Baking Mood Quotes

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.

I don’t bake cookies. I don’t want to take care of a man. I’m bitchy. I’m demanding. I want my own space and free time, and when I’m in a bad mood, I’ll tell you and I’ll use bad language while I do it.

Just looking at them I grow greedy, as if they were freshly baked loaves waiting on their shelves to be broken open--that one and that--and I make my choice in a mood of exalted luck, browsing among them like a cow in sweetest pasture. For life is continuous as long as they wait to be read--these inked paths opening into the future, page after page, every book its own receding horizon. And I hold them, one in each hand, a curious ballast weighing me here to earth.

...sometime in the late 1980s the neurotic was replaced, as a cultural type, by the depressive, who understands his unhappiness not in terms of conflict but rather in terms of mood. Mood is taken to be a function of neurotransmitters, about which there’s not much to say. Inarticulacy is baked into any description of the human being that we express in neuro-talk.

Taste every time you cook, and take nothing for granted--not even your own palate, for it can change. Mine has.... Since doing time on a salt-free diet, I approach a plain baked potato reverently. Maybe I've been missing the truth--the nutty, delicate earthiness of a perfect baked potato. Salt only masks it. In a fancy mood, I heighten it with caviar; in a plain mood, I just give it several grinds of fresh black pepper.

No matter what she was doing-baking cookies, walking around the lake on a beautiful day, making love to her husband-she felt rushed and jittery, as if the last few grains of sand were at that very moment sliding through the narrow waist of an hourglass. Any unforeseen occurrence-road construction, an inexperienced cashier, a missing set of keys-could plunge her into a mood of frantic despair that could poison an entire day.

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- the smell of hope, the kind of smell that brought people home. Tonight it was the comfort of browning butter and the excitement of lemon zest.

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,

He studied a roll, weighing it in his hand. It seemed awfully heavy. As good as the food had been so far, it didn't seem likely that it was underbaked, but he was not in the mood to choke down raw dough. He nibbled it dubiously, then bit into it with a great deal more enthusiasm when it proved to have sausage baked into the middle of it.

I got the groceries and lugged them all the way to Akinli’s dorm, running slightly behind because I couldn’t get into the building on my own. The university required ID cards to get into the dorms after six, and since I wasn’t an actual student, I had to wait for someone else to come along and scan his so I could piggyback in. “You need some help?” the boy asked, his eyes lingering on my mouth. I shook my head no. “Aww, come on. That’s way too heavy for you.” He came closer, and again I cursed our natural appeal. I wasn’t in danger exactly, and I knew that, but it didn’t make these encounters any less uncomfortable. I shook my head again. “No, really, which floor are you on? I can—” “Hey, Kahlen!” I looked up to see Akinli walking down the hall. His button-up was open over the gray shirt beneath it, but I was thrilled to see that he’d at least put one on. “I was starting to worry. Hey, Sam.” “Hey.” The boy gave Akinli a look and headed toward the stairwell, his displeasure at Akinli’s arrival clear. In the meantime, I felt my mood lift significantly. I was now officially on my first date.

I was in the mood for some savory scones- I couldn't eat only sweet things, no matter what Mrs. T said. I cut cold butter into flour with my pastry blender, added minced sun-dried tomatoes, fresh Parmesan, salt and pepper, sprinkled in oregano, and then, on a whim, tossed in crushed fennel seeds. I mixed in an egg and some milk. I kneaded the dough a few times, cut out rounds, and plopped them on a cookie sheet. I brushed the tops with more milk and slid the sheet into the hot oven.

