Nutella Quotes

There should really be a word for the feeling you get when you do a thing you don't particularly want to do to support somebody else but then realise they didn't actually need you and nobody would have noticed if you'd stayed home in your pyjamas eating Nutella straight from the jar.

Sam was starting to feel anxious. Nutella and noodles were fine. Great in fact. Miraculous. But he'd been hoping for more food more water more medicine something. It was absurdly like Christmas morning when he was little: hoping for something he couldn't even put a name to. A game changer. Something...amazing.

Ha ha ha. But what if, right, when you come home, what if I ain't wearing nothing but Nutella?" "Your double negatives make me want to kill you.

Hey what's the matter? Are you crying?" I shook my head, slowly opening my eyes and smiling at him again. "No, it's nothing." But it wasn't nothing. I didn't want to ruin the moment by explaining to him, but suddenly it was like I had a zoomed-out view of this moment and I never, ever (ever) wanted it to end. I had Nutella on my face and my first real love sprawled out next to me and any minute the stars were going to sink back into the sky in preparation for a new day, and for the first time in a long time, I couldn't wait for what the day would bring. And that was something.

He wondered if he should feel a stab of jealousy - Dimple bonding so well with his muscled, much cooler younger brother - but all he felt was this warm, almost gooey feeling in his chest. Like his heart was wrapped in microwaved Nutella.

What the fuck was up with my blood?! Was it Nutella flavored?

Diamonds may be a girl's best friend, but Nutella and shoes seem to run a close second.

I had to harden all of my soft edges if I was going to survive my new life as a tasty Nutella unicorn,

Kann man Selbstbewusstsein eigentlich irgendwo in einer Dose kaufen? Du scheinst das ja zu löffeln wie andere Nutella.” “Klar, haben sie jetzt drüben bei Wal-Mart. Aber nur für Kunden über 1,60. Tut mir leid, knapp verpasst.

I don't get lonely. I have Nutella. And a vibrator.

— Esto es enamorarse. — Con su dedo, zaca un poco de Nutella del interior de su crêpe y pone una cucharada en la parte interior de mi muñeca. Está caliente y limoso y comienza a derretirse contra mi piel pegajosa, pero antes de que tenga la oportunidad de deslizarse lejos, Willem lame su pulgar y limpia la mancha de Nutella y lo lleva a su boca. Todo sucede rápido, como un lagarto liquidando una mosca. — Esto es amar. — Y aquí me quita la otra muñeca, la que tiene el reloj en ella, y se mueve alrededor de la correa hasta que ve lo que está buscando. Una vez más, se lame el dedo. Sólo que esta vez, él lo frota contra mi marca de nacimiento, con fuerza, como si estuviera tratando de fregar. — ¿Amar es una marca de nacimiento? — Bromeo mientras retracto mi brazo. Pero mi voz tiene un temblor en ella, y el lugar donde su huella húmeda se seca sobre mi piel arde de alguna manera. — Es algo que nunca sale, no importa cuánto pueda ser que desees que lo haga.

The world is made out of Nutella. You just need to stick your tongue out, so that you could really taste it.

Lei era entrata in quella parte del cuore dove ci sono le cose più buone, quella simile a una credenza dei dolci dove c'è la Nutella, i biscotti, le merendine, la marmellata; quell'angolo di cuore dove quando uno ci entra, succeda quel che succeda, da lì non uscirà mai. Non c'entra l'amore. Ci sono persone che da quando le conosci non smetti mai di volergli bene.

-He likes you -We don't know that for a fact. -I've seen the way he looks at you. We can safely call it a fact. -How does he look at me? -Like you're a Nutella latte and a chocolate croissant all in one.

I had nutella on my face and my first real love sprawled next to me and any minute the stars were going to sink back into the sky in preparation for a new day, and for the first time in a long time, I couldn't wait for what that day would bring. and that was something.

Willem puts down his fork and knife. 'This is falling in love.' With his finger, he swipes a bit of the Nutella from inside his crepe and puts a dollop on the inside of my wrist. It is hot and oozy and starts to melt against my sticky skin, but before it has a chance to slither away, Willem licks his thumb and wipes the smear of Nutella off and pops it into his mouth. It all happens fast, like a lizard zapping a fly. 'This is being in love.' And he takes my other wrist, the one with my watch on it, and moves the watchband around until he sees what he's looking for. Once again, he licks his thumb. Only this time, he rubs it against my birthmark, hard, as if trying to scrub it off. 'Being in love is a birthmark?' I joke as I retract my arm. But my voice has a tremble in it, and the place where his wet thumbprint is drying against my skin burns somehow. 'It's something that never comes off, no matter how much you might want it to.' 'You're comparing love to a...stain?' He leans so far back in his seat that the front legs of his chair scrape off the floor. He looks very satisfied, with the crepe or with himself, I'm not sure. 'Exactly.

Ha ha ha. But what if, right, when you come home, what if I ain't wearing nothing but Nutella?" "Your double negatives make me want to kill you." "But what if?" "I'll throw you in the shower and make you wash it off, then I'll fuck you, then I'll kick you out." "Don't you like Nutella?" "I hate Nutella." "You're weird. Peanut butter, then. Honey. Marshmallow fluff. Jam. Lamb vindaloo?" "I can work with that one." "Might sting a bit." "That's your problem, if you're gonna stick it all up yourself and hope if gets me going.

Women that just threw themselves at him. He must’ve had enough thrown at him to make a quilt of panties. I don’t blame them either. Declan Hart, the hottest thing since Nutella.

He’s like chocolate and Nutella. The boy’s addictive.

