Plum Bun Quotes

We've all of us got to make up our minds to the sacrifice of some thing. I mean something more than just the ordinary sacrifices in life, not so much for the sake of the next generation as for the sake of some principle, for the sake of some immaterial quality like pride or intense self-respect or even a saving complacency; a spiritual tonic which the race needs perhaps just as much as the body might need iron or whatever it does need to give the proper kind of resistance. There are some things which an individual might want, but which he'd just have to give up forever for the sake of the more important whole.

I snuck another peek at him, hoping to see signs that he was improving, and found myself inexplicably delighted to see him slowly eating a plain bun. That showed some sense of care. Or self-preservation at the very least. Maybe tomorrow he would allow himself to eat a plum bun. And the day after that even a jelly cake. Perhaps all my Sebastian-pastry fantasies would come true if we found a way to stop Captain Goode tomorrow.

The field mice spent their days scampering through the tall grasses and collecting fairyberries and beanstalk seeds. The stable mice helped themselves to oats and barley from the horse stalls, and built nests of straw from the Pegasus pen. The barn mice sat on the rafters, playing their fiddles and enjoying the grains they'd snatched from the golden goose's coop. The pantry mice were the happiest of all because they spent their days sleeping and their nights gorging on a plentiful supply of delicacies. They were the plumpest of mice, roll-poly critters who slumbered in the pantry during the day, then awoke after the kitchen had closed. A lazy waddle beneath the Castleteria tables would yield a cornucopia of delights- thronecake crumbs, hot cross bun bits, and pieces of pickled-plum tart.

A stew of potatoes, kidney beans, and chopped greens and onions simmered atop the small cast-iron range. The appetizing scent filled the cottage and drifted out the open windows. Remembering the many times she had made the dish for her father, Victoria smiled wistfully. Her father had never been a great lover of food, regarding it solely as a necessity for the body rather than something to be enjoyed. On the rare occasions when Victoria had made plum pudding, or brought currant buns from the bakery, he had nibbled at the treats and quickly lost interest. The only times she had ever seen him eat heartily, and with obvious enjoyment, was when she had made vegetable stew.

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.

The variety of wares was staggering: stacks of brown haddock fried in batter, pea soup crowded with chunks of salt pork, smoking-hot potatoes split and doused with butter, oysters roasted in the shell, pickled whelks, and egg-sized suet dumplings heaped in wide shallow bowls. Meat pasties had been made in half-circle shapes convenient for hand carrying. Dried red saveloy and polony sausages, cured tongue, and cuts of ham seared with white fat were made into sandwiches called trotters. Farther along the rows, there was an abundance of sweets: puddings, pastries, buns crossed with fat white lines of sugar, citron cakes, chewy gingerbread nuts dabbed with crackled icing, and tarts made with currants, gooseberries, rhubarbs, or cherries. Ransom guided Garrett from one stand to the next, buying whatever caught her interest: a paper cone filled with hot green peas and bacon, and a nugget of plum dough. He coaxed her to taste a spicy Italian veal stew called stuffata, which was so delicious that she ate an entire cup of it.