Bun In The Oven Quotes

You done with work? Yep, at home waiting for you. Now that's a nice visual... Prepare yourself, I'm taking bread out of the oven. Don't tease me woman...zucchini? Cranberry orange. Mmmm... No woman has ever done breakfast bread foreplay the way you do. Ha! When you coming? Can't. Drive. Straight. Can we have one conversation when you're not twelve? Sorry, I'll be there in 30 Perfect, that will give me time to frost my buns. Pardon me? Oh, didn't I tell you? I also made cinnamon rolls. Be there in 25.

If you remember nothing else, remember this: Inspiration from outside one's self is like the heat in an oven. It makes passable Bath buns. But inspiration from within is like a volcano: It changes the face of the world.

Last time I had a bun in the oven, I had to give up whiskey. Worst twelve minutes of my life. Thank goodness those brown-and-serve rolls bake fast." - Father Glenn

My girl has got a bun in her oven, and I guess you know who did the damn cooking.

Well isn't that a juicy bit of gossip I hadn't heart about? And full term. Which means she was shagging Justus with a bun in the over. So the man playing naked Twister with a prostitute is one to judge?

When I see someone with six-pack abs, I know we won’t have fun because that person doesn’t know what fun is. Their idea of a good time is putting on tight shorts and working on their stomach muscles. Someone with love handles is putting on oven mitts and working on baking the perfect cinnamon buns. They’re fun.

Bread was always a proper loaf; there was no sliced bread then, or wrappings, or gloves. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you would cut a slice of bread to find you had cut right through a dead spider. Apparently, after turning off the ovens, spiders used to crawl inside to keep warm, get locked in with the next day’s baking and burrow into the soft yeast to try and escape the heat and then get baked. My mam said that it was quite common, as indeed it was, as it happened a couple of times after. I told the baker and he gave me a free bun. About four years later I was on my way to school and he shouted across the road ‘Had any spiders lately?’ I said ‘Yes, two.

One of a line of self-declared motor chauvinists, he boasts a lineage that includes the Nobel laureates Sir Charles Sherrington, who wrote, “Life’s aim is an act, not a thought,” and Roger Sperry, who encouraged us “to view the brain objectively for what it is, namely, a mechanism for governing motor activity.”32 After all, it is action, not cogitation, that puts food on the table and a bun in the oven. Action allowed our ancestors to survive and reproduce.

I don’t love the Commander or anything like it, but he’s of interest to me, he occupies space, he is more than a shadow. And I for him. To him I’m no longer merely a usable body. To him I’m not just a boat with no cargo, a chalice with no wine in it, an oven—to be crude—minus the bun. To him I am not merely empty.

How can anyone so annoying smell so good? The wind stirs Pedro's hair and balloons his shirt. I guess after years of preparing buttercream, melting chocolate with delicate precision, and kneading sweet rolls with his bare hands, the scents have remained on him like a second skin. He smells like Sugar's early mornings, when they fill their ovens with the first batches of bolo de rolo and coconut buns.

Avoid stress, the doctor had said. Eat lots of good food and enjoy this little mysterious bun cooking in the oven. Ha!

No, Megan, I warned you about the perils of magic peen. They make you lose your mind. I swear one day you’re just walking along merrily and then next thing you know, there’s a bun in your oven.

Now if you’d had your nebuchadnezzar shot off, that would be a whole different can of worms. Women like to twiddle with a man’s nebuchadnezzar, and it comes in handy when it’s time to put a bun in the oven.