The number of jars of Nutella sold in a year could cover The Great Wall of China eight times. Sounds like a delicious idea!

Everything Six eats is only eaten to compliment her main course of Nutella. Tonight, she’s having a cheese and Nutella sandwich. I don’t know if I could ever acquire a taste for that.

The Langhe is a paradise, a giardino: pears, apples, pomegranates, chestnuts. Everything you could want to eat falling from a tree. And above all, nocciole. You see those trees? Those are South American hazelnuts. Fatter. Rounder. There are also the smaller Turkish hazelnuts, but Ferrero Rocher uses the big ones to make Nutella. And wine- everywhere, wine. Barbera, Bonarda, Dolcetto, and the king, Nebbiolo, the king of all grapes.

He wondered if he should feel a stab of jealousy—Dimple bonding so well with his muscled, much cooler younger brother—but all he felt was this warm, almost gooey feeling in his chest. Like his heart was wrapped in microwaved Nutella.

when you do a thing you don’t particularly want to do to support somebody else but then realise they didn’t actually need you and nobody would have noticed if you’d stayed home in your pyjamas eating Nutella straight from the jar. Anyway. That. I was feeling that.

howled with laughter at this. Sandro took my hand. “Janice, the only way to happiness is to find people with whom you can eat, drink, and laugh. That is all. That is everything.” He added. “And a spoonful of Nutella each day makes life more beautiful. It’s an antidepressant.

YO MAMA SO FAT... Yo mama so fat she wears a sock on each toe. Yo mama so fat her belly button got an echo. Yo mama so fat you have to roll over twice to get off her. Yo mama so fat when she takes a bath there's no room left for any water in the tub. Yo mama so fat when I pictured her in my head I almost broke my neck. Yo mama so fat her blood type is Nutella. Yo mama so fat she gave Dracula high cholesterol. Yo mama so fat her ass has its own zip code. Yo mama so fat she uses bacon as breath mints. Yo mama so fat she uses Google Earth to take a selfie.

-Esto es enamorarse -Con su dedo saca un poco de nutella del interior de su crepe y pone una cucharada en la parte interior de mi muñeca. Esta caliente y limoso, y comienza a derretirse contra mi piel pegajosa, pero antes de que tenga la oportunidad de deslizarse lejos, willem lame su pulgar y limpia la mancha de nutella y lo lleva a su boca. -Esto es amar -Y aqui me quita la otra muñeca, la que tiene el reloj en ella y se mueve alrededor de la correa hasta que ve lo que esta buscando. Una vez mas, se lame su dedo. Solo que esta vez, el lo frota contra mi marca de nacimiento, con fuerza, como si estuviera tratando de fregar. -¿Amar es una marca de nacimiento? -bromeo mientras retracto mi brazo. Pero mi voz tiene un temblor en ella, y el lugar donde su huella humeda se seca sobre mi piel arde de alguna manera. -Es algo que nunca sale, no importa cuanto puede ser que desees que lo haga.

La Nutella ci dimostra che è l’innovazione il vero prodotto tipico italiano; ciò, se ci si pensa bene, è l’esatto contrario della presunta tipicità cristallizzata nei disciplinari di produzione dei vari consorzi di tutela, che non ammettono deviazioni o cambiamenti, pena la perdita della tanto agognata denominazione.

Modern dating is like hosting for a dinner that has been pushed back from 7pm to 9pm. You do not want to put the duck in the oven too early and you don't want to eat a full meal while you're waiting for your late dinner. But you also get hungry in the meantime. You decide to snack. You start out pretty healthy with some baby carrots, then decide those carrots need some ranch, shift to something more substantial like a hotpocket, and next thing you know you're eating nutella out of the jar. The demise in the quality of the food does not sit well with you and suddenly you're wondering why you decided to snack in the first place. Such is the life of the modern single who hopes to find love but not too soon.

Tonio had disappeared again into the kitchen—I heard him banging around some dishes. He had this habit of making a huge dish once or twice a week, then freezing it and eating the same thing for every meal until it was gone. Except for breakfasts, which were usually composed of a cappuccino and heaping spoonfuls of Nutella on saltine crackers. As someone who had a lot of feelings about food, I found it a fairly scandalizing arrangement, but I figured it would be just as upsetting if witnessed by the average person.

1 cup of ordinary white flour a pinch of salt 2 eggs 2½ cups of milk and water (1½ cups of milk and 1 cup of water mixed) 1 tablespoon of either vegetable oil or melted butter (You’ll also need some granulated sugar and a couple of lemons to put on the pancakes, along with other things like jams and possibly even maple syrup because you’re American.) Put the flour and salt in a mixing bowl. Crack the eggs in and whisk/fork the egg into the flour. Slowly add the milk/water mixture, stirring as you go, until there are no lumps and you have a liquid the consistency of a not-too-thick cream. Then put the mixture in the fridge overnight. Grease or butter or oil a nonstick frying pan. Heat it until it’s really hot (375 degrees according to one website, but basically, it has to be hot for the pancake to become a pancake. And these are crepes, French style, not thick American round pancakes). Stir the mixture you just took from the fridge thoroughly because the flour will all be at the bottom. Get an even consistency. Then ladle some mixture into the pan, thinly covering the bottom of the pan. When the underside of the pancake is golden, flip it (or, if you are brave, toss it). Cook another 30 seconds on the other side. For reasons I do not quite understand (although pan heat is probably the reason), the first one is always a bit disappointing. Often it’s a burnt, sludgy, weird thing, always, in my family, eaten by the cook (which was me). Just keep going, and the rest will be fine. Sprinkle sugar in the middle. And then squeeze some lemon juice on, preferably from a lemon. Then wrap it like a cigar and feed it to a child. (You can experiment with other things in the middle, like Nutella or jam or even maple syrup—but remember that these pancakes are not syrup-absorbent like American-style pancakes.) This is a very peculiar interview, Joe. Let me know how the pancakes come out.

