Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine
by Gail Honeyman
“When I was young, for a treat, Mummy would pop a pimento-stuffed olive into my mouth, or, occasionally, an oily anchovy from a coffin-shaped yellow-and-red tin. She always stressed to me that sophisticated palates erred toward savory flavors, that cheap, sugary treats were the ruin of the poor (and their teeth). Mummy always had very sharp, very white teeth.
The only acceptable treat, she said, were proper Belgian truffles (Neuhaus, nom de dieu; only tourists bought those nasty chocolate seashells) or plump Medjool dates from the souks of Tunis..." p. 71
"That all sounds quite...fancy," she said.
"Oh no, sometimes it's just something really simple," I said, "like sourdough toast with Manchego cheese and quince paste." p. 59
“Mummy told me, years ago, that men go absolutely crazy for sausage rolls. The way to a man's heart, she said, is a homemade sausage roll, hot, flakey pastry, good quality meat. I haven't cooked anything except pasta for years. I've never made a sausage roll. I don't suppose it's terribly difficult, though. It's only pastry and mechanically recovered meat." p. 12
"The evening wasn't completely wasted, however, because I managed to slip almost a dozen sausage rolls into my shopper, wrapped in serviettes, for later." p. 37
"I thought that I probably ought to attempt a sausage roll at some point, or at least put a few in my bag for later, but then I remembered that I had brought my new tiny bag, into which I could fit, at most, two savory pastries." p. 200
"Two: he would make pizza for us both, from scratch. He'd mix the dough, stretching and kneading it with those long, tapered fingers, stroking it until it did what he wanted. He'd stand at the cooker, simmering tomatoes with fresh herbs, reducing them to a rich sauce, slick and slippery with a sheen of olive oil.
He'd be wearing his oldest, most comfortable jeans, a pair that sat snugly on his slim hips, bare feet tapping as he sang softly to himself in his delicious voice, and stirred. When he'd assumbled the pizza, topping it with artichokes and fennel shavings, he'd put it in the oven and come and find me, take me by the hand and lead me into the kitchen." p. 21
"Once again, there was an overwhelming onslaught of salutations and handshakes. Sammy, meanwhile, was rummaging in the bags we'd brought. He held up a packet of organic curly kale.
'What the hell is this?' he said, incredulous. Zinc, I whispered to myself."
p. 104
“Gathering up the detritus of the previous evening, I noticed that I had failed to consume all of my vodka allocation; the best part of a half bottle of Smirnoff was extant. Mindful of my gauche faux pas at Laura's party, I put it in a Tesco carrier bag to present to Keith tonight. I pondered what else I should take for him. Flowers seemed wrong; they're a love token, after all. I looked in the fridge, and popped a packet of cheese slices into the bag. All men like cheese." p. 161
“On Fridays, I don't get the bus straight after work but instead I go to the Tesco Metro around the corner from the office and buy a margherita pizza, some Chianti and two big bottles of Glen's vodka." p. 5
"Conveniently, my stomach gave a loud rumble. I'd only had the Wagon Wheel since my lunchtime repast of spaghetti hoops on toast." p. 92