PROLOGUE   Zoey “Wow, Z, this is a seriously awesome turnout. There are more humans here than fleas on an old dog!” Stevie Rae shielded her eyes with her hand as she looked around at the newly lit-up campus. Dallas was a total jerk, but we all admitted that the twinkling lights he’d wrapped around the trunks and limbs of the old oaks gave the entire campus a magickal, fairy-like glow. “That is one of your more disgusting bumpkin analogies,” Aphrodite said. “Though it’s accurate. Especially since there are a bunch of city politicians here. Total parasites.” “Try to be nice,” I said. “Or at least try to be quiet.” “Does that mean your daddy, the mayor, is here?” Stevie Rae’s already gawking eyes got even wider. “I suppose it does. I caught a glimpse of Cruella De Vil, a.k.a. She Who Bore Me, not long ago.” Aphrodite paused and her brows went up. “We should probably keep an eye on the Street Cats kittens. I saw some cute little black and white ones with especially fluffy fur.” Stevie Rae sucked air. “Ohmygoodness, your mamma wouldn’t really make a kitten fur coat, would she?” “Faster than you can say Bubba’s drinkin’ and drivin’ again,” Aphrodite mimicked Stevie Rae’s Okie twang. “Stevie Rae—she’s kidding. Tell her the truth,” I nudged Aphrodite. “Fine. She doesn’t skin kittens. Or puppies. Just baby seals and democrats.” Stevie Rae’s brow furrowed. “See, everything is fine. Plus, Damien’s at the Street Cats booth, and you know he’d never let one little kitten whisker be hurt—let alone a whole coat,” I assured my BFF, refusing to let Aphrodite mess up our good mood. “Actually, everything is more than fine. Check out what we managed to pull off in a little over a week.” I sighed in relief at the success of our event and let my gaze wander around the packed school grounds. Stevie Rae, Shaylin, Shaunee, Aphrodite, and I were manning the bake sale booth (while Stevie Rae’s mom and a bunch of her PTA friends moved through the crowd with samples of the chocolate chip cookies we were selling, like, zillions of). From our position near Nyx’s statue, we had a great view of the whole campus. I could see a long line at Grandma’s lavender booth. That made me smile. Not far from Grandma, Thanatos had set up a job application area, and there were a bunch of humans filling out paperwork there. In the center of the grounds there were two huge silver and white tents draped with more of Dallas’s twinkling lights. In one tent Stark and Darius and the Sons of Erebus Warriors were demonstrating weaponry. I watched as Stark was showing a young boy how to hold a bow. Stark’s gaze lifted from the kid and met mine. We shared a quick, intimate smile

blinked back sudden tears and pasted a smile on my face. The smiles had gotten me through tough times. I’d read online that the physical act of smiling—even if you were unhappy—could improve your mood by tricking your brain into releasing happiness-inducing hormones. So I’d smiled all the time as a teenager, and people probably thought I was crazy, but it was better than sinking into a darkness so deep I might’ve never clawed my way out. And when smiling on my own became too hard, I looked for other reasons to be “happy” like the beauty of a rainbow after a storm, the sweet taste of a perfectly baked cookie, or gorgeous photographs of glittering cities and epic landscapes around the world. It had worked…for the most part.

It was a busy time of day in Aleppo. Parents stopping by for a coffee on the way to picking up the kids from school; the self-employed sneaking out for a break from their own four walls; a quartet of pensioners who met every day to while away an hour playing dominos; and the Syrian refugees who had nowhere else to go that had the feel of home. There wasn’t a free table, and Karen ended up on a stool at the counter. She wasn’t in the mood for more coffee, so she ordered a sparkling water and a couple of ma’amoul. Amena served her, gesturing to the star-shaped pastries studded with almonds and sesame seeds. ‘Fresh baked this afternoon,’ she said. ‘Dates or figs?’ Amena smiled. ‘Dates, how you like them.’ Karen bit into the pastry and savoured the burst of flavour that filled her mouth. ‘Oh, that’s the business,

My mouth- always so active, alert- could now generally identify forty of fifty states in the produce or meat I ate. I had taken to tracking those more distant elements on my plate, and each night, at dinner, a U.S. map would float up in my mind as I chewed and I'd use it to follow the nuances in the parsley sprig, the orange wedge, and the baked potato to Florida, California, and Kansas, respectively. I could sometimes trace eggs to the county. All the while, listening to my mother talk about carpentry, or spanking the bottle of catsup. It was a good game for me, because even though it did command some of my attention, it also distracted me from the much louder and more difficult influence of the mood of the food maker, which ran the gamut. I could be half aware of the conversation, cutting up the meat, and the rest of the time I was driving truck routes through the highways of America, truck beds full of yellow onions. When I went to the supermarket with my mother I double-checked all my answers, and by the time I was twelve, I could distinguish an orange slice from California from an orange slice from Florida in under five seconds because California's was rounder-tasting, due to the desert ground and the clear tangy water of far-flung irrigation.

