8 Quotes by Roisin Meaney

She replaced her phone, closed her eyes, and forced herself to begin measuring flour, sugar, and butter. For some reason mental baking usually sent her right to sleep.

Up to her eyes in recipes and vanilla essence and poppy seeds and dried cranberries and chocolate chunks.

Patrick thought about the meals around Geraldine and Stephen's kitchen table. The roast chickens fragrant with tarragon and lemon, the rich casseroles, Stephen's tangy, oozing blue-cheese burgers. The mismatched crockery, the casual, relaxed conversation. Something Hannah had baked- raspberry roulade, apple strudel, sour-cream coffee cake- usually rounding off the meal.

She told them about the mini-cupcakes she'd been asked to provide for a christening. "I'm going to introduce them into the shop, maybe three days a week, see how they sell. They're fiddly, but there's a better markup on them."She described a new variety she was trying out in the regular size. "Pineapple-mango. I'm calling it Tropical Delight.

A hundred and forty-four, twelve trays of twelve. Were 144 cupcakes enough for one day? There was no way of knowing. What if she'd made too many chocolate-orange and not enough lemon-lime? What if everyone wanted vanilla-coconut and nobody looked at the mocha? What if people hated the cream-cheese icing and only went for the ones topped with buttercream? Was Clongarvin ready for mascarpone frosting?

Bestseller so far?""Chocolate-vanilla, easily.""So you have those every day, as a staple. Write it down. Worst seller?"She thought. "Not sure... maybe forest fruits, or apple-cinnamon; I definitely had a few of both left over.""So you only do those once in a while. Go on, write it down.

Nora looked without appetite at the cheese selection Adam was putting on the table- insipid white cheddar, blue that wasn't half blue enough, Camembert that looked too firm to have been out of the fridge for very long- and thought with yearning of chunks of Monterey Jack scattered with toasted pecans, melting slices of Swiss draped over prosciutto, Neufchatel spread thickly on a warm bagel, scarmoza drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with black pepper.

Patrick thought about the meals around Geraldine and Stephen’s kitchen table. The roast chickens fragrant with tarragon and lemon, the rich casseroles, Stephen’s tangy, oozing blue-cheese burgers. The mismatched crockery, the casual, relaxed conversation. Something Hannah had baked- raspberry roulade, apple strudel, sour-cream coffee cake- usually rounding off the meal.