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Pastry Quotes

Browse 34 quotes about Pastry.

Pastry Quotes

“I ignored their banter because my mind was still stuck on what Jae said about creating something crunchy but not too sweet with the honey butter. We didn't do deep-frying at the Brew-ha Cafe, so that was out. I could maybe incorporate our honey butter into a biscotti, but that didn't really excite me. Unless... "Biscocho!" "Is that like a Filipino version of eureka? You look like you've had some kind of revelation," Adeena said. "I mean, I did have a lightbulb moment, but biscocho isn't some exclamation. It's like a budget Filipino version of biscotti, using day-old pandesal. Jae gave me the idea of trying to make a honey butter version." Jae's eyes were practically sparkling. "Crunchy honey butter snacks?" I laughed. "If it turns out well, then yes, we'll be able to serve crunchy honey butter snacks.”

HoneySnacksButterPastryFilipino CuisineCrunchy
Book:Death and Dinuguan
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“Hector would spend a week perfecting a sesame grapefruit mousse that Britt had described as the union of grainy and puckering, but then ditch the mousse and debut a flawless napoleon of crackling pastry layered with coconut and kaffir lime custard. He'd sprinkled it with a vivid emerald powder that sent Leo's mouth alight when he tasted it, a fragrant tartness that intensified the creamy custard and the buttered shards of crust. It turned out to be sugared lime leaf powder.”

DessertsPastryPastry ChefLime
Book:Bread and Butter
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“Pastry-making, as every amateur baker fears, is as much about technique as ingredients. The rationale behind the well-known advice to keep the hands, implements and kitchen cool while making pastry, to use minimal water and to handle it lightly is obvious, now that we understand the process. Cool handling lengthens the time that the fat in the dough stays solid; using minimum amount of water reduces the gluten content and also allows the dough to be crisper; minimal handling also reduces the gluten, so we do not knead pastry dough as we do bread.”

FoodPieBakingFood WritingFood AnthropologyDoughFood HistoryGlobal HistoryPastry
Book:Pie: A Global History
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“The gluten content of the final wheat dough can be manipulated by the cook in a number of ways depending on the ultimate goal, whether it be sturdy bread or flaky pastry. (...) The first trick is to use exactly the right amount of water, for it is water that activates the gluten in flour. Fat is the second trick, and it helps the texture of pastry in a number of ways. Fat coats little packets of flour, waterproofing them and limiting the amount of water that gets in (less water, so less gluten), and it keeps the gluten strands 'short'. Little smears and gobbets of fat also separate the mini layers of dough, so that they form individual flakes or crumbs, not a solid mass.”

FoodPieBakingFood WritingFood AnthropologyFood HistoryGlutenGlobal HistoryPastry
Book:Pie: A Global History
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“Like flours, not all fats are created equal. Oil is fat that is liquid at room temperature but good pastry cannot be made with oil. Flour simply absorbs the oil and the resulting dough is mealy, not tender and flaky. The ideal fat for pastry-making is one with a high melting point because the longer it takes for the fat to melt, the longer it keeps the little parcels of dough separate, generating little packets of steam to puff and lighten the dough. Pig fat (lard) has a high melting point and very little water content, so is ideal on both counts.”

FoodPieBakingFood WritingFood AnthropologyFatFood HistoryGlobal HistoryPastryLard
Book:Pie: A Global History
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“The key is gluten. Gluten is a protein with long, elastic molecules which simultaneously enable the dough to be made stronger (by providing structure) and lighter (by enabling the trapping of air bubbles). A lot of gluten means a firm structure, which is ideal for bread, but bad for pastry. Too little gluten means no structure and no air-trapping, so flat bread and tough pastry. The task of the pastry-cook is to get just the right amount of gluten to make the pastry light and crumbly and flaky.”

FoodPieBakingFood WritingFood AnthropologyFood HistoryGlutenGlobal HistoryPastry
Book:Pie: A Global History
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“She took another bite of the kringle, appreciating how she tasted just the right combination of flaky, tender pastry and scrumptious filling in each bite. She could see the layers in the dough, but they didn't flake off like a turnover or croissant. The almond cherry filling and cream cheese glaze were the perfect balance of sweet and tangy. With a man who could bake like this, she could almost see herself in another relationship.”