Geopolitics is ultimately the study of the balance between options and lim­itations. A country's geography determines in large part what vulnerabilities it faces and what tools it holds. "Countries with flat tracks of land -- think Poland or Russia -- find building infrastructure easier and so become rich faster, but also find them­selves on the receiving end of invasions. This necessitates substantial stand­ing armies, but the very act of attempting to gain a bit of security automat­ically triggers angst and paranoia in the neighbors. "Countries with navigable rivers -- France and Argentina being premier examples -- start the game with some 'infrastructure' already baked in. Such ease of internal transport not only makes these countries socially uni­fied, wealthy, and cosmopolitan, but also more than a touch self-important. They show a distressing habit of becoming overimpressed with themselves -- and so tend to overreach. "Island nations enjoy security -- think the United Kingdom and Japan -- in part because of the physical separation from rivals, but also because they have no choice but to develop navies that help them keep others away from their shores. Armed with such tools, they find themselves actively meddling in the affairs of countries not just within arm's reach, but half a world away. "In contrast, mountain countries -- Kyrgyzstan and Bolivia, to pick a pair -- are so capital-poor they find even securing the basics difficult, mak­ing them largely subject to the whims of their less-mountainous neighbors. "It's the balance of these restrictions and empowerments that determine both possibilities and constraints, which from my point of view makes it straightforward to predict what most countries will do: · The Philippines' archipelagic nature gives it the physical stand-off of is­lands without the navy, so in the face of a threat from a superior country it will prostrate itself before any naval power that might come to its aid. · Chile's population center is in a single valley surrounded by mountains. Breaching those mountains is so difficult that the Chileans often find it easier to turn their back on the South American continent and interact economically with nations much further afield. · The Netherlands benefits from a huge portion of European trade because it controls the mouth of the Rhine, so it will seek to unite the Continent economically to maximize its economic gain while bringing in an exter­nal security guarantor to minimize threats to its independence. · Uzbekistan sits in the middle of a flat, arid pancake and so will try to expand like syrup until it reaches a barrier it cannot pass. The lack of local competition combined with regional water shortages adds a sharp, brutal aspect to its foreign policy. · New Zealand is a temperate zone country with a huge maritime frontage beyond the edge of the world, making it both wealthy and secure -- how could the Kiwis not be in a good mood every day? "But then there is the United States. It has the fiat lands of Australia with the climate and land quality of France, the riverine characteristics of Germany with the strategic exposure of New Zealand, and the island fea­tures of Japan but with oceanic moats -- and all on a scale that is quite lit­erally continental. Such landscapes not only make it rich and secure beyond peer, but also enable its navy to be so powerful that America dominates the global oceans.

I wouldn’t expect a press secretary to be part of this.” Andrea nodded slightly. “I can see how the title might give that impression, Mr. Weir. However, I’m a senior policy adviser to President Aguirre, I have some background in macroeconomics, and I’ve served two terms in the Archangel Senate.” She offered a tight-lipped smile and added, “I also bake when the mood strikes me.” Weir

Recipe Hello from Honey Hollow! Lottie here! I hope you’re in the mood for something devilishly delicious. My famous, or rather infamous devil’s food cake is well—to die for. If you have a serious hankering for chocolate, you will not regret this. But be warned, your entire home will hold the scent of warm, tempting chocolate. It is rather hard to resist. Happy baking! From the kitchen of the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery Devil’s Food Cake 1½ cup of softened butter ¾ cup unsweetened baking coco 2 cups sugar 3 eggs 3 cups sifted all-purpose flour ¼ tsp salt 1 ½ tsp baking soda ¾ cup milk 1 cup hot water 1 tsp white distilled vinegar 1 tablespoon vanilla extract Instructions Preheat oven 350° Grease and dust with coco powder or flour, two 9 inch round pans or a 9x13 pan. *I prefer to use a stand mixer. Although mixing by hand works well, too. Mix and cream together coco, sugar, butter, milk and eggs. Slowly mix in one cup of hot water. Add flour, salt, baking soda, vinegar and vanilla extract. Pour into two pans evenly, or a single prepared pan. Bake at 350° for 30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the middle, comes out clean. Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery’s Go-to Chocolate Frosting Recipe 6 tablespoons softened butter ¾ cup unsweetened baking coco Pinch of salt 3 tablespoons hot water 1 ¾ cup of powdered sugar In a mixing bowl, cream butter, coco, salt, and water. Stir until it reaches a smooth finish. Slowly add in powdered sugar. Make sure it reaches your desired consistency. If it’s too thick, add a touch more water. If it’s too thin, add in a touch more powdered sugar. Frost your cooled devil’s food cake and enjoy!

