A study in oxymorons: The Provence Travelling Cake
My mother and I have realized that despite it’s misleading name, the provence travelling cake should not in fact travel anywhere but from the plate to a mouth in the oven that is Thailand, lest it turn into a crumbling ruin (you can see the apricot jelly melting already, but nevertheless).
Layered with pistachio sponge, vanilla almond sponge, passion fruit and apricot jelly and topped with tempered white chocolate, it is a show stopper. Just not a travelling one.
Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why our ribs are cages.
Unknown (via fuckinq)
Anneè Olofsson Unfamiliar
Erano quasi le dieci di sera. C’era la luna e la mia vita stava andando lentamente in nessun posto.
Charles Bukowski, Pulp (via trippsonfire)