Bakery RomancePastryFlavor CombosDream Man
Book:Once Upon a December
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“I began the day I was to dine at casa di Palone in the Vaticano kitchen, helping Antonio prepare the pope's meals. For noonday, we made barley soup, apples, and a little cheese and bread. For the evening meal, we prepared the same soup with bits of roasted capons, and I made a zabaglione egg dish with a little malmsey wine. I suspected the pope would not touch the custardy dessert, but I felt compelled to take a chance. The worst that might happen was that he would order me to go back to his regular menu. And at best, perhaps he would recognize the joy of food God gifted to us. Once we had finished the general preparations, Antonio helped me bake a crostata to take to the Palone house that evening. He set to work making the pastry as I cleaned the visciola cherries- fresh from the market- and coated them with sugar, cinnamon, and Neapolitan mostaccioli crumbs. I nestled the biscotti among several layers of dough that Antonio had pressed into thin sheets to line the pan. Atop the cherries, I laid another sheet of pastry cut into a rose petal pattern. Antonio brushed it with egg whites and rosewater, sugared it, and set the pie into the oven to bake. Francesco joined us just as I placed the finished crostata on the counter to cool. The cherries bubbled red through the cracks of the rose petals and the scalco gave a low whistle. "Madonna!" Antonio and I stared at him, shocked at the use of the word as a curse. Francesco laughed. "That pie is so beautiful I think even our Lord might swear." He clapped me on the shoulder. "It is good to see you cooking something besides barley soup, Gio. It's been too long since this kitchen has seen such a beautiful dessert." The fragrance was magnificent. I hoped the famiglia Palone would find the pie tasted as good as it looked.”

BakingDessertCherriesFood PreparationItalian CuisinePastryGiovanni
Book:The Chef's Secret
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“Kiela bit into the pastry and was surprised by the burst of salt that prickled her tongue, the garlic that filled her sinuses, and the wonderful sweetness of... "What is that?" she asked as she chewed. "It's a kind of fish that used to be plentiful around Caltrey, the silver swift fish. I've been working on ways to highlight the flavor. Do you like it?" She'd tasted swift fish before, and it never tasted like this. The fish itself melted into the butter of the pastry, and when she swallowed... she felt as if she were inhaling the bright vividness of the sea itself. "It's incredible.”

FishSeasoningsSavoryPastry
Book:The Spellshop
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“Lila smiles, reaches into the cloth covering whatever goodies are in the basket, and pulls out a concha. The top of the pastry is a swirl of colors- deep purple, inky blue, pink, green, gold. It reminds me of the galaxy, and I stare for a moment, mesmerized, before I take it from her. My mouth begins to water. "This smells incredible," I say. "What do I owe you?" "It's on the house," she says, already turning away. "Enjoy." I want to argue, but the urge to bite into the pastry is nearly irresistible now. I've never had Mexican pastries before. But first... I pick up my phone from the bench and take a picture of the gorgeous creation. Then, putting it back down, I take a big bite and close my eyes. My mouth explodes with flavors and sensations- sweet, yeasty, warm. In another three bites, I've eaten the entire four-inch ball of dough and am licking my fingers.”

MexicanTastesPastryConcha
Book:Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love
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“The difference between superlative pie and a wish for cake is crust. Understand that pie is a generous but self-centered substance. It likes attention, not affection. Do not hug your crust. Do not rub its back or five its high. Don't fuss with refrigerators every step oft he way. Keep the water and butter cold, and remember what a wise baker once said: The goal is pie.”

PoetryGoalsCakePieBakingBeginningsProse PoetryPastryCrust
Book:A Commonplace Book of Pie
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“I serve him a portion of chocolate, pear and pepper tart with a glass of chilled rosé. I watch him eat, and think that, in the end, he didn't lie: he is eating in my restaurant. Except it's not supper time, so he did lie. I look at him and think he's feeding off me because I put all of myself into that first tart, that inaugural dessert. I kneaded gently, melted patiently, saved the juice as I sliced, then incorporated it into the pastry, with the Masai-black chocolate, my brown pastry in my hands, rolling it out and shaping it, rolling it out and shaping it, the pepper over the pears because I believe- in the kitchen as in other areas- in the mysterious power of alliteration. The peppercorns are dark on the outside and pale yellow on the inside, not crushed or ground. Sliced. My pepper-mill is a grater, creating tiny slices of spice.”

