Not me, anyway. Unlike my slender mother, I was built of rounder stuff, and I hadn't been able to walk as much as was my habit. In the meantime, the tea was excellent, served in a sturdy silver pot with a mug that didn't seem to match any other mug on the tables. The room smelled of yeast and coffee and cinnamon and the perfume of a woman who had walked by. Light classical music played quietly. From the kitchen came voices engaged in the production of all the goods in the case. A rich sense of well-being spread through me, and I realized that my leg didn't hurt at all.”

“So this is what a black pepper pork bun really tastes like!" The bun is flaky, and crispy, like a piecrust! The juicy pork filling is seasoned with just enough black pepper to give it a good bite! All the minced green onion mixed in with it makes it even better! The whole thing is overflowing with the mellow and meaty umami goodness of ground pork! "IT'S SOOO GOOD!" "Look! There it is! That's Soma Yukihira's booth!" "Really? Interesting! Wasn't he one of the finalists in this year's Classic?" "Hmm. This meat filling is way too weak as is. Juiciness, richness, umami... it's way short on all of those. The bun itself is probably good enough. Maybe I should up the ratio of rib meat..." "Yo. How're the test recipes going? There are a whole lot of other exclusively Chinese seasonings you can try, y'know. Oyster sauce, Xo spicy seafood sauce and a whole mountain of spices. I did a Dongpo Pork Bowl for the Classic, so I know all too well how deep that particular subject gets." "Oh, right! Now I see it. Chinese "Ma-La" flavor is just another combination of spices! Everything I learned about spices from my curry dish for the Prelims... ... I should be able to use in this too! Thanks, Nikumi!" "H-hey! Don't grab my hand like that!" How about this? Fresh-ground black pepper... ... and some mellow, fragrant sesame oil! When you're making anything Chinese, you can't forget the five-spice powder. I'll also knead in some star anise to enhance the flavor of the pork! Then add sliced green onions and finish by wrapping the mixture in the dough”

“It wasn't that Nina didn't make equally tasty buns, but Zod, her rogue apprentice, had refined the dough to a featherlight brioche with a subtle tang. He filled the pockets not just with beef and onions, but peach jam, saffron rice pudding, smoked sturgeon, potatoes and dill, cabbage and caraway apples, duck confit and chopped orange peel, and, once, even a pearl that fell into the lemon custard when Nina's necklace snapped, beads hitting the counter like hailstones.”

“I have a sweet tooth and I am not ashamed. That's all there is to it. No need to mention donuts at all." "How about buns?" She looked back over her shoulder and caught him staring at her ass. She was wearing a tight black skirt for no other reason than she'd had a strange urge to feel sexy after Hassan shredded her the other day. She gave a little wiggle before she walked into the restaurant and was rewarded with the sound of his sharp intake of breath. "Layla?" "Yes?" She turned in the doorway, caught a cheeky smile. "I like sweet things, too.”

“A cardamom bun is less sticky than the cinnamon-scented kanelbullar; more giving than the currant-freckled curls of the Chelsea bun, but just as much fun to unravel as you sip your coffee. You can spend a pleasing afternoon making a batch of buns. The milk-enriched dough is spread with ground spice, sugar and butter, sliced into wide ribbons then fashioned into an untidy knot. Each cook seems to have their signature tangle. The surface is speckled black and white, a gritty mix of caster sugar and ground cardamom. The salt and pepper of Swedish baking and my drug of choice.”

“Go along, go along quickly, and set all you have on the table for us. We don't want doughnuts, honey buns, poppy cakes, and other dainties; bring us a whole sheep, serve a goat and forty-year old mead! And plenty of vodka, not vodka with all sorts of fancies, not with raisins and flavorings, but pure foaming vodka, that hisses and bubbles like mad.”

“In the '80s, I thought I'd be a success as a woman if I were the president of a billion dollar company, had a sensitive soul-mate husband, two bilingual children, buns of steels, and a compost heap. In the '90s, I pretty much feel I'm a success if I can get through the afternoon without eating a cheesecake.”

“I was at a restaurant, and I ordered a chicken sandwich, but I don't think the waitress understood me. She asked me, "How would you like your eggs?" I thought I would answer her anyway and said, "Incubated! And then raised, plucked, beheaded, cut up, put onto a grill, and then put onto a bun. Damn! I don't have that much time! Scrambled!"”

“The Armful For every parcel I stoop down to seize I lose some other off my arms and knees, And the whole pile is slipping, bottles, buns, Extremes too hard to comprehend at. once Yet nothing I should care to leave behind. With all I have to hold with hand and mind And heart, if need be, I will do my best. To keep their building balanced at my breast. I crouch down to prevent them as they fall; Then sit down in the middle of them all. I had to drop the armful in the road And try to stack them in a better load.”

“I have an apple that thinks its a pear. And a bun that thinks it’s a cat. And a lettuce that thinks its a lettuce." "It’s a clever lettuce, then." "Hardly," she said with a delicate snort. "Why would anything clever think it’s a lettuce?" "Even if it is a lettuce?" I asked. "Especially then," she said. "Bad enough to be a lettuce. How awful to think you are a lettuce too.”

“A typical National World Weekly would tell the world how Jesus' face was seen on a Big Mac bun bought by someone from Des Moines, with an artist's impression of the bun; how Elvis Presley was recently sighted working in a Burger Lord in Des Moines; how listening to Elvis records cured a Des Moines housewife's cancer; how the spate of werewolves infesting the Midwest are the offspring of noble pioneer women raped by Bigfoot; and that Elvis was taken by Space Aliens in 1976 because he was too good for this world. Remarkably, one of these stories is indeed true.”

“I sat on the bench by the willows and at my honey bun and read Triton. There are some awful things in the world, it’s true, but there are also some great books. When I grow up I would like to write something that someone could read sitting on a bench on a day that isn’t all that warm and they could sit reading it and totally forget where they were or what time it was so that they were more inside the book than inside their own head. I’d like to write like Delany or Heinlein or Le Guin.”

“Agent Jones switched to the big screen and a grainy video of MoMo sitting at his enormous desk, a swivel-hipped Elvis clock ticking behind his bewigged head. 'Death to the capitalist pigs! Death to your cinnamon bun-smelling malls! Death to your power walking and automatic car windows and I'm With Stupid T-shirts! The Republic of ChaCha will never bend to your side-of-fries -drive -through-please-oh-would-you-like-ketchup-with-that corruption! MoMo B. ChaCha defies you and all you stand for, and one day, you will crumble into the sea and we will pick up the pieces and make them into sand art.”

“It's funny that we think of libraries as quiet demure places where we are shushed by dusty, bun-balancing, bespectacled women. The truth is libraries are raucous clubhouses for free speech, controversy and community. Librarians have stood up to the Patriot Act, sat down with noisy toddlers and reached out to illiterate adults. Libraries can never be shushed.”

“Enemy giants moved towards the breech, and Tyson picked up the fallen warrior’s club. He yelled something to his fellow blacksmiths – probably ‘FOR POSEIDON!’ – but with his mouth full of peanut butter it sounded like, ‘PUH PTEH BUN.’ His brethren all grabbed hammers and chisels, yelled, ‘PEANUT BUTTER!’ and charged behind Tyson into battle.”

“He lay back for a little in his bed thinking about the smells of food . . . of the intoxicating breath of bakeries and dullness of buns. . . . He planned dinners, of enchanting aromatic foods . . . endless dinners, in which one could alternate flavour with flavour from sunset to dawn without satiety, while one breathed great draughts of the bouquet of old brandy.”