Heather whistles to round us all up. Oliver and I reach for each other’s hands at the same time, falling into step with each other as easily as breathing. “To the Milkshake Bar,” Heather calls. “Millie Mias on the house!” “That’s what I was hoping she’d say,” says Oliver. Perhaps the most delicious consequence of all this is that Heather coined a new sundae on the menu based on last summer’s shenanigans. It’s got a scoop of mint chip for me and Georgie, strawberry for Heather and Chloe, vanilla for my dad and Beth, Nutella for Farrah, sea salt chocolate chip cookie pieces for Oliver, and Reese’s Puffs for Teddy. The whole thing is a big ooey-gooey fantastic mess, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I've made countless variations on this recipe. Chai-infused shortbread diamonds. Rosewater shortbread squares. Cocoa shortbread sandwiches spliced with Nutella. But tonight, in honor of Grandma Damson, I make hers, from memory. In a sense, I fail. No ghosts materialize in the kitchen, not Grandma Damson, not Nonna, not anyone. But out of the mess I make a dozen ideal shortbread wedges, perfect in shape, size and flavor. Warm and delicate. With a glass of cold milk, they are delicious. When shortbread melts on your tongue, you feel the roundness of the butter and the kiss of the sugar and then they vanish. Then you eat another, to feel it again, to get at that moment of vanishing. I eat myself sick on them.

Down every aisle a single thought follows me like a shadow: Brand Italy is strong. When it comes to cultural currency, there is no brand more valuable than this one. From lipstick-red sports cars to svelte runway figures to enigmatic opera singers, Italian culture means something to everyone in the world. But nowhere does the name Italy mean more than in and around the kitchen. Peruse a pantry in London, Osaka, or Kalamazoo, and you're likely to find it spilling over with the fruits of this country: dried pasta, San Marzano tomatoes, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, jars of pesto, Nutella. Tucked into the northwest corner of Italy, sharing a border with France and Switzerland, Piedmont may be as far from the country's political and geographical center as possible, but it is ground zero for Brand Italy. This is the land of Slow Food. Of white truffles. Barolo. Vermouth. Campari. Breadsticks. Nutella. Fittingly, it's also the home of Eataly, the supermarket juggernaut delivering a taste of the entire country to domestic and international shoppers alike. This is the Eataly mother ship, the first and most symbolically important store for a company with plans for covering the globe in peppery Umbrian oil, and shavings of Parmigiano-Reggiano Vacche Rosse. We start with the essentials: bottle opener, mini wooden cutting board, hard-plastic wineglasses. From there, we move on to more exciting terrain: a wild-boar sausage from Tuscany. A semiaged goat's-milk cheese from Molise. A tray of lacy, pistachio-pocked mortadella. Some soft, spicy spreadable 'nduja from Calabria. A jar of gianduja, the hazelnut-chocolate spread that inspired Nutella- just in case we have any sudden blood sugar crashes on the trail.

Auch wenn ich sie bereits im Bikini gesehen – also richtig angestarrt – hatte, war es beim Surfunterricht wieder etwas vollkommen anderes, da ich nun näher herantreten musste. Natürlich nur, um ihre Beine richtig zu positionieren oder ihre Haltung auszubessern, während ich beim Trockentraining am Strand erklärte: »Du musst in der Mitte immer fest bleiben, sonst hast du am Brett auf der Welle keine Chance. Körperspannung ist das A und O beim Surfen. Und natürlich Talent«, witzelte ich großspurig und Sarah verdrehte die hübschen, grünen Augen. »Klar, du hast aber auch überall Talente, stimmt‘s?« »Stimmt genau!« »Kann man Selbstbewusstsein eigentlich irgendwo in einer Dose kaufen? Du scheinst das ja mit Löffeln zu futtern wie andere Nutella«, gab sie schlagfertig zurück. Unbekümmert zuckte ich die Schultern. »Klar, haben sie jetzt drüben bei Wal-Mart. Aber nur für Kunden über 1,60. Tut mir leid, knapp verpasst.«

SN: how’s your day, Ms. Holmes? Me: Not bad. Yours? SN: good. been doing my homework in listicle form, because, you know, anything to make it more interesting. Me: Do you think college will actually be better? For real? SN: hope so. but then again, I just read about a guy who lost a ball in a frat hazing incident. Me: Seriously? What is wrong with people? SN: can you imagine wanting to be liked so badly that you’d give up one of your testicles? Me: I can neither imagine having testicles nor giving one up. SN: you won’t let me use emojis, but an ‘i heart my testes’ one would be appropriate right about now. Me: You know what I heart? Nutella. And pajama pants. And an awesomesauce book. Not necessarily in that order, but together. SN: awesomesauce? 2012 texted and wants its word back. btw, do you eat the Nutella right out of the jar with a spoon? Me: Used to. Now I share a kitchen with the Others, so I can’t. Wanted to label it, but my dad said that would be rude.

