Kurtz: Cake. Cake has a face, and you must be a friend to cake. Cake and icing are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared.
Kilgore: I'll eat this whole fuckin' truffle!
Willard: Gregg's. Shit, I'm still only in Gregg's. Every time I think I'm gonna wake up back in Waitrose dessert and pastries department. Oh man, the yeast rose so fast in Waitrose you needed wings to stay above it.
Willard: When I was back home after my first shift, it was worse. I hardly said a word to my wife, until I said "yes" to a Pineapple Upside Down Cake with cherries and sugar.
Kurtz: We train young men to sell inedible bakewell tarts to people, but their managers won't let them write 'fuck' in the icing because it's obscene.
Willard: How many eclairs had I already eaten? There were those six that I knew about for sure. Close enough to smear their chocolate topping on my face. But this time, it was a traditional Mediterranean Baklava, a phyllo dough pastry sweetened with syrup.
Kurtz: Did they say why, Willard, why they want to terminate my management of this bakery?
Willard: I was sent on a classified mission, sir.
Kurtz: It's no longer classified, is it? Did they tell you?
Willard: They told me that you had gone totally insane, and that your recipes were unhealthy.
Kurtz: Are my recipes unhealthy?
Willard: I don't see any recipe at all, sir.
Kurtz: I expected someone like you. What did you expect? Are you a baker?
Willard: I'm a pastry chef.
Kurtz: You're neither. You're a seven year old girl, using an Easy-Bake oven, to make tasteless cupcakes.
Kilgore: Charlie don't bake!
(credit/blame for last one goes to Alex)