{"product_id":"love-saffron-isbn-9780593419359","title":"Love \u0026 Saffron","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe Instant National Bestseller and #1 Indie Next Pick\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eFor fans of \u003ci\u003eThe Correspondent \u003c\/i\u003eby Virginia Evans and \u003ci\u003e84, Charing Cross Road\u003c\/i\u003e, this witty and tender novel follows two women in 1960s America as they discover that food really does connect us all, and that friendship and laughter are the best medicine.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eTwo strangers. One recipe. A friendship for the ages.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCreamy risotto alla Milanese. Mussels in a hot, buttery broth. Chicken spiced with cinnamon and cloves. Joan Bergstrom and Imogen Fortier understand the key to a savored life—delicious food. Young Joan is just discovering herself as a foodwriter in bustling Los Angeles, while experienced columnist Imogen is settled in her decades-long marriage on Camano Island outside Seattle. When Joan sends a fan letter to Imogen with an enclosed packet of saffron and a recipe, their journey of culinary exploration and soul-deep friendship begins. A long-lost flavor surfaces buried memories, and a quest to make carne asada opens the doors of a sheltered life. Into this beautiful, intimate world comes the ultimate test of their friendship, and of their belief that food and love can sustain us during our darkest hours.\u003cb\u003eOne of \u003ci\u003eBookreporter\u003c\/i\u003e’s Favorite Books of 2022\u003cbr\u003e One of \u003ci\u003eThe Buzz Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e’s Best Books of 2022 \u003cbr\u003e Shortlisted for the 2022 RUSA Reading List for Relationship Fiction\u003cbr\u003e One of \u003ci\u003eZibby Mag’s \u003c\/i\u003eTen Books to Awaken Your Appetite\u003cbr\u003e One of \u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e’s Historical Fiction Bestsellers for June 2022\u003cbr\u003e One of \u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e’s Editors’ Choice for Audiobooks \u003cbr\u003e One of \u003ci\u003eWit and Delight\u003c\/i\u003e’s 6 Meaningful, Captivating Books to Gift this Holiday Season\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Impossible to put down… By the end, I was shedding tears along with the characters, and felt as if I’d made two friends. This is an irresistible story of two women from a lost time, both determined to make the best of things.\" —\u003ci\u003eThe Seattle Times\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Delicious food, wonderful characters, and adventures abound in this delightful story that simmers with affection.” —\u003ci\u003eChristian Science Monitor\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Food is far from the only thing to provide nourishment: I absolutely loved this novel….I wanted to go on reading it forever.” —Nigella Lawson, author of \u003ci\u003eCook, Eat, Repeat\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Insanely cozy and has stayed with me for months. Be prepared to crave literally every dish mentioned including a cold glass of Chablis and clams…From recipes to sickness, racism, and love, two unlikely women face the worlds they live in and find comfort in each other.” –\u003ci\u003eZibby Mag\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Unutterably delightful… Perfect for those burned out by current news cycles, \u003ci\u003eLove \u0026amp; Saffron\u003c\/i\u003e is a gentle escape to the past, and also a reminder both that others have survived ‘unprecedented times,’ and that deep connections can be made even when people are physically separated.” —\u003ci\u003eShelf Awareness\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Part historical fiction, part friendship saga, and part carnival for the senses, \u003ci\u003eLove \u0026amp; Saffron\u003c\/i\u003e isn't just for food lovers—it's an ode to risk-takers, trailblazers, and the chefs in all of us….A sweet, savory, and emotional pleasure. It's like a dinner with friends you won't want to end.\" —J. Ryan Stradal, author of \u003ci\u003eKitchens of the Great Midwest\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The story leaves the reader wanting more-more recipes, more letters, more time in the gentle, unfolding friendship of these two women. A glimpse into a friendship that doesn't hesitate to touch on joy, sadness, love, and death.\" —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A delectable second novel showing how food can bring people together, even across distances and cultures…Fay’s emotionally generous novel demonstrates how people’s worlds can expand when they open themselves to new possibilities. Readers will be touched by this enriching tale and inspired to embark on their own international culinary adventures.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “This gentle story about female friendship is sure to be a hit with foodies and fans of early 1960s America.” —\u003ci\u003eHistorical Novels Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Warm, delicious, and absolutely satisfying—I devoured it in one enthusiastic gulp!”—Meg Waite Clayton, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Last Train to London\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Postmistress of Paris\u003c\/i\u003eBorn and raised in Washington State, \u003cb\u003eKim Fay\u003c\/b\u003e is a former bookseller and the author of \u003ci\u003eCommunion: A Culinary Journey Through Vietnam\u003c\/i\u003e, a Gourmand World Cookbook Award winner, and \u003ci\u003eThe Map of Lost Memories\u003c\/i\u003e, an Edgar Award finalist for Best First Novel. Fay lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Jim, and their dog, Mabel. \u003ci\u003eLove \u0026amp; Saffron\u003c\/i\u003e is her second novel. \u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eOctober 8, 1962\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles, Calif.