Mozzarella Quotes

“I rip open a packet of buffalo mozzarella, ivory spheres floating in a milky womb. I drain the liquid and cut a thick, creamy slice. Placing one of my runaway tomatoes on top, I stand at the kitchen counter and eat, the yellow oil running down my chin. It was rich and full. Like summer and sunshine.”
― Hannah Tunnicliffe, The Color of Tea

“You should use any cheese on pizza as long as it's 100% Mozzarella.”
― Wayne Gerard Trotman

“It was as soft as a poached egg and, when he punctured it, oozed what appeared to be ivory-colored cream. He tried some. Richness flooded his mouth. The taste was fresh, almost like chewing grass, but filling and slightly sweet.”
― Anthony Capella, The Wedding Officer

“Most of the ingredients she cooked with came from the tiny farm immediately behind the restaurant. It was so small that the Pertinis could shout from one end of it to another, but the richness of the soil meant that it supported a wealth of vegetables, including tomatoes, zucchini, black cabbage, eggplant and several species that were unique to the region, including bitter friarielli and fragrant asfodelo. There was also a small black boar called Garibaldi, who despite his diminutive size impregnated his harem of four larger wives with extraordinary diligence; an ancient olive tree through which a couple of vines meandered; a chicken or two; and the Pertinis' pride and joy, Priscilla and Pupetta, the two water buffalo, who grazed on a patch of terraced pasture no bigger than a tennis court. The milk they produced was porcelain white, and after hours of work each day it produced just two or three mozzarelle, each one weighing around two pounds- but what mozzarelle: soft and faintly grassy, like the sweet steamy breath of the bufale themselves.
As well as mozzarella, the buffalo milk was crafted into various other specialties. Ciliègine were small cherry-shaped balls for salads, while bocconcini were droplet-shaped, for wrapping in slices of soft prosciutto ham. Trecce, tresses, were woven into plaits, served with Amalfi lemons and tender sprouting broccoli. Mozzarella affumicata was lightly smoked and brown in color, while scamorza was smoked over a smoldering layer of pecan shells until it was as dark and rich as a cup of strong espresso. When there was surplus milk they even made a hard cheese, ricotta salata di bufala, which was salted and slightly fruity, perfect for grating over roasted vegetables. But the cheese the Pertinis were best known for was their burrata, a tiny sack of the finest, freshest mozzarella, filled with thick buffalo cream and wrapped in asphodel leaves.”
― Anthony Capella, The Wedding Officer

“Livia placed a ball of wet newspaper on the table, and proceeded to unwrap it. "What's that?" he asked.
"Mozzarella cheese, of course. It's like the burrata you had before, but different."
"It's soft," he said, pushing his fork into the piece she passed him.
"You've never eaten mozzarella?" she said incredulously.
"In England, we only have three cheeses," he explained. "Cheddar, Stilton and Wensleydale."
"Now you're making fun of me," she sniffed.
"Not at all." He put some of the milky white cheese into his mouth. "Oh," he said. "That's rather good, isn't it?" It was so soft it melted in his mouth, but the taste was explosive- creamy, and cuddy, and faintly tart all at once.”
― Anthony Capella, The Wedding Officer

“Kenny. You've got the Moroccan carrot salad done, but where are we with the brussels sprouts?"
"Everything is prepped. We just need the sprouts."
"Good. Go ahead and start caramelizing the onions for the goat-cheese toasts, and then get the bacon going---just be sure to undercook the bacon. It'll cook the rest of the way in the oven."
"Yes, chef."
"Clementine, can you take over the grilled crudités? We need to get them chilled by five."
She nodded. "Yes, chef."
"Excellent. I'll start prepping the butternut-squash fritters," I said, rolling up my sleeves. "And then the mozzarella poppers. Let's get to work."



I was elbows deep in fried mozzarella and crispy-edged butternut-squash fritters when my brother and boyfriend finally arrived, wet and bedraggled, at the kitchen door.
"I have dates," Nico said, holding the crate aloft. "Dates and brussels sprouts."
"It's about time," I shot back. "You've been single far too long."
"I'm going to get cleaned up," he said, "and then I can relieve you."
"Take your time," I replied honestly. "I've got everything under control."
And I did. The fritters were done and in the warming oven with a cake pan full of water in the rack below to keep them from drying out. I'd made up the mozzarella poppers by breading the rounds of buffalo-milk mozzarella with batter and panko crumbs before deep-frying them in batches.
It had felt good to work with my hands again, good to do something other than managerial work. I cast a longing eye at Clementine's pavlovas, the baked egg whites topped with quartered figs. There was something soothing about working with egg whites, the frothy pure-white shade they became when whisked.”
― Hillary Manton Lodge, Together at the Table