this in mind, she felt this was the best possible thing she could give someone who was every bit as lost. A soccer pitch. She could hear voices through the open door of the pizzeria, but she didn’t go in. It was best that way, she felt. The recreation center was empty, but the door of the refrigerator was ajar. The rat teeth marks on the rubber seal of the door made it clear enough what had happened. The cellophane over the plate had been chewed away and every last crumb of peanut butter and Nutella on it had been licked clean. On its way out the rat had stumbled on Britt-Marie’s tin of baking soda, overturning it on the dish rack. There were tracks in the white dust. Two pairs, in fact. The rat had been there on a date, or a meeting, or whatever they called it these days. Britt-Marie sat on one of the stools for a long time, with a towel in her lap. Then she mopped her face and cleaned the kitchen. Washed up and disinfected and made sure everything was spotless. Patted the coffee machine, which had once been damaged

Go grab one of those little baskets over there,” I said to Connor as I pointed by the door. “You aren’t seriously buying that much, are you?” “Ok Mr. Black, if you must know the truth, it’s my PMS time.” He took a step back and put his hands up, “Whoa, enough said.” I grinned as I picked up a bag of Fritos, Cheetos, a Hersey bar(king size), a Twix bar, a small pack of chocolate donuts, 3 cans of coke, a bag of tiny twist pretzels and a jar of Nutella. Connor looked in the basket and then at me with a horrified look on his face. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to take me on this road trip. I’m just trying to keep the peace because without these foods for a woman at that time of the month,” I waved my hand. “Well, you don’t really want to know.” I put the basket on the counter. The cashier overheard our conversation, she looked at Connor and said, “Trust her; we girls are two sheets short of psycho when it comes to our special little time.” He just stood there and looked at both of us, speechless, as she rang up the food. She gave me the total, and I looked at Connor. He looked at me in confusion, “Really? You want me to pay for this crap?” The cashier leaned over the counter and looked him straight in the eyes, “Remember, 2 sheets short of psycho.” He pulled out his wallet and paid as he was mumbling under his breath. He took the bag and headed out. I looked at the cashier and high fived her, “Thank you.

In my body’s effort to conserve itself, rather than attempt any movement outside, I have begun eating more sugar than is good for me. Sugar, while a comfort to many, is a detriment to those with my various physical complaints, and even a spoonful could plunge me into violent agony. It is a pleasurable agony, at least, and in my depression and desperation to have anything that resembled nutrition, I ate half a jar of chocolate spread. I know I should not buy these things. I seldom give in to such cibarious cagmaggery, even when it is On Sale, but when summer is imminent, I will do anything to feel better, including eat something that will make me regret my folly. I am currently crippled on the floor and awaiting death, or I am lately dead and have taught my undead form to use a keyboard, I cannot tell which. I am no longer hot, however, and there is some comfort, whether I am dead or alive. I would rather be alive, I think, if only to buy more chocolate spread.

Right. I have pancakes. And I have Nutella. Who thinks that’s a good idea?

Nell’alimentazione dell’ispettore la polenta aveva preso il posto del pane – e non solo. Mai provato polenta e Nutella? Sublime. E polenta e maionese? E polenta e melone? E polenta all’amatriciana? Fino al gesto più estremo di tutti: intingere la polenta nel caffè.

Those [yearly family holidays at Eurocamp in France] were the best holidays of my life, no question. Fresh baguettes. Discovering Nutella.

His face was as smooth as a fresh jar of Nutella.

A dozen at least.” I took a deep breath. Now that I had Nutella coursing through my veins I felt invincible. “And just so you know, I meant what I said at Valentina’s. You’re the one I like. Maybe love.” “Maybe love, huh? Well, that’s good news. Because I maybe love you too.

Miss Elizabeth has never been to Old School Custard. Shall we?" "What's the flavor?" "Has that ever stopped us?" Nick pulled out his phone and started tapping. "It's our lucky day, kiddo. Salted Caramel." He turned to me as we headed out the door. "It's a frozen custard shop that makes only one flavor a day, but they always have chocolate and vanilla for backup." "I've never had frozen custard." "You're in for a treat----tons more calories than ice cream, but much creamier. Complete yum." Old School Custard was a small shop with walls covered in pictures of all the local high schools. I found Garfield and imagined Tyler in that huge building, teaching his beloved math. I then noticed an amazing chalk calendar with the flavor for each day listed, with creative drawings, and I understood why it was addicting---who could resist flavors like Malted Milk Balls, Caramel Macchiato, Espresso, or Banana Nutella? I ordered the Turtle Sundae----two scoops of Salted Caramel custard, pecans, hot fudge, caramel sauce, and whipped cream. Nick ordered the Recess, pretty much the same thing, but with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups instead of pecans. And Matt's Playground came complete with crushed Oreos for "dirt" and gummy worms.

Él olía a cielo con nutella.

Wie ich mir schon hatte vorstellen können, machte sie im hautengen, ärmellosen Neoprenanzug eine Top-Figur. Auch wenn ich sie bereits im Bikini gesehen – also richtig angestarrt – hatte, war es beim Surfunterricht wieder etwas vollkommen anderes, da ich nun näher an sie herantreten musste. Natürlich nur, um ihre Beine richtig zu positionieren oder ihre Haltung auszubessern, während ich beim Trockentraining am Strand erklärte: »Du musst in der Mitte immer fest bleiben, sonst hast du auf der Welle keine Chance. Körperspannung ist das A und O beim Surfen. Und natürlich Talent«, witzelte ich großspurig und Sarah verdrehte ihre hübschen, grünen Augen. »Klar, du hast aber auch überall Talente, stimmt‘s?« »Stimmt genau!« »Kann man Selbstbewusstsein eigentlich irgendwo in einer Dose kaufen? Du scheinst das ja zu löffeln wie andere Nutella«, gab sie schlagfertig zurück. Unbekümmert zuckte ich mit den Schultern. »Klar, haben sie jetzt drüben bei Wal-Mart. Aber nur für Kunden über 1,60. Tut mir leid, knapp verpasst.«

was so turned on right now that Isadora could have ordered me to lather up in nutella and I would have complied.

gave up Nutella in December 2011. A few years later I thought I would be able to handle the Nutella once more so I bought two jars on sale. I ate 4,000 calories of Nutella over 36 hours.

