Anne Tyler

Ladder of Years

Fawcett Columbine, 1995

5: Why was it, she was wondering, that celery was not called "corduroy plant"? That would be much more colorful. And garlic bulbs should be "moneybags," because their shape reminded her of the sacks of gold coins in folktales.

9-10: In aisle 7 they zipped through the gourmet section -- anchovy paste, smoked oysters -- and arrived at baby foods, where Delia collected herself enough to remember she needed strained spinach... All she needed the spinach for was her mint pea soup.

12-13: She watched him arrange his bags in her trunk, after which he consumed a good half minute repositioning a small ox of something. Orzo, it was -- a most peculiar, tiny-sized pasta that she'd often noticed on the shelf but never bought. She had thought it resembled rice, in which case why not serve rice instead, which was surely more nutritious?

52: How fitting, the name Rosemary! Rosemary was such a sophisticated herb, so sharp-tasting, almost chemical. Put too much in a recipe, and you'd swear you were eating a petroleum product. There was nothing plain about it, nothing mild or dull.

56: "Oh, couldn't be better. Is that asparagus I see? Delia, my word, do you know what asparagus costs?"

"I found some on sale," Delia lied. "I'm going to roast it in the oven in this new way, really simple. No fuss," she added craftily.

"Well, if your idea of simple is asparagus and roast squab!"

"Chicken, actually."

"Just an old withered carrot would have been good enough for me."

59: "Sam, I hate to be a nuisance," Eleanor said, "but I'm going to send my plate back to you so you can take a teensy little bit of that potato salad off and give it to somebody else."

"Well, why not just keep it, Mother."

"But it's too large a helping, dear."

"Then eat what you can and leave the rest, why don't you."

"Now, you know how I hate to waste food."

"Oh, just force yourself to choke the damn stuff down, then, Mother!"

163: "You should have slices the carrots," she told him, "and also zucchini, yellow squash, new potatoes – everything coin-shaped. That's why they call it penny soup. It's nothing to do with the cost. I doubt you'd find it in cookbooks, because it's more a … mother's recipe, you know?"

209: The clock in the optician's window read eleven-fifteen – nowhere near time for lunch, and yet she regretted leaving that barbeque sandwich. And the coleslaw had been superb. It was the creamy kind, with lots of celery seeds. A seed or two still lodged in her mouth, woodsy and fragrant when she bit down. She savored the taste on her tongue. She felt the most amazing hunger, all at once. She felt absolutely hollow. You would think she hadn't eaten in months.

219-220: One of the women on the couch said Binky must have grated her own lemon zest. "I can always tell fresh-grated zest," she said. "It's no use trying to substitute that brown dust that comes in bottles." She licked crumbs off her fork in a contemplative way.

319: Delia took her cutting board to a less populated area, and she started chopping ginger. Her Chinese dish required eleven different bowls of ingredients, most minced no bigger than matchstick heads, all lined up in a row for rapid frying. So far she had finished only bowl number four. She was thankful to be occupied, though. She chopped rhythmically, mindlessly, letting an ocean of chatter eddy about her. Tick-tick, the knife came down on the cutting board. Tick-tick, and she slid all her thoughts to one side as she slid the mounds of ginger into a bowl.