Saturday, I slipped out to the farmers' market. Waiting for me were crates of pears in shades of green, gold, and rose. I fell in love. I brought home a flat of Comice pears and placed them on my dining room table. I pulled out a chair so that I could look at them at eye level. Pears. Pear cake, pear sauce, caramelized pears, baked pears. Pear tart. Everybody liked tarts. I could flavor it with vanilla for depth, lemon zest for brightness, and cardamom as a surprise. I could make it as a galette, a free-form tart, and use a buttery puff-pastry crust. If I wanted to get my hands into food, puff pastry was a good place to do it. The process of making the laminated dough, folding butter into already buttery dough over and over---depending on your mood, it could be hypnotically soothing or mind-numbingly tedious. It sounded perfect.

People who eliminate wheat from their diet typically report improved mood, fewer mood swings, improved ability to concentrate, and deeper sleep within just days to weeks of their last bite of bagel or baked lasagna.

I would be over the moon if you'd make me one of your famous apple cakes." Portia stared at the ingredients her sister had lined up with perfect precision on the scratched countertop. Apples. Butter. Brown sugar. Cordelia cocked her head. "What is it?" "Nothing," Portia said, her voice weak. "It's just that I'm not in the mood to bake, is all." That was a lie. Her fingers itched to dive in, peel, and core, sift the flour, fold in the softened butter and brown sugar. Again and again since moving into the apartment she'd had to ignore her tingling fingertips and the smells of chocolate and vanilla that didn't really exist. She had thrown every bit of food in the apartment away, and it still hadn't helped. "I don't believe you," Cordelia said. "You want to bake like nobody's business. I can see it in your eyes.

The short of it is: Eat more fiber. Choose whole grain baked products over refined. Experiment with other whole grain dishes such as quinoa, brown rice, and bulgur. Eat whole fruit rather than drinking fruit juice. Add more vegetables, raw or cooked, to your meals. Every choice you make in favor of increased fiber in your diet will amplify the health of your gut—and improve your mood.

I want this book to help us all remember and hold on to those moments of pause. Every day could do with a bit more slowing down, a little more stirring, kneading, folding and peering into the oven watching bread puff'up like magic.

Watching and being a part of people discovering just how therapeutic and comforting baking can be was quite special. Whether it was baking just to pass the time, baking with kids to keep them busy while home schooling, or providing homemade goodies to frontline workers, it was a sweet reminder of the way that food really does bring us together.

The shops of Palo Alto's Sorcerer Square are in plain sight, but this ordinary-seeming plaza has a secret side. My favorite is my parents' shop, of course, where they sell the most energizing, freshly made tea in the city---with a hint of a joy charm. Plus there's Ana's bakery, where her just-baked cinnamon streusel cupcakes brighten up her customers' days and give them a shot of courage. We've also got what looks like a pharmacy (but it is truly an apothecary for everything from bottled charms to elixirs that fix spells that go wrong); a clothing store (useful when you need jeans that have real pockets---and magical ones to hide charms and enchanted vials); an ensorcelled vegetarian South Indian restaurant with the most fragrant spice mixes ever; a cozy gem store filled with healing crystals and magic-gathering mood rings; and an enchanted fruit shop with dragon fruit that burns with a sugary fire.

