47
" Beneath the window, set between gravel walkways, a few woody lavenders, etiolated rosemary bushes, and ornamental thyme made up the aromatherapy garden that he had seen described in the brochure. Beyond this, however, running a long arc down the gentle slope of lawn, camellias in unrestrained bloom provided an alternative tonic. The lawn gave way to a flower garden, itself fringed by a wood, so that the incarcerated had at least the consolation of a pleasant enough outlook.
Gabe stood in front of the fireplace and examined the painting that hung above the mantelpiece. It was a still life. It showed two apples and a brown and white feather laid on a velvet cloth on a table placed by a window. Although the picture was not, Gabriel assumed, of the highest artistic value, and was cheap enough to reside at Greenglades, and though it could not be said to have a photographic reality, and though he suspected it of not being "good," he was drawn to look at it and could see the ripeness of the velvet, reckon the bursting crispness of the apples, and the feather had a certain quality that he had never before observed, just as the painted window offered something that he had failed to notice at all when looking through the real one: the texture, the tone, the way the light fell, the very glassness of the glass. "
― Monica Ali , In the Kitchen
50
" First, a Livarot, strong and herby, sassy as its green-striped paper casing. For subtle contrast, he went for two dozen Crottin de Chavignol. The cheese man tried to push the Bleu du Vercors. Gabe tasted and rejected it. "Your classic French mountain cheese," said the cheese man. He named three celebrity chefs. "Swear by it, they do, all three. Your classic creamy sauce cheese." Gabe moved about the van, paring and tasting, getting high on the fumes. He had decided he would take a ten-kilo Cantalet that had just enough hazelnut edge without it overwhelming the fresh milk flavor. "
― Monica Ali , In the Kitchen