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDear Mrs. Fortier,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI hope this letter finds you well. For that matter, I hope it finds you, since I am sending it to Northwest Home \u0026amp; Life magazine, where I so enjoyed your recent tale about digging for clams. I laughed out loud at your smug heron and briny crown of kelp. I admire women who do not care if they look foolish in front of others, even though I am not one of them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI am a dedicated reader of \"Letter from the Island,\" and I send my congratulations for your ten-year anniversary as its author. I have known it from the beginning when I was seventeen. Mother loves her magazine subscriptions, and every month, as soon as they arrive, she folds back the pages to her favorite columns. The first two she reads are always yours and Gladys Taber's \"Butternut Wisdom\" in Family Circle. I prefer yours. It makes me feel like I am having a conversation with a good friend, and your enthusiasm for life has taught me to be more aware of my own world around me, and especially the outdoors. Believe it or not, Los Angeles has much to offer in the way of natural beauty if you pay close attention.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI notice you have written about mussels a few times, but you only ever mention cooking clams. I recently learned a creative mussel recipe from a Frenchwoman I met on a voyage to the Far East. I am enclosing a packet of saffron from that voyage. It is my small way of thanking you for \"Letter from the Island.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor steamed mussels, in a stockpot add a generous pinch of saffron, coarsely chopped garlic, and parsley to a half cup melted butter. The red enamel pot you mentioned in your column about racing Dungeness crabs, the one with the pockmark from your niece's Red Ryder BB gun, will do perfectly. If you can't find fresh garlic, shallots can be substituted, but in my opinion, without fresh garlic the dish isn't worth making. The Frenchwoman told me the addition of a cup or so of white wine is considered standard for this broth, but she prefers vermouth. I agree with her. It gives the dish a crisp, botanical flavor, and I can save my Chablis for drinking with my meal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYour not-so-secret admirer,\u003cbr\u003eMiss Joan Bergstrom\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFROM THE DESK OF MRS. IMOGEN FORTIER\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOctober 12, 1962\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eCamano Island, Wash.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDear Miss Bergstrom,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGreetings from the eye of the storm. Typhoon Freda churned to life a few days ago in the far reaches of the Pacific and got it into her stormy head to roar in our direction. I wonder, is she still a typhoon once she lands on American shores? Meteorological semantics isn't my area of expertise, and my trusty Britannicas are safely hunkered down on the shelves at home. Francis and I came out to the cabin for the Columbus Day weekend to pick mussels and try the saffron you so thoughtfully sent. Instead, we've been battening our hatches.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eApologies for the tottery penmanship. I didn't bring my typewriter with me since my intention was to write to you next week after I made your recipe with great success. Not only do I not mind looking foolish, I'm an optimist! Unfortunately, we didn't collect a single mussel, and I'm writing by the light of a kerosene lantern because the power has gone out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI'm writing rather than pacing because my pacing was driving Francis crazy. He finally told me to do something to take my mind off the storm. Easier said than done. This afternoon the sky turned black and filled with spectral yellow streaks, and now it feels like our wood-clad cabin will wash away at any minute. This isn't an unreasonable fear, considering it's old wartime housing that we had floated to its present location four years ago on a barge from the naval shipyard down west of Seattle. I've never experienced gales like this before, or maybe I have, but the windstorm of 1934 came at the height of the Depression when I was a weary housewife, feeling a thousand years old rather than the thirty-one I actually was, and my larder was down to a questionable jar of dried beef. A house blown off its foundation seemed like the least of our worries during those bleak times.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI tried reading but can't concentrate on the only unread novel here on our shelves. A Book of the Month selection, Rabbit, Run, by a self-satisfied-looking stuffed shirt named John Updike. It was left behind by my friend Hazel. After tormenting myself with a few morose chapters, I began to suspect Hazel abandoned it on purpose. While the storm could fairly be blamed for my lack of charity, I'm sure I would find this book a toil in clear weather, too. The protagonist gazes at his navel as if he is the first man in history to have feelings of dissatisfaction about his life. He doesn't have any interest at all in making the best of things. I wish I'd brought the new Nero Wolfe to read instead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI hope you don't find it insulting that I'm using you for my mandated distraction. I do realize I'm rambling. I was pleased to receive the saffron, which I read about in an article by Elizabeth David. I think it was in Gourmet. Does she write for Gourmet? Or maybe it was in one of M. F. K. Fisher's delectable books, but now that I think about it, perhaps Freya Stark mentioned saffron in her writings about Persia. Rambling, indeed. Francis calls it my specialty and says that if I were paid for it, we'd be rich. Anyhow, at your mention of your Far East voyage, I immediately pictured you tall and most certainly elegant, draped in silk, perched on a camel in a spice bazaar. My fascination with National Geographic gives me a vivid imagination. I'm not an adventuress like you, though. My spirit and appetite wander extravagantly through the pages of books and magazines, but my body and stomach stick close to home with few exceptions, Canada and Yellowstone, and a long-ago visit to San Francisco where I enjoyed chipeeno (I'm positive I'm not spelling that correctly) at the Old Clam House.