ChocolateBakingPastryTartPepperPear
Book:Chez Moi: A Novel
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“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.”

TeaChelseaBunsIn The MomentPastryBakery
Book:The Art of Inheriting Secrets
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“Avis named her business Paradise Pastry because she imagined cathedrals. She thought about the stonemasons, glassblowers, sculptors- who gave lifetimes to the creation of beauty. Every sugar crust she rolled, every simple 'tarte Tatin' was a bit of a church. She consecrated herself to it: later, it became her tribute to her daughter and the unknown into which she'd disappeared. She had her cathedral to enter, to console her. Her friend Jean-Francoise, chef at La Petit Choux, said that her pastries would be transcendent, if only she wasn't American.”

BusinessFrenchCathedralsPastriesPastryAvis MuirFelice Muir
Book:Birds of Paradise
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“And then Henry saw it. The tart. It was small, so small it could fit in the palm of his hand, and filled with some kind of fruit- apple, probably, or maybe pear or some kind of stone fruit- but the fruit was sliced so thin that Henry couldn't tell what it was. Each slice was arranged like the petal of a flower, so that the tart looked exactly like a rose. A buttery, sugary, edible pastry rose.”

DesignRoseFruitFrench FoodPastryTart
Book:Love à la Mode
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“By the time Rosie struggled to sit up, Henry sat in front of her with a pink pastry box. He lifted the lid, and Rosie peered inside to see the tiny apple rose tart, the "petals" impossibly thin, caramelized and shining with a dusting of sugar. "It's a rose- get it?" Henry said, and Rosie felt her breath catch in her throat. "It's beautiful." Carefully, Rosie lifted the tart out of the box. "Look at how thin the petals are- they must have used a mandoline. And the bake on the bottom is so even. It's hard to be so accurate with something so small." "Are you going to analyze it or eat it?" he joked. It looked delicious, but she almost didn't want to eat it. Henry had gotten her a rose, something far more beautiful than any flower could ever be. She wished she could keep it in her room forever, but that was part of the magic of food. It didn't last. It couldn't. Each bite was only a moment that transformed into a memory.”

RoseMemorableFrenchApplePastryTart
Book:Love à la Mode
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“Breakfast included delicate palm-size apple turnovers, something I would ordinarily pass on, given that the ones I'd had in the past had been too sweet and cloying. But I knew from experience that the food here should not be ignored. The first bite of turnover was my undoing. The pastry was not heavy or greasy but light and flakey, golden layers that shattered at the first bite, then melted on the tongue. The filling consisted of sliced apples cooked until just tender, their tartly sweet juice a perfect complement to the richness of the crust. Heaven.”

FlavorsPastryApple Turnover
Book:Make It Sweet
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“She proffered a plate upon which sat several small, half-moon-shaped golden pastries. 'Empanadas. They are often filled with meat, but I like these, more usually in the afternoon--- a little pick-me-up after siesta and before I go back to the shop,' she explained. Elizabeth gratefully accepted one, and bit into it. Sweet ripe peas flavored with cinnamon and cloves provided the filling to a slightly cheesy pastry.”

PastryEmpanadas
Book:The Botanist's Daughter
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“In the States, the best ones I've ever eaten were at Bedford Street Bakery, in Brooklyn." "I heard the pastry chef at Qui raving about that place. The woman who runs it is Kiwi, right?" "Yeah. She bakes these beautiful seasonal pastries. I was there around this time four years ago, and there was one with apricots, crème pâtissière, and toasted almonds, and it was just gorgeous." Her shoulders dropped, and her mouth went slack remembering the pleasure. I pressed myself back into the hard bench to hold off the wave of horniness that crashed over me. Jesus, Kieran, get a grip. "That was a quality Homer Simpson drooling noise," I said. Jokes were safe. Jokes meant I wasn't turned on.”

PastryTurned OnBakeryHomer Simpson
Book:The Slowest Burn
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