Those eyes. So dark, a brown that held mysteries and promises I knew better than to think were for me. Yet when they were trained on me like they were now, my insides melted like gooey Nutella.

Dairy Queen’s Frozen Hot Chocolate: A hot chocolate blended with ice to give it a frosty crunch. 191 McDonald’s Big Mac Poutine: McDonald’s classic golden fries topped with their famous Big Mac sauce. 192 Wendy’s Grand Slam: Also known as the Meat Cube, this burger has a total of four patties. 193 White Castle’s Seasoned Fries: You can get your fries with additional seasoning free of charge. 194 Starbucks Nutella Misto: Order a Caffè Misto with a shot of chocolate and hazelnut topped with caramel drizzle. 195

Nutella is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy!

Halfway through a massage, I asked to use the restroom, where I smeared Nutella all over my ass. When I returned and lay face-down on the table, she jumped in disgust.

Mandati a zappare la terra invece di andare a scuola Calabria, registri esaminati dai carabinieri. Genitori denunciati Il paese Piazza Filottete nel centro storico di Petilia Policastro Gaetano Mazzuca | 563 parole La lotta alla criminalità in Calabria si fa anche spulciando tra i registri di classe. Fermare l’emorragia della dispersione scolastica, infatti, vuol dire non solo garantire il diritto all’istruzione, ma anche bloccare il reclutamento di nuove leve da parte dei clan locali. Così anche quest’anno, come accade già da qualche tempo, a fare gli scrutini negli istituti di Petilia Policastro, il paese di Lea Garofalo la testimone di giustizia trucidata dagli uomini della ’ndrangheta, non c’erano solo i professori, ma anche i carabinieri. Scrutini con i carabinieri La verifica condotta dai carabinieri, guidati dal capitano Claudio Martino, ha portato al deferimento in stato di libertà alla Procura della Repubblica di Crotone di 20 genitori, responsabili della mancata frequentazione delle scuole dell’obbligo da parte dei loro figli. I minori frequentavano, o meglio avrebbero dovuto frequentare, le scuole medie e il biennio delle superiori dei comuni di Petilia, Mesoraca e Cotronei. Le scuse dei genitori, come ad esempio improbabili ( e senza alcuna certificazione medica) malattie dei giovani, non sono state sufficienti per giustificare quello che per molti ragazzi è stato un vero e proprio abbandono scolastico, con la conseguente, naturale, perdita dell’anno. Giovani italiani Si tratta nella quasi totalità di famiglie italiane (solo una coppia è di nazionalità romena). In alcuni casi i minori sono figli di contadini che rinunciano ad andare a scuola per aiutare i genitori nei campi. Così invece di studiare storia o imparare l’aritmetica, si ritrovano a 11 anni a lavorare la terra in quest’angolo di Calabria. Una drammatica necessità, spiegano. Ma c’è di peggio. In alcune case semplicemente all’istruzione non viene dato alcun valore, anzi la scuola dell’obbligo è vista come un inutile impiccio. Il sentiero per questi ragazzini è già stato tracciato dalle loro famiglie: andranno a ingrossare le fila della criminalità locale. Le regole le impareranno per strada e non seduti davanti a un banco. Insomma, la lotta per la legalità inizia a questa età. Lo sanno bene i carabinieri di Petilia che da quattro anni controllano i registri delle scuole. Tutto è iniziato quando i militari hanno notato il figlio di un esponente della cosca petilina passare tutte le mattine nel bar del centro del paese. Sono andati a controllare nella scuola dove risultava iscritto, hanno dovuto battere la ritrosia e forse anche la paura dei vertici scolastici prima di mettere le mani sul registro e scoprire che quel ragazzino in classe non ci andava da tre mesi. Assenze ingiustificate Da quel momento l’attenzione delle forze dell’ordine è rimasta sempre alta ottenendo col tempo la massima collaborazione di presidi e docenti. Ora dopo due settimane di assenza senza certificazione medica parte la segnalazione e i risultati iniziano a vedersi. Il primo anno le denunce erano state 28, l’anno seguente 26, poi 22 e infine quest’anno 20. Ma non c’è solo la repressione. La caserma ha aperto le sue porte a 500 studenti, si è discusso di legalità, codice della strada, droga. Un momento di condivisione suggellato dal panino con nutella offerto ai ragazzi. Una “ricetta” semplice che sembra funzionare.

the news had spread like Nutella over a warm

Nobody sells native advertising better than BuzzFeed, with an entire staff devoted to creating its trademark listicles and quizzes just for sponsors: “How To Rank Your Happiness By Jars Of Nutella®

He leans in to attempt to give me a Nutella kiss, but I am wearing Prada, so I take a step back and put up my hands to keep him away.

Apparently, she was powerless against needy bikers with Nutella.

