Chocolate Cake Quotes

“He showed the words “chocolate cake” to a group of Americans and recorded their word associations. “Guilt” was the top response. If that strikes you as unexceptional, consider the response of French eaters to the same prompt: “celebration.”
― Michael Pollan, In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto

“Some people when they see cheese, chocolate or cake they don't think of calories.”
― Amit Kalantri, Wealth of Words

“But what I was really thinking was that you talk about him like...like you talk about a piece of decadent chocolate cake.”
― Marissa Meyer, Heartless

“President Donald Trump is the canary in a coal mine. A babbling asshat from a galaxy far, far away.”
― A.K. Kuykendall

“For me, food cures everything. Depression. Boredom. Anger. Chocolate cake can take care of ingrown toenails, and potato chips can eradicate acne.”
― Carolyn Brown, The Ladies' Room

“Strong, good smells clash with each other, garlic against cinnamon, savory against sweet. Two dressings, Ma's traditional corn bread version as well as the stuffing she made last year for a change of pace, a buttery version with cherries and sausage and hazelnuts. The herb-brined turkey, probably larger than we need, and a challenge to manhandle into and out of the refrigerator. A deep dish of creamy, smooth mashed potatoes, riced and dried to make them thirsty, then plumped back up with warmed cream and butter. For dessert, a mocha cake I came up with one day. In the batter is barely sweetened chocolate and dark, strong coffee. The layers are sealed together with more chocolate, warmed up with a hint of ancho powder.”
― Jael McHenry, The Kitchen Daughter

“Add orange peel and cinnamon to milk. Grate the chocolate.'

The hard, round cake of chocolate was wrapped in yellow plastic with red stripes, shiny and dark when she opened it. The chocolate made a rough sound as it brushed across the fine section of the grater, falling in soft clouds onto the counter, releasing a scent of dusty back rooms filled with bittersweet chocolate and old love letters, the bottom drawers of antique desks and the last leaves of autumn, almonds and cinnamon and sugar.
Into the milk it went.

'Add anise.'

Such a small amount of ground spice in the little bag Abuelita had given her. It lay there quietly, unremarkable, the color of wet beach sand. She undid the tie around the top of the bag and swirls of warm gold and licorice danced up to her nose, bringing with them miles of faraway deserts and a dark, starless sky, a longing she could feel in the back of her eyes, her fingertips.”
― Erica Bauermeister, The School of Essential Ingredients

“I pushed my fork through the top layer of creamy frosting, then all three layers of the cake. Keeping my eyes down, I put the fork to my mouth. He'd used good chocolate, I knew, and after a moment, I picked up a note of coffee, which only intensified the flavor of the chocolate. The frosting was decadent and smooth, but not cloying. In fact, the entire bite struck the precise balance of sass and sweet.”
― Kimberly Stuart, Sugar

“The mood at the table is convivial throughout the meal. A dried-sausage and prosciutto plate gives way to briny sardines, which give way to truffle-covered gnocchi topped with a plethora of herbs. Richness cut with acidity, herbaceousness and cool breezes at every turn. A simple ricotta and lemon fettuccine topped with sharp pecorino is the perfect counterpoint.
I am not driving, and apparently Anjana isn't, either, so we both order a Cynar and soda. "How can we digest all the pasta without another digestif?" we exclaim to the waiter, giddily. Meat, carbs, sunshine, and lingering music coming from across the plaza have stirred us up, and soon our dessert--- some sort of chocolate cake with walnuts--- arrives. It's dense in that fudgey way a flourless concoction can be, like it has molded itself into the perfection of pure chocolate. The crunch of the walnuts is a counterweight, drawing me deeper into the flavor.
I haven't been inspired by food like this in a long time, despite spending so much time thinking about food. The atmosphere at work has sucked so much of the joy out of thinking about recipes, but I find myself taking little notes on my phone for recipe experimentation when I get home. The realization jolts me.
I've always felt like I have the perfect job for a creative who happens to also be left-brained. Recipes are an intriguing puzzle every single time. Today's fettuccine is the perfect example. The tartness of the lemon paired with the smooth pasta and pillowy ricotta is the no-brainer part. But the trickier puzzle piece--- the one that is necessary to connect the rest of the puzzle to the whole--- is the light grating of the pecorino on top. That tang, that edge, that cutting spice works in tangent with the lemon to give the dish its power. Lemon alone wouldn't have been enough. Pecorino alone wouldn't have been enough. The dish is so simple, but it has to fit together perfectly to work. These little moments, these exciting eurekas, are the elation I normally get in my job.”
― Ali Rosen, Recipe for Second Chances

“Ryan was a nose away from the tallest cake on display, a six-foot-high chocolate masterpiece Jesse and I had created for this year's fairs. Detailed water nymph's interspersed with insects and toadstools, all sculpted by hand in rich dark chocolate.”
― Anouska Knight, Since You've Been Gone (Hqn)

