Novel & Cerita Pastry Drawing

He had identified pastry as the challenge — specifically, a pastel de nata, because Dona Beatriz at the seed shop had mentioned them and because he had encountered them on the island and had reacted with the unreserved enthusiasm of someone encountering a thing they intended to become excellent at. The issue was that pastry dough required a patience and a lightness of touch that were somewhat at odds with Elian's natural approach to tasks, which was thorough and direct and not always attuned to the requirement of gentleness. "It keeps tearing," he said, for the third time, with the tone of someone who was beginning to take it personally. "You're pressing too hard," Dante said. He was at the

“Why?” But Leo didn’t have to answer. Their wandering had taken them to a bakery, and the delicious smells inside the softly lit shop quickly distracted Andrea. “What is that yummy looking pastry?” She pointed to rounds of what looked to be puff pastry sprinkled with green nuts and drizzled with caramel sauce. Dominating the sweets section were also tiers of flaky tartlets, delicately browned triangular biscuits and fan-shaped pastel cookies. Domes of bread, ranging from family size to single serving, took up much of the rest of the shelves. Some of the bread had been shaped into fancy twists and fish shapes. “What can I get you and your friend?” The baker, a thin, short woman with a ready s

I said as I walked to the pastries my sister invented. “Yes, I do…” He pulled at one shard. It was purple. It was small enough to use on a metal ring. I walked to him, and handed the pastry to him. He handed me the shard. “Phebe invented this. It’s bread with fruit in the middle, sugar sprinkled on top, then cooked in the stone oven. I call it a fruit beignet.” He took a big bite out of the fruit beignet. He was classy about how he ate it. There were no crumbs on the sides of his face, and he put one hand under the one holding the food so there would be no mess. He didn’t make a sound as he chewed and swallowed. Once he was done, he pulled out a cloth to wipe his face. I had never seen someo

Huda nods and sets the cake knife on the counter, she's done perfecting the butter icing in precise cylindrical covering the chocolate and vanilla cake. I wheel myself to a cupboard around my sitting height and pull out a baking tray, wheel myself back to the table to line it with baking paper. We're going to toast the coconut gratings and use food glue to make it stick to the cake. Huda was the one who drew the design, I'm only helping out. "What are you wearing to Kaka's birthday?" I ask her as she concentrates on sprinkling sugar unto the coconut flakes.

It was just the two of them in a doorway, looking at what they were looking at, being exactly where they were. The drawing was in the centre of the desk. Katřina had made it at the kitchen table on a Saturday and had brought it to Grace with the focused pride of someone presenting completed work for assessment. The assessment had been: I’m putting this on my desk. Katřina had received this as appropriate. The drawing was in wax crayon, large confident strokes in the colours Katřina had selected, and at the bottom in letters that were entirely her own interpretation of the alphabet was written, in Grace’s transcription in pencil below: MAMA’S WORK. What the drawing depicted was not entirely c