I'd left the soon-to-be-blue doors open, and Clementine had let herself in. As we entered the kitchen, I could see her putting the finishing touches on two bowls of something chocolaty. "What is this?" I asked, taking a closer look. Clementine finished her plating and stepped back. "Nutella mousse with hazelnut liqueur, served with chocolate-dipped hazelnut shortbread." She was good; I had to give her that. Nico and I shared a deep, genetic affinity for the chocolate-hazelnut spread. Without hesitation, I picked up the spoon and dug in. An intense, perfectly complex Nutella taste met my tongue. My eyes slid shut. "That is so good." "Try it with the shortbread," Clementine instructed. I dipped the chocolaty-end of the shortbread into the mousse. The crunch of the cookie set off the rich mousse like a dream. A chocolaty, hazelnutty, Nutella-y dream. Dragging my attention away from dessert, I looked to Nico to see his reaction. He stood staring at me, spoon in hand, mousse untouched. I frowned at him. "What on earth are you waiting for? Eat!" Nico scowled but dug his spoon into the mousse. He took a bite; his face froze. "Seriously," I said, working two more spoonfuls, "I might lick the bowl." Nico shrugged. "It's pretty good." Clementine squared her shoulders. "Pretty good?" "You want the job?" "Yes, I do," she answered. "I'll think about it," he told her, his expression guarded. "Thank you," Clementine replied, unfazed. I scooped another bite of mousse. "This shortbread? It's perfect!" "It's the French butter. I get it from your grandmother's supplier--he gives us, I mean, me, a good deal. I bake croissants for him. He imports French butter but can't bake. Isn't that sad?" I nodded, nibbling at the shortbread. "The butter certainly imports a richness of flavor that's quite special.

For the meeting, I'd laid out a wide variety of fillings and sauces on the table, with the sauces in my antique chafing dishes to stay warm. And it was true---there was a lot of food. I'd provided prosciutto, roasted red peppers, toasted walnuts, fig preserves, and a cheese sauce made with fontina. The savory ingredients were intended for the brown-butter buckwheat crepes. For dessert, I'd provided sweet crepes made with my grandmother's recipe. Antique china bowls containing Nutella, sweetened mascarpone, lemon curd, and sliced fresh fruit fought for space on the table. The crepe I was most proud of, though, was my stracciatella crepe. In a nod to the gelato flavor, I'd attacked the chocolate bar with my trusty Microplane zester and incorporated it as a last ingredient in my chilled crepe batter.

Les chercheurs ont étudié trente volontaires dans chaque groupe, appartenant à trois macrocatégories de revenus – aisés, moins aisés, ne possédant rien –, sur un laps de temps de six mois. Chaque semaine, dans chaque groupe, on a ôté un élément considéré comme non essentiel à leur survie – la télévision, le cinéma, les livres, les promenades matinales, les promenades nocturnes, le travail, l’alcool, la pornographie, le Nutella –, selon un ordre d’importance décroissant. Pour chacune de ces privations, les chercheurs ont rédigé une analyse approfondie aussi bien des aspects comportementaux observés chez les sujets impliqués dans l’expérience que de leur cadre clinique. Il en est ressorti que le Nutella, les promenades nocturnes et le travail créent un degré élevé de dépendance. Cette tendance se retrouve dans tous les groupes, elle dépasse donc les différences de classe sociale.

I think it over, licking a smudge of Nutella from my thumb---the last bit of my newest obsession. After lunch yesterday, the chef served dorayaki---Nutella between two castella pancakes. Boom. Mind blown. I ate it and ascended to a higher plane. Since then, the chef has kept me in steady supply, and I love him so much for it.

He had the sleeves rolled up on his bathrobe, and it was a fairly jarring, chaotic picture he painted, yet somehow he made it seem lazily elegant. Like a sculptor shaping a lump of clay with muddy hands, like feeling along the edges of rolled-out pastry dough to check its thickness, or scoring a flour-dusted bâtard—something weirdly bold and confident about it. The seductive art of Nutella, as taught by one Tonio Salone. Unnerving.

You smell like eucalyptus," he said, handing her a fork. "There's eucalyptus shower gel in the bathroom." Emma took a bite of eggs. "Malcolm's, I guess." She paused. "I've never really thought of serial killers as having shower gel." "No one likes a filthy warlock," said Julian. Emma winked. "Some might disagree." "No comment," Julian said, spreading peanut butter and nutella on his toast. "We got a reply to our question." He held up her phone. "Instructions on how to catch piskies. From Mark, but probably really from Kieran. So first, breakfast, and afterward-- piskie hunting." "I am so ready to hunt down those tiny adorable creatures and give them what for," said Emma. "SO READY." "Emma. . ." "I may even tie bows on their heads." "We have to interrogate them." "Can I get a selfie with one of them first?" "Eat your toast, Emma.

All he wants is to watch superhero movies and veg out on the sofa with his laptop perched on his legs, eating Nutella out of the jar.

Magic is happiness and happiness is vast quantities of quality hemp oil. It's good for the mind, the body, the skin, and the sex drive. Happiness is hemp oil and Reece's Pieces ice-cream drizzled with melted Nutella followed by so much masturbation that you pass out pronto.

There should really be a word for the feeling you get when you do a thing you don’t particularly want to do to support somebody else but then realise they didn’t actually need you and nobody would have noticed if you’d stayed home in your pyjamas eating Nutella straight from the jar.

I head back to my apartment, but not before popping into a small creperie for a Nutella, banana, and coconut crepe because, let's be honest, I'm only human. The shop sits a few doors down from Peregrine Espresso, and even though I spend most days surrounded by flaky croissants and fudge brownies, God help me, I still cannot resist the siren song of a sweet Nutella crepe. I order it to go, but I dive in before I even leave the store because Nutella is my kryptonite. The rich chocolate hazelnut spread oozes from within the sweet eggy crepe, each bite filled with fresh bananas and bits of toasted coconut.

Nutella

Nutella geeft u voldoende energie voor de gehele dag!

