Best 86 quotes in «dessert quotes» category

Fun can be the dessert of our lives but never its main course.

Here, in L.A., trust me, there will be fireworks from the canapés right through to the desserts.

I am crazy for dessert. I eat everything. No one should be denied anything... just don't eat the whole thing.

If this was adulthood the only improvement she could detect in her situation was that she could now eat dessert without eating her vegetables.

I am not accustomed to take my wine in pills.

I balance my meals. I have never been a big dessert guy.

Ice-cream is exquisite - what a pity it isn't illegal.

I'd never let anybody share dessert with me or even have a taste.

If God had wanted me to lose weight he would have made sure there was creamed spinach for dessert.

I can't walk by chocolate without eating it.

I created the peplum so you can eat in it. You can have a dessert, you can have another sandwich.

I did though at least expect him to correct the false statements he made when he was trying to protect the Presidency. Instead, he talked about it as though I had laid it all out there for the taking. I was the buffet and he just couldn't resist the dessert.

I have a sweet tooth. I love dessert, and if somebody makes me one, I'm going to have it.

I love dessert. I can't be guilty about it because I have to taste everything. I experiment.

I never met a chocolate I could not eat.

I'm weird about fruity desserts like lemony, acidic, zesty... I don't like lemon things and orange things, really.

Keep rockin', and keep knockin' Whether you Louis Vuitton it up or Reebokin' You see the hate, that they're servin' on a platter So what we gon' have, dessert or disaster?

It's a floor cleaner and a dessert topping.

It's not as if ten years ago, we were like, 'I wish I could take low quality photos of my dessert.'

Marriage is a dinner that begins with dessert.

Life is too short not to order the bacon dessert.

Marriage is a long, dull meal with dessert served at the beginning.

Marriage is like a dull meal with the dessert at the beginning.

My problem is desserts. I am obsessed with desserts.

The only obvious advantage to being an adult is that you can eat your dessert without haying sampled the vegetables.

Sexual touch is the dessert of married life!

The Honey is sweet, but the Bee has a Sting.

There's no diet list I'll follow that would rule out cherry pie.

Traditional British desserts with lots of custard are my biggest weakness - I particularly love the puds at St. John restaurant in East London.

Thus the public use of reason and freedom is nothing but a dessert, a sumptuous dessert.

Time-wasting activities are the dessert. Oftentimes discoveries are made through the back door.

Victory is very, very sweet. It tastes better than any dessert you've ever had.

UML is not dessert topping and floor wax.

You don't just change your whole life in one big step. It's the small things you do every day that pull over to the big things, like taking yourself out for coffee and eating a really good dessert when you're depressed could be the start to living a fulfilled life.

While eating your appetizer, don't be concerned with dessert.

Walt's idea was that - as soon as the people who were dining got through their main course. They were supposed to all be seated, served at the same time, when they got into the dessert.

We dare not trust our wit for making our house pleasant to our friend, so we buy ice cream.

With the exception of dessert, food is food.

Yeah the appetizer, that's the food we eat before we have our food...No no you're thinking of dessert, that's food we eat after we have our food.

A few days before the club, Stevie and Erin produced the wares of their dumpster dives. New potatoes, udon noodles, shiitake mushrooms, raspberry doughnuts, baked meringues, feta cheese, frozen peas, farfalle pasta, tomato puree, tinned salmon, plus a load of day-old radishes. "The most important part of any dumpster dive," Erin said, moving her hand expansively over the food, "is showing off what you have found." I processed the food as she'd taught me: cleaning the packaging with diluted bleach and soaking the vegetables in a vinegar-water solution. In the large chrome restaurant kitchen, I spread it all out across the counter and thought about what I'd make. We had bought just one extra ingredient: enormous cuts of T-bone steak. We thought red meat should be a prerequisite for all Supper Clubs. An element of spontaneity had also been agreed on, with no set menu, no dietary requirements- just eat whatever's in front of you and be sure to eat it all. The plan was to spend all night at the restaurant, waiting hours between courses. I made grilled potatoes and spiced salmon for the first course. I roasted radishes and topped them with crumbled feta for the second. Cold noodle salad with shiitake mushrooms and peas for the third, and T-bone steaks cooked rare, with a side of garlic-tomato pasta, for the main course. For dessert I made a strange sort of Eton mess, with chunks of torn doughnuts and smashed meringue covered in cream and sugar.

A dessert without cheese is like a beautiful woman with no heart.

And when all of the flourless chocolate cakes & chocolate mousse or ganache cakes have come and gone, there will still be nothing like a fudgy brownie, dry & crackled on top, moist & dense within, with a glass of cold milk.

Death is a poison parsley on a dessert wine.

Dessert was an over baked chocolate chip cookies the size of a hockey puck and just about as tasty.

Desserts are the fairytales of the kitchen,a happily ever after to supper

Eat up, sweet one. And if you ask, I am sure Thrasius will make a pear patina tonight." Apicius's voice always held a special warmth when he addressed his daughter. "Please, Thrasius! I love it when you make the pears pretty!" I laughed at her description of the fruit, honey, and egg dish. I always added an extra layer of pears on top, and I had to admit, they did look pretty once they were cooked and shining with oil. "I would be pleased to make that for you, little Domina." Spontaneously, Apicata ran around the table and gave me a big hug.

First course: almond soup, white fricassee, boiled cod Second course: chicken patties, jugged hare, roast venison, oyster loaves, mushrooms, cauliflower pickle Dessert: apple tart, orange cream, plums in syrup

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.

He looks at you like you’re crème brûlée.

He opens a lower cabinet to reveal that it is a mini fridge, and brings over two plates that each have a slice of what looks like flan, dark at the top from being baked with caramel. He hands me a plate and fork, and pours me a glass of wine. I take a bite. And my eyes snap open. "Gateau de semoule?" I say in disbelief. "Mais oui, mademoiselle, bien sur." He smiles. "I thought you might like it." "I adore it. And I haven't had it in years." The very French dessert is essentially baked creme caramel-type custard, thickened with semolina for an amazing texture and added nuttiness. There are juicy golden raisins, which I believe he has soaked in rum, and the caramel you make for the bottom of the baking dish turns itself into a light sauce when you unmold it. It is the kind of dessert that any French maman would make on a weeknight for dessert. Unfunny, unfussy, and completely comforting and delicious.