People who eliminate wheat from their diet typically report improved mood, fewer mood swings, improved ability to concentrate, and deeper sleep within just days to weeks of their last bite of bagel or baked lasagna. I have been impressed with how consistent these observations are, experienced by the majority of people once the initial withdrawal effects of mental fog and fatigue subside.

I have discussed how the goal of feeling happy is unusual; its not like other goals such as learning to bake a pizza, for which the desire to achieve is half the battle and steady application is the rest. Pressing harder on unfulfilled and unrealistic goals for happiness can paradoxically deepen depression.

attention to what comforts your teenager. When feeling lousy, some teens take a long bath or shower, others doodle, meditate, bake or cook, play videogames, watch a favorite movie or TV show for the umpteenth time, or read. Listening to music is an especially popular choice for teens when they are in a bad mood.

My best friend and other business partner, Adeena Awan, was embracing spring's floral vibes by pushing her signature lavender chai latte as well as her new seasonal creations, including a lavender honey latte (the honey sourced from Elena's uncle's local apiary), lavender calamansi-ade, and a sampaguita matcha latte (I didn't really like floral flavors, but even I had to admit the matcha drink was stunning). As for me, I was leaning into "spring means green" and had prepared pandan-pistachio shortbread and brownies with a pandan cheesecake swirl. I also came up with a red bean brownie recipe, which wasn't particularly spring-like, but hey, I was in a brownie mood. And for a quick no-bake option, I developed buko pandan mochi Rice Krispie treats, which would be sure to delight our youngest customers

Stretching his legs toward the fire, Ranulf massaged his aching knee and watched the children as they ate their fill, probably for the first time in their lives. IT was Wednesday fast day, but he'd made a conscious decision to violate the prohibition against eating flesh; he could always do penance once he got back to his own world. Now it seemed more important to feed Simon and Jennet the best meal he could, and the innkeeper had served up heaping portions of salted pork, a thick pottage of peas and beans, and hot, flat cakes of newly baked bread, marked with Christ's Cross. To Ranulf, it was poor fare, and he ended up sharing most of it with Loth. But Simon and Jennet savored every mouthful, scorning spoons and scooping the food up with their fingers, as if expecting to have their trenchers snatched away at any moment. And Ranulf learned more than night about hunger and need than in all of his twenty-five years. What would become of them? How could they hope to reach Cantebrigge? And if by God's Grace, they somehow did, what if this uncle of their was not there? They'd never seen the man, knew only what their father had told them, that soon after Simon's birth, a peddler had brought them a message from Jonas, saying he'd settled in Cantebrigge. That confirmed Ranulf's suspicions: two brothers fleeing serfdom, one hiding out in the Fens, the other taking the bolder way, for an escaped villein could claim his freedom if he lived in a chartered borough for a year and a day. It was a pitiful family history, an unwanted glimpse into a world almost as alien to Ranulf as Cathay. But like it or not, he was caught up now in this hopeless odyssey of Abel the eelman's children. In an unusually morose and pessimistic mood, he wondered how many Simons and Jennets would be lost to the furies unleashed by Geoffrey the Mandeville's rebellion.

To say that Bittersweet Café was her happy place was perhaps an understatement. In the last two years, Rachel had left behind her high-pressure executive chef job and Melody her dead-end position in a chain bakery, then decided to open their dream restaurant together. The way all the details had come together was downright magical; nowhere in Denver's history had a functional café and bakery materialized in under four months. But Ana had no doubt there had been a healthy measure of divine intervention in the situation. She could feel it in the mood and the atmosphere of this place. Light, welcoming, refreshing. It was no wonder they'd quickly developed a devoted following. They were already in the middle of plans to take over the vacant space in the strip mall beside them and expand to meet their ever-growing demand. Ana couldn't be prouder. If she were truthful, she was also a little jealous. She might be good at her job, and she was certainly well paid, but there was an allure to the idea of working with her best friends, being surrounded by delicious food and baked goods. Too bad she had absolutely no culinary talent. Her mom had made sure she could cook rice properly and prepare Filipino dishes like adobong manok and kaldereta, but her skills stopped there. Considering the fat and calorie content of those foods, she'd left her childhood meals behind in favor of an endless stream of grilled chicken or fish over salad.