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" So what's your doll's name?" Boo asked me." Barbie," I said. " All their names are Barbie." " I see," she said. " Well, I'd think that would get boring, everyone having the samename." I thought about this, then said, " Okay, then her name is Sabrina." " Well, that's a very nice name," Boo said. I remember she was baking bread,kneading the doughbetween her thick fingers. " What does she do?" " Do?" I said." Yes." She flipped the dough over and started in on it from the other side. " Whatdoes she do?" " She goes out with Ken," I said." And what else?" " She goes to parties," I said slowly. " And shopping." " Oh," Boo said, nodding." She can't work?" " She doesn't have to work," I said." Why not?" " Because she's Barbie." " I hate to tell you, Caitlin, but somebody has to make payments on that town houseand the Corvette," Boo said cheerfully. " Unless Barbie has a lot of family money." I considered this while I put on Ken's pants.Boo started pushing the dough into a pan, smoothing it with her hand over the top." You know what Ithink, Caitlin?" Her voice was soft and nice, the way she always spoke to me." What?" " I think your Barbie can go shopping, and go out with Ken, and also have aproductive and satisfyingcareer of her own." She opened the oven and slid in the bread pan, adjusting itsposition on the rack." But what can she do?" My mother didn't work and spent her time cleaning thehouse and going to PTA.I couldn't imagine Barbie, whose most casual outfit had sequins and go-go boots,doing s.uch things.Boo came over and plopped right down beside me. I always rememberher being on my level; she'd siton the edge of the sandbox, or lie across her bed with me and Cass as we listened tothe radio." Well," she said thoughtfully, picking up Ken and examining his perfect physique." What do you want todo when you grow up?" I remember this moment so well; I can still see Boo sitting there on the floor, cross-legged, holding myKen and watching my face as she tried to make me see that between my mother'sPTA and Boo'sstrange ways there was a middle ground that began here with my Barbie, Sab-rina,and led right to me." Well," I said abruptly, " I want to be in advertising." I have no idea where this camefrom." Advertising," Boo repeated, nodding. " Okay. Advertising it is. So Sabrina has to goto work every day,coming up with ideas for commercialsand things like that." " She works in an office," I went on. " Sometimes she has to work late." " Sure she does," Boo said. " It's hard to get ahead. Even if you're Barbie." " Because she wants to get promoted," I added. " So she can pay off the town house.And the Corvette." " Very responsible of her," Boo said." Can she be divorced?" I asked. " And famous for her commercialsand ideas?" " She can be anything," Boo told me, and this is what I remember most, her freckledface so solemn, as ifshe knew she was the first to tell me. " And so can you. "
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" A chilled pea soup of insane simplicity, garnished with creme fraiche and celery leaves. Roasted beet salad with poached pears and goat cheese. Rack of lamb wrapped in crispy prosciutto, served over a celery root and horseradish puree, with sautéed spicy black kale. A thin-as-paper apple galette with fig glaze. Everything turned out brilliantly, including Patrick, who roused himself as I was pulling the lamb from the oven to rest before carving. He disappeared into the bathroom for ten minutes and came out shiny; green pallor and under-eye bags gone like magic. Pink with health and vitality, polished and ridiculously handsome, he looked as if he could run a marathon, and I was gobsmacked. He came up behind me just as I was finishing his port sauce for the lamb with a sprinkle of honey vinegar and a bit of butter, the only changes I made to any of his recipes, finding the sauce without them a bit one-dimensional and in need of edge smoothing. "
― Stacey Ballis , Off the Menu
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" She had other favourite lines. Our gas oven blew up. The repairman came out and said he didn't like the look of it, which was unsurprising as the oven and the wall were black. Mrs Winterson replied, 'It's a fault to heaven, a fault against the dead, and a fault to nature.' That is a heavy load for a gas oven to bear.
She liked that phrase and it was more than once used towards me; when some well-wisher asked how I was, Mrs W looked down and sighed, 'She's a fault to heaven, a fault against the dead, and a fault to nature.'
This was even worse for me than it had been for the gas oven. I was particularly worried about the 'dead' part, and wondered which buried and unfortunate relative I had so offended. "
― Jeanette Winterson , Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?