The joke went that everyone gained 5 pounds in baking class. I could see what they meant. It was held in the morning, when everyone was starving, and after a few hours of hard labor, hefting heavy sacks of flour, balling and kneading dough, loading giant deck and windmill ovens with cinammon buns, croissants, breads and rolls for the various school-operated dining rooms, the room would fill with the smell. When the finished product started coming out of the ovens, the students would fall on it, slathering the still-hot bread and buns with gobs of butter, tearing it apart and shoveling it in their faces. Brownies, pecan diamonds, cookies, profiteroles — around 10 percent of the stuff disappeared into our faces and our knife rolls before it was loaded into proof racks and packed off to its final destinations. It was not a pretty sight, all these pale, gangly, pimpled youths, in a frenzy of hunger and sexual frustration, shredding bread. It was like Night of the Living Dead, everyone seemed always to be chewing.

Cakes and pies lined the parsonage countertop and the church refrigerator was stacked with casseroles. They baked spicy apple harvest cakes and angel biscuits so light they seemed to hover above the pan. They brought him jars of homemade bread and butter pickles, plum preserves, and chow-chow. Every morning cars lined the sidewalk in front of the church, and ladies bearing gifts of honey buns and banana bread still warm from the oven filed into the church. After a particularly moving sermon on "Faith, Fishes, and Loaves," they whipped up enough salmon croquettes and tuna casseroles to feed the masses.

I am the middling type, for whom flirtation is neither a demeaning jape nor an Icarus-like tilt at the sun. Flirting with a middling girl is a dangerous business, because we might - indeed, we probably will - take it seriously. And before the poor chap knows it, there'll be a bun in the oven and a hastily arranged rendezvous at the Registry Office.

For days wagons had been arriving from all directions, loaded with sacks, crocks and crates, tubs of pickled fish; racks dangling with sausages, hams and bacon; barrels of oil, wine, cider and ale; baskets laden with onions, turnips, cabbages, leeks; also parcels of ramp, parsley, sweet herbs and cress. Day and night the kitchens were active, with the stoves never allowed to go cold. In the service yard four ovens, constructed for the occasion, produced crusty loaves, saffron buns, fruit tarts; also sweet-cakes flavoured with currants, anise, honey and nuts, or even cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves. One of the ovens produced only pies and pasties, stuffed with beef and leeks, or spiced hare seethed in wine, or pork and onions, or pike with fennel, or carp in a swelter of dill, butter and mushrooms, or mutton with barley and thyme.

A bun in the oven.

No more buns.” That time, my pout was genuine. “I know, and I loved having your bun in my oven.

This is an herb boule." I gesture to the oven where my dough is still proving. "Can we see it to get a quick shot?" Archie asks. I hesitate but slide the drawer open for just a moment, releasing a warm yeasty plume into the air, and then quickly slide it shut. It leaves behind the fragrance of parsley, cilantro, and basil, some of the herbs I've mixed into my boule. "And these are my cinnamon buns. I've used my own hand-ground rye flour to balance the sweetness and specially sourced Vietnamese cinnamon and just a touch of cardamom.

Muffins, teacakes, tea rolls, morning rolls, batch rolls, stottie cakes, wigs, birdies, huffkins, oven-bottom muffins, baps and cobs... It says something about us as a race, doesn't it? (But, frankly, I'm not sure what.) HORACE DAVIDSON, Ripon

Thomasplitzchen Buns Mom always said these could make your enemies your friends or your friends your enemies. I put on five pounds every St. Thomas Day because of them, so I’d say they’re my friendly enemies. Too good to eat just one. 2 cups all-purpose flour ½ teaspoon salt ½ cup butter ½ cup sugar or brown sugar 2 teaspoons baking powder ½ cup milk Filling 3 teaspoons melted butter 1 cup currants, raisins, cranberries, or whatever small, dried fruit you have on hand ¼ cup sugar Icing 3 tablespoons melted butter Few drops vanilla extract 2 cups powdered sugar Mix up all the ingredients for the buns. Get a rolling pin and press out the dough to one-eighth-inch thick on a floured board. Mix together the filling: butter, dried fruit, and sugar. Spread it on the dough. Roll it up like a fat sausage, and make one-inch slices. Put them pinwheel side up on a greased cookie sheet and bake off in a pre-heated 350°F oven until barely suntanned on top. For me, that’s about 12 minutes on a hot day and 15 on a cold one. To make the icing, mix together butter, vanilla extract, and powdered sugar. When the buns are out of the oven, give them a good sugar smothering and let cool.