“When she'd come down to the kitchen after her shower, she'd deliberately left the lights off. She liked the way the cake looked in the bright light of the full moon that was streaming in through the windows. On the kitchen table a wooden spoon sat in a small saucepot, which held crushed hazelnuts that had been soaked and heated in Frangelico, next to the bowl of thick, velvety pastry cream she had prepared earlier. She released one of the layers from its baking pan and settled it onto the cake plate. She had sprinkled them while they were still warm with the same infused brandy, so they were now redolent with a harmonious perfume of filberts and chocolate. She deftly spread some of the pastry cream on the first layer and sprinkled a tablespoon of the crushed nuts on top of it. She added the second layer of cake, more buttery cream, and a dusting of nuts.
Angelina always aimed for an extra shading of flavor when she created a recipe, something to complement and embrace the most prominent flavor in a dish, something that tickled the palate and the imagination. Here, she had chosen aromatic, earthy hazelnuts to add an extra dimension of texture and taste. She'd heard someplace that some musical composers said that it was the spaces between the notes that made all the difference; when you were cooking, it was the little details, too.
Each layer of the dense cake covered the one beneath it as she laid them on, like dark disks of chocolate eclipsing moons made of creme anglaise instead of green cheese. In short order, the sixth and final layer had efficiently been fixed into place. She took a half step back to check for symmetry and balance, then moved on to the frosting.
She poured the mixture of butter, milk, and chocolate that had been resting on the stove top into a mixing bowl, added a pinch of salt, a dash of real vanilla extract, and began whisking it all together with powdered sugar, which she shifted in stages to make sure that it combined thoroughly.”
― Brian O'Reilly, Angelina's Bachelors

“You need tea and cake?"
"I'm not hungry," Cora says, following Etta upstairs.
"Oh, my dear." Etta laughs, the sound humming around her. "When is cake ever for hunger? It's for flavor and, in this case, comfort."
Behind her grandmother, Cora smiles.
They walk into the kitchen and Etta flicks on the kettle. On the counter sits a large chocolate cake, icing shining and dotted with cherries. The room is filled with the thick scent of chocolate.
"It's beautiful," Cora says. "You're the best grandma a girl could hope for."
"Hardly." Etta sets out two plates and begins cutting the cake. "Anyway, it's not that cherry pie you love so much, but it will have to do.”
― Menna van Praag, The Dress Shop of Dreams

“Cosima lines up all her little jars of dried herbs and flowers, then carefully picks the ones she needs.
"Acacia, for secret love. Celandine, for joys to come. Bluebell," she whispers, "for constancy. Bougainvillea, for passion. And chrysanthemum, for truth."
She finds her special ceramic baking bowl and begins to add the usual ingredients: flour, sugar, butter, and eggs.
"And the only flavor strong enough to mask the flowers." Cosima opens the cupboard above her head and takes down two bars of the finest dark chocolate she's ever tasted. "Ninety-nine percent. Perfect."
After she's grated a beetroot, for moisture, and added vanilla pods, for extra flavor, Cosima pours the dark, thick mixture into a small baking tin and slips it into the oven. An hour later, she cools the cake, then glazes its black (with a tint of purple) surface with a chocolate icing seasoned with a little dust of daffodil, passionflower, and cosmos: new beginnings, faith, joy in love and life.”
― Menna van Praag, The Witches of Cambridge

“I passed the 2 Sphinxes. A piece of Cake. Chocolate Cake.”
― Petra Hermans

“The Rognons de Veau à la Bordelaise did not taste like piss, no matter what my mother says, because I cleaned them with my deadly boning knife, and because the beef marrow conducted a two-pronged attack with the finishing sprinkling of parsley on any holdout pissiness- extinguishing it between fatty, velvety richness and sharp, fresh greenness. We ate it with a wine that I bought in the city that is cloudy and dark and tastes a little like blood. The lady who sold it to me called it "feral." Like me. For dessert, some creamy smooth Reine de Saba and Season 1, Episode 2, Buffy.”
― Julie Powell, Julie & Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously

“My father gave me new gloves. He said, it was not very normal.”
― Petra Hermans

“This recipe was a variation on Nanny's stout cake. Jena Lynn and I experimented when mango beer came on the market one summer. We added coconut and raspberries, and the mango beer cake was born.”
― Kate Young, Southern Sass and Killer Cravings

“I came up with a variation on the molten-chocolate cake that doesn't make me crazy with how brainless it is. You said the theme was date restaurant, man accessible, right?"
"Right."
"So I added the Black Butte Porter---the one from Deschutes Brewery---to the chocolate cake. It makes the flavor a little darker, a little more complex. I wanted to do five or six desserts, with at least three of them seasonal. For the standards, I thought the chocolate cake and an Italian-style cream puff." She nodded toward the cream puffs on the table. "Try one and tell me what you think."
I wasn't awake enough for silverware, so I picked up the cream puff and bit straight into it, forming a small cloud of powdered sugar. "That's so good," I said.
Clementine continued to watch me.
I dove in for a second bite. And then I found it---cherries. Ripe, real cherries in a fruity filling hidden at the center. "Oh my goodness," I said, my mouth full. "That is amazing."
"Glad you think so. I thought it was a clever play on Saint Joseph's Day zeppole---cherries, but not those awful maraschino cherries."
I nodded. "Maraschino cherries are the worst." Another bite. "This cream puff almost tastes like a grown-up doughnut. And I mean that in the best way.”
― Hillary Manton Lodge, A Table by the Window

“If only, it were written on men’s faces how they would
eventually be, things could work. Relationships would thrive. But
my darling, only time is the real deal and the answer to one’s
integrity. Time reveals one’s allegiance. People are, who they are.
Their intentions, however, either get revealed or change over a
period of time. Hard truth!”
― Vidhu Kapur, LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!