Toffee chip cookies, pine nut shortbread, raspberry oatmeal bars." She rattles them off. "Sophie says hi and thank you for the onion kuchen recipe, she really appreciated the share. Sent you a Nutella babka as a present." Marcy hands over a second, smaller bag that feels like a brick. Sophie Langer's Nutella babka is about the most perfect food I've ever put in my mouth.

Next to the gallettes with their savory fillings, and even the banana-Nutella crêpe with its seductive chocolaty drizzle across the top, and especially next to whatever monstrosity Henry had ordered topped with three scoops of vanilla ice cream, the crêpe au sucre Rosie had selected certainly looked plain. It was a slim triangle dusted with sugar, but Rosie swore the sugar was sparkling in the dim light of the restaurant. She cut a tiny triangle off the tip and took a bite. Now this, this was everything. It was simple, but in the way that reminded Rosie that sometimes the simplest things were the best. The crêpe was golden and buttery and the caramelized sugar crunchy before it dissolved instantly, melting on Rosie's tongue. It couldn't be anything more than butter, sugar, flour, and milk. And yet... those simple ingredients were transformed into something transcendent. And that, Rosie thought, was exactly the power of cooking.

The law gave me an entirely new vocabulary, a language that non-lawyers derisively referred to as "legalese." Unlike the basic building blocks- the day-to-day words- that got me from the subway to the office and back, the words of my legal vocabulary, more often than not, triggered flavors that I had experienced after leaving Boiling Springs, flavors that I had chosen for myself, derived from foods that were never contained within the boxes and the cans of DeAnne's kitchen. Subpoenakiwifruit. InjunctionCamembert. Infringementlobster. Jurisdictionfreshgreenbeans. Appellantsourdoughbread. ArbitrationGuinness. Unconstitutionalasparagus. ExculpatoryNutella. I could go on and on, and I did. Every day I was paid an astonishing amount of money to shuffle these words around on paper and, better yet, to say them aloud. At my yearly reviews, the partners I worked for commented that they had never seen a young lawyer so visibly invigorated by her work. One of the many reasons I was on track to make partner, I thought. There were, of course, the rare and disconnecting exceptions. Some legal words reached back to the Dark Ages of my childhood and to the stunted diet that informed my earlier words. "Mitigating," for example, brought with it the unmistakable taste of elementary school cafeteria pizzas: rectangles of frozen dough topped with a ketchup-like sauce, the hard crumbled meat of some unidentifiable animal, and grated "cheese" that didn't melt when heated but instead retained the pattern of a badly crocheted coverlet. I had actually looked forward to the days when these rectangles were on the lunch menu, slapped onto my tray by the lunch ladies in hairnets and comfortable shoes. Those pizzas (even the word itself was pure exuberance with the two z's and the sound of satisfaction at the end... ah!) were evocative of some greater, more interesting locale, though how and where none of us at Boiling Springs Elementary circa 1975 were quite sure. We all knew what hamburgers and hot dogs were supposed to look and taste like, and we knew that the school cafeteria served us a second-rate version of these foods. Few of us students knew what a pizza was supposed to be. Kelly claimed that it was usually very big and round in shape, but both of these characteristics seemed highly improbable to me. By the time we were in middle school, a Pizza Inn had opened up along the feeder road to I-85. The Pizza Inn may or may not have been the first national chain of pizzerias to offer a weekly all-you-can-eat buffet. To the folks of the greater Boiling Springs-Shelby area, this was an idea that would expand their waistlines, if not their horizons. A Sizzler would later open next to the Pizza Inn (feeder road took on a new connotation), and it would offer the Holy Grail of all-you-can-eat buffets: steaks, baked potatoes, and, for the ladies, a salad bar complete with exotic fixings such as canned chickpeas and a tangle of slightly bruised alfalfa sprouts. Along with "mitigating," these were some of the other legal words that also transported me back in time: Egressredvelvetcake. PerpetuityFrenchsaladdressing. Compensatoryboiledpeanuts. ProbateReese'speanutbuttercup. FiduciaryCheerwine. AmortizationOreocookie.

How to make simple yet delicious Nutella Cookies: Mix 1 cup Nutella, 1 whole egg, and 1 cup flour together in a bowl. Bake for 6–8 minutes at 350 degrees.

Nutella Cookies: 1 cup Nutella, 1 whole egg, 1 cup flour. Bake for 6-8 min at 350.

I got peanut butter pretzel bark with Oreo and fudge, topped with Nutella and whipped cream with a dusting of hot chocolate powder. Plus four cherries, half a banana, a fried Twinkie, and sliced strawberries with strawberry syrup lightly drizzled over all of it. Sprinkles over all that. Caramel syrup over that. Mini-chocolate chips over that. Waffle cone crumbles over that. Another layer of fudge. And then one last cherry on top.

was, went back to normal. Well, I say normal, but sweet Jesus, what was normal about living with a toddler? And this toddler was a law unto herself. A monster. All she wanted, morning, noon and night, was sugar. Sugar on her cereal, sugar on her fruit, Nutella on everything otherwise she wouldn’t eat it. She would not go to sleep at night, and at nursery she was mean to the other children, she’d wallop them and trip them up; I was forever being called in. And then I’d bring her to your house for her weekly stays and she’d be, oh, the perfect little angel. All, Daddy this and Daddy that and at first of course I loved it because she was my route back to you and in that respect it had worked. But then I could see the two of you forming a kind of breakaway team. It was like you and SJ all over again. She’d sit on your lap and she’d twirl your hair and she’d look across at me as if I was nothing to her. Less than nothing. I’d come to collect her from your house sometimes after you’d spent a day together and she’d hide behind your legs. Or hide herself in a room somewhere in the house and refuse to come out. ‘I’m not going!’ she’d say. ‘I’m staying here!’ And sometimes I’d think fuck it, fuck you both,