If you remember nothing else, remember this: Inspiration from outside one’s self is like the heat in an oven. It makes passable Bath buns. But inspiration from within is like a volcano: It changes the face of the world.” I

Vāve mai i le fāle, my mother said vehemently. Hurry home. She took a drag from a cigarette and walked towards the sewing machine. Her workplace and altar of worship. Before she sat down, she picked up a pair of scissors and pointed them towards me. Ma fa`apāku i luga lē gā ulu. Kāo ia, fa`akogu so`o. And how many times do I need to tell you to wrap your hair up in a bun before you leave this house? I could just bake you in an oven!

PYRAHI—STUFFED BUNS WITH BEETS Bring milk, shortening, and butter just to a boil, then cool. Mix sugar and yeast in water and let stand. Beat eggs, salt, and sugar and incorporate with the cooled milk and yeast, then add flour to form a soft dough. Flatten the dough into small rounds, spoon filling (grated beets, sugar, and salt sautéed in butter) into the center, and fold up the four corners of dough and pinch closed, leaving a small slit on top. Bake in a medium-high oven until golden brown, and serve with melted butter, sour cream, or yogurt.

They each contribute at least one dish to their new menu. It's not an extensive list, just a handful of favorites that are not only delicious and filling, but affordable as well. Peter makes the most mouthwatering shucos on heavenly soft long bread buns, buttered and toasted to perfection before being topped with halved hotdogs, guacamole, cabbage, mayonnaise, tomato sauce, chili sauce, and mustard. It's both crispy and soft at the same time, a perfect combination of textures in one's mouth. It's honestly the perfect dish for anyone looking for a quick but hearty meal for lunch. Freddie brings fish and chips to the table. Simple, delectable, but hardly anything to scoff at. He makes sure to use a beer batter to bring out the subtle flavors of the fresh halibut he uses. It's then fried to golden perfection. The fries are lovingly cut and seasoned by hand, optional Cajun spice in a small serving bowl to the side. He never skimps on the portion sizes, either. The fish is massive, and he makes sure to pile fries so high, a few always fall off the expo line. Rina contemplated making a classic pho from scratch, but eventually decided on her and her sister's personal favorite gỏi cuõn--- savory braised pork, massive prawns, soft vermicelli, cucumbers, lettuce, and diced carrots all wrapped up in a pretty rice paper blanket. The way she plates everything makes the dish look like a masterpiece that's too good to eat. Most people do, however, eat it eventually, because it'd be a right shame to waste such an amazing meal. Eden makes her mother's macaroni and cheese. The cheap, boxed shit from grocery stores doesn't even begin to compare. She comes in early to make the macaroni from scratch, rolling and kneading pasta dough with deft hands. The cheese sauce she uses is also made from scratch, generous helpings of butter and cream and sharp cheddar--- a sprinkle of salt and pepper and oregano, too--- melting into one cohesive concoction she then pours over her recently boiled pasta. She makes every bowl to order, placing everything in cute little ramekins they found on sale, popping it into the oven beneath the broiler so that the butter-coated bread crumb topping can turn a beautiful golden brown. With a bit of chopped bacon and fresh green onions sprinkled on top, it's arguably one of the most demanded dishes at The Lunchbox.

If someone had told Shang he'd be happily married with a son he adored, another bun in the oven, a restaurant he could call his own, and a team he'd do anything for, he would have rolled his eyes. He thinks about all the different choices that brought him here, all the different steps he took like those of a complicated recipe. He's a different man than he was a few years ago, and he suspects it's all thanks to her. In the end, it didn't matter how much he sharpened his knives or how well he seasoned his dishes. He realizes now that he was missing a secret ingredient all along: a little dash of love.