“Parents’ love is not conscious, rather it is ethereally organic.
Parents’ love is not seasonal. Their love is a voluntary decision to
be with their offspring, no matter what. Their love does not need
answers, confirmation, validation, or acceptance. It thrives on its
own and overflows like the purest waters from the mountains,
irrespective of what it may have to cascade through. The deepest
cockles of my heart reverberate with their love and keep me on the
go.”
― Vidhu Kapur, LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!

“Our
behemoth love shall shatter all impediments, including fear.
Rumi… don’t you want to will our vision of love into reality...?”
― Vidhu Kapur, LOVE TOUCHES ONCE & NEVER LEAVES ...A Blooming & Moving Love Saga!

“Bittersweet chocolate so dark and deep it was almost too sharp coated on my tongue. Then I bit into the soft cake, releasing mellow creamy mousse. It wasn't chocolate---perhaps coffee or maybe caramel, the flavor elusive. But the combination of all that dark bitter bite with smooth cream made it something new, rich but not cloying.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“Tonight's lesson was a breadcrumb cake, and the idea that so many Italian desserts were less about being impressive---as so many French recipes were---than about being resourceful. "After all," I said, "tiramisu is just cookies dipped in coffee and liqueur, layered with custard."
For the breadcrumb cake, I walked them through how to make the breadcrumbs. "There's no sense in buying breadcrumbs, not in that quantity."
We sliced the crusts off of the bread together, toasted the slices lightly, and ran the bread through the food processor.
Afterward, we grated the dark chocolate, peeled and sliced the pears, cracked eggs, and measured cream. The thick batter came together quickly, and we placed them into the ovens.
While the cakes baked, I walked them through the pasta fritta alla Siracusa, the angel-hair pasta twirls fried in a shallow amount of oil. We boiled up the pasta, then stirred together honey and candied orange before chopping pistachios and adding some cinnamon.
One by one, they dropped the knotted pasta into the oil and cooked them on both sides. After draining them, we drizzled the honey mixture over the top, followed by a sprinkle of the pistachios and cinnamon.
The process of frying the pasta bundles, one by one, kept everyone busy until the breadcrumb cakes finished baking.”
― Hillary Manton Lodge, Together at the Table

“I would need flour for the chocolate cake, of course. But also ingredients for chicken soup; a person cannot live of chocolate cake alone.”
― Sally Andrew, Recipes for Love and Murder

“Nesta ate until she couldn't fit another morsel into her body, helping herself to thirds of the soup. The House seemed more than happy to oblige her, and had even offered her a slice of double-chocolate cake to finish.

'Is this Cassian-approved?' She picked up the fork and smiled at the moist, gleaming cake.

'It certainly isn't,' he said from the doorway, and Nesta whirled, scowling. He nodded toward the cake. 'But eat up.'

She put down the fork. 'What do you want?'

Cassian surveyed the family library. 'Why are you eating in here?'

'Isn't it obvious?'

His grin was a slash of white. 'The only thing that's obvious is that you're talking to yourself.'

'I'm talking to the House. Which is a considerable step up from talking to you.'

'It doesn't talk back.'

'Exactly.'

He snorted. 'I walked into that one.' He stalked across the room, eyeing the cake she still didn't touch. 'Are you really... talking to the House?'

'Don't you talk to it?'

'No.'

'It listens to me,' she insisted.

'Of course it does. It's enchanted.'

'It even brought food down to the library unasked.'

His brows rose. 'Why?'

'I don't know how your faerie magic works.'

'Did you... do anything to make it act that way?'

'If you're taking a page from Devlon's book and asking if I did any witchcraft, the answer is no.'

Cassian chuckled. 'That's not what I meant, but fine. The House likes you. Congratulations.' She growled, and he leaned over to pick up the fork. She went stiff at his closeness, but he said nothing as he took a bite of the cake. He let out a hum of pleasure that traveled along her bones. And then took another bite.

'That's supposed to be mine,' she groused, peering up at him as he continued to eat.

'Then take it from me,' he said.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

“Sunday morning, I make a few posts on social media, something I'm supposed to do as an author to promote myself, but I'm rather unconvinced of the efficacy of posting things like cherry pie milkshake pictures to sell a book that's partially about generational trauma.
Not that I have a photo of that milkshake, but it did sound delicious. I can't justify the cost, though if I'd ordered it, I would definitely have posted the picture. Just like I posted a picture of the "chocolate cake" donut I bought a few weeks ago. It wasn't a cake donut but a yeast donut, dipped in chocolate ganache and chocolate cake crumbs, then topped with an actual piece of chocolate cake.”
― Jackie Lau, Love, Lies, and Cherry Pie