She put so much love and magic into her baking. I bet you all had your favorite-" Kat tries to swallow her tears but she can't. "Pistachio cream croissants!" Noa shouts out. Kat blinks, scanning the crowd for the perpetrator and sees Noa looking up at her, grinning. Kat nods. "My favorite too." She looks out at the congregation again, blinking back her tears. "Zucchini and caramelized onion pizza!" someone else shouts. Kat sniffs, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Tiramisu cheesecake!" "Vanilla and elderflower brownies!" "Cinnamon and nutmeg biscuits!" "Spiced chocolate cake!" Kat starts to smile. She looks out at the congregation, at their happy, memory-filled faces, the taste of Cosima's baking still on their tongues, and feels her heart begin to lift. "Passion fruit and pear cannoli!" "Chocolate and pistachio cream cupcakes!" shouts Amandine. "Dough twists dipped in Nutella!" Heloise calls out.

I smeared Nutella over the remains of yesterday’s bread, and Luka mixed a pitcher of fluorescent yellow Cedevita. As a public health initiative we’d been organized into lines in the school yard and handed little cups of the stuff, chalky powder injected with vitamins and stirred into water, to make sure we got something of nutritional value in the weeks when food was hard to come by. They hadn’t expected an entire generation to become addicted to the concoction—lemonade on steroids—but we had, eventually making its producers the most successful pharmaceutical company in the country.

Nutella spread is heerlijk voor de kindermond.

The skirt is an enormous kitchen.

Four-Ingredient M&M Brownies Serves Nine Ingredients: 1 1/4 cups (371g) Nutella - or one 13-ounce jar 2 large eggs room temperature 1/2 cup (62g) all-purpose flour 1/2 cup (100g) M&M’s chocolate candies (Perhaps a cup if there has been a death) Instructions: Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease an 8”x8” non-stick baking pan. Set aside. Mix the first three ingredients in a large bowl with a wooden spoon until smooth. About 50-60 strokes. Do not over mix. Pour batter into prepared pan and smooth top with a spatula. Sprinkle M&M’s candies over batter, distributing evenly. Bake for 20-25 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Do not over-bake. Let brownies cool and set before cutting and serving. Cut into nine squares. I suggest you make a double, or even a triple-batch as I could eat nine brownies for breakfast. For instant gratification, eat the caramel and Nutella as you bake. I’m not suggesting that chocolate cures us of all our worriment, but you cannot operate in crisis mode non-stop - you have to take a break.

To me novella is a stupid word. It’s too much like Nutella. And goodness knows, I do love a chocolate hazelnut spread that advertises itself as a respectable breakfast food (part of this healthy breakfast). And do we really want to read a type of book that is similar to a sweet spread for toast? I think not!

You know the real way to a girl’s heart.” I grin at him. “Bacon and Nutella.” “I do what I can.” He smiles.

I got peanut butter pretzel bark with Oreo and fudge, topped with Nutella and whipped cream with a dusting of hot chocolate powder. Plus four cherries,

In addition to Cupcakes & Co., there is Berko, an American-style French bakery with outposts in the tourist-friendly Marais and Montmartre quartiers, serving circus-like flavors such as banana and Nutella, tarte tatin, and Oreo. Across town in Saint-Germain, Synie's Cupcakes takes the elegant route with chocolate ganache, lemon ginger, and dulce de leche with sea salt.

I was now enjoying the incredibly generous spread between the editor and me: a thick Belgian waffle obscured by a mountain of fresh cream and berries; crepes stuffed with thick, stick-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth Nutella and daintily folded into quarters; and the tarte tatin, traditionally served as dessert after lunch or dinner but the juicy, caramelized hunks of apple baked beneath buttery puff pastry and topped with slightly sour crème fraîche seemed totally appropriate to be on the table before us at 9:00 a.m. If only every day could start this way.

The cost of disposable packaging is hidden in the price tag. You’re paying for much more that you realize. When you buy a jar of Nutella, you’re paying for Nestle’s marketing department, advertising, corporate salaries, and engineers who built the factory. You’re paying for the silica that was mined and melted to make the glass jar. If you were to make your own Nutella (which is pretty easy and fun), all you are paying for are the raw ingredients.

Everyone always assumed it was her mom who was the grilled cheese aficionado, but it was her dad who had mastered the art first. "Remember when Dad would make us breakfast grilled cheeses?" May asked. She and her mom had finally found a rhythm where they could work and talk at the same time. "I miss those," May said. Her mom swallowed, then cleared her throat. "I don't know what he did that made them so good. The Nutella and mascarpone was my favorite. I think he browned the butter first- he always did something to make it a little special." She even managed a tiny smile. May smiled back at her. "I liked the bacon and egg with marble cheese." "He grilled that one in bacon grease." "The house would smell so good." "Except that one time he got distracted by a crossword and burned the sandwiches. It took all day to to get the smell of burned toast smoke out of the house. And you have to admit, not every one of his creations was good." May scrunched her face, remembering some of the worst. Her mom wiped at her eyes and flipped the sandwiches in front of her. "Like the pickle and Brie combo. What was he thinking?" "That wasn't as bad as the pineapple and blue cheese.

Is that Nutella and bacon?

Your choice. Sex or your friends,” she says in a sing-songy voice. She sounds like she’s joking but I know she’s not. She hoards sex like an Italian fat kid hoards Nutella.

He leans in to attempt to give me a Nutella kiss, but I am wearing Prada, so I take a step back and put up my hands to keep him away. “You can kiss me after you change,” I tell him.