Cinnamon Buns Quotes

“Agent Jones switched to the big screen and a grainy video of MoMo sitting at his enormous desk, a swivel-hipped Elvis clock ticking behind his bewigged head. 'Death to the capitalist pigs! Death to your cinnamon bun-smelling malls! Death to your power walking and automatic car windows and I'm With Stupid T-shirts! The Republic of ChaCha will never bend to your side-of-fries -drive -through-please-oh-would-you-like-ketchup-with-that corruption! MoMo B. ChaCha defies you and all you stand for, and one day, you will crumble into the sea and we will pick up the pieces and make them into sand art.”
― Libba Bray, Beauty Queens

“Sitting on a recently cleaned chair, she bit into one of the buns. Sugary sweetness exploded in her mouth, and she sighed through the bread. Closing her eyes, she savored every morsel. It was light, fluffy, sweet, and perfect. Had he made this? How? She added "baking" to the growing list of useful skills she didn't possess.
Eagerly, she picked up the wedge of cheese and bit into it. Sharp, woody flavor filled her mouth, and she swayed a bit as she shoved more into her mouth. Cheese in the city was typically soft and bland, intended to be spread or melted, a side note to the main dish, but this... It demanded to be devoured.”
― Sarah Beth Durst, The Spellshop

“Enjoy your cinnafucks!”
― Pat Shand, Destiny, NY, Volume One: Who I Used to Be

“This is an herb boule." I gesture to the oven where my dough is still proving.
"Can we see it to get a quick shot?" Archie asks. I hesitate but slide the drawer open for just a moment, releasing a warm yeasty plume into the air, and then quickly slide it shut. It leaves behind the fragrance of parsley, cilantro, and basil, some of the herbs I've mixed into my boule.
"And these are my cinnamon buns. I've used my own hand-ground rye flour to balance the sweetness and specially sourced Vietnamese cinnamon and just a touch of cardamom.”
― Jessa Maxwell, The Golden Spoon

“Four in the afternoon, and Haga in Gothenburg is still shrouded in a cinnamon mist. A smell that will often lead you, as it will everywhere in Scandinavia, to knots and twists and bundles of dough laced with pearl sugar, butter and spice.”
― Nigel Slater, A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts