Word: caked
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She’s covered the ladyfingers and has started to mix a batch of lime sorbet. For now Chilton’s just a “prepper,” an ice cream maker in training. She worked at scooping, then trained for a while with the cake maker. (“The counter kids used to make the cakes,” she says. “They were really messy, and never sold.”) From there she moved to ice cream but is not allowed to touch a machine until she?...
...Blickstead and friends churn down DeWolfe Street in a protective party huddle, they stumble upon what appears to be an all-female cake-batter-wrestling event in the far corner of the Quincy courtyard. Like Odysseus resisting the call of the Sirens, Blickstead valiantly disregards the vixenish squeals of delight and surprisingly alluring scent of cake batter, and presses ahead, leading the group, now 50 or 100 paces behind him, inexorably onward to Mather...
...stood there, we Shaws shoppers—I clutching my Duncan Hines cake mix, and the woman beside me her Minute rice—in an eerie, Muzac-free silence. I tried to think of the heroes of Sept. 11, but the golden ranks of cooking oil had impressed themselves on my imagination and all I could muster was a profane and tedious mantra: Canola? Corn? Vegetable? Finally the nasal woman thanked us and told us we might continue shopping. Carts whirred back to life to the gentle strains of Muzac. The moment of silence had elapsed as irreverently...
...classic cappuccino (made from local and imported beans), a large range of herbal teas and scrumptious desserts (including a sinfully rich banana, white chocolate and caramel Binoffi Pai). There is even a cozy upstairs loft filled with books. The simple teakwood shophouse looking out on to Chaisongkram Road dispenses cake and cool from 9 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. daily...
Desserts in my family have always been a reward or an unexpected present, reserved for occasional weekend nights and special celebrations. For my First Communion I had a decadent chocolate cake from Alden Merrill. The physical bread meant little to me, the sour-smelling wine even less, when compared to the stunningly sweet pastel packaged neatly in a cardboard box and stored safely in the basement refrigerator. I can still picture myself carving into the smooth fudge that formed the outer layer of the cake. The contrast between my crisp white dress, with its eyelet detail and simple lace ribbons...