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI close with a heartfelt thank-you for your intriguing gift and generous words about my column. I'm always surprised when I receive a fan letter, since I associate them with movie stars and grand authors like Edna Ferber and Pearl S. Buck. I've never considered myself a professional writer. Occasional vignettes in a garden club newsletter were seen by a former high school classmate in a position of editorial power, and voila! For a decade now, \"Letters from the Island\" has been a monthly staple in Northwest Home \u0026amp; Life. I send additional gratitude for giving me good reason to put pen to page while the wind whips, the windows shudder, and the roof shakes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith warm regards,\u003cbr\u003eMrs. Imogen Fortier\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eP.S. My thanks as well to your mother for bringing my column into your home, and as a result, your gracious letter to me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eDecember 12, 1962\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles, Calif.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDear Mrs. Fortier,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter I mailed my letter to you, I worried that you would consider it impertinent, especially the part where I gave you cooking advice, as if you of all people need advice on cooking shellfish. I was relieved when you replied, and with such kindness. It is my turn to thank you for providing me with a necessary distraction.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYour letter arrived in my mailbox three days into the Cuban crisis. There is an air raid siren a block from my house, and Mother shouted a curse on the bald head of old Nikita every time it practiced wailing. Between the sirens and her outbursts, my nerves began to fray. Your mention of Elizabeth David reminded me of her recipe for risotto alla Milanese, which I have wanted to try for a long time. As I am sure was the case in your area, the grocery store shelves went bare as everyone prepared for end times. In a harebrained panic, I rushed to C \u0026amp; K Importing for their gallon cans of artichoke hearts, and by the time I got to the Mayfair, all the macaroni and bottled water were gone. Fortunately, I already had the ingredients for risotto in my pantry.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was a balm to turn my attention to rice and butter. It was my own small way of rebuffing shattered nerves and the Reds, although I suppose hamburgers or hot dogs would have been a more appropriate form of patriotic resistance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI made enough risotto to fuel the entire naval blockade. Instead, I invited the neighbors for dinner, along with their carpenter, Mr. Rodriguez, who was over building special cabinets for their fallout shelter. Everyone enjoyed it. Mrs. David's approach is to pound the saffron in a mortar and then steep it in broth before adding the liquid at the end of the recipe.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRegarding your comment about my looks, I am tall but hardly elegant, and as for my being an adventuress, while it is flattering, it is also untrue. I cannot begin to imagine traipsing into the woods to hunt for elk with your passel of sisters-in-law, as you described them in your column a few years back. Five women alone in the wild. That is adventure. I have simply always had an interest in people from other countries. I like the way their kitchens smell. At Stanford I was drawn to students from India because they cooked up little pots of curry in their rooms.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy Far East voyage came about through Mother's friend Jean Bartel, who has traveled all over the world. She suggested that it would broaden my horizons, and Mother is a firm believer in this. Mrs. Bartel is a remarkable woman, a former Miss America. She even hosts her own travel program called It's a Woman's World. After my graduation, she made arrangements for a cabin for me on a Norwegian freighter and set up the land portions with lodgings in Hong Kong, Singapore, and Bangkok. There were twelve passengers on the ship. We were met by a representative at each port and fully escorted to restaurants and cultural sites. As you can see, it was a tame trip. Nor did I sit on any camels, since they are not found in that part of the world, but I did pet a well-behaved elephant named TipTop. I also bought beautiful shawls at the Thai Silk Company. It is the same company whose fabrics outfitted The King and I on Broadway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe news reports about your Columbus Day storm were harrowing, and the photographs of the aftermath remind me of our earthquakes. I hope your cabin survived unscathed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYour not-so-secret admirer still,\u003cbr\u003eMiss Joan Bergstrom\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eP.S. I am also a Nero Wolfe fan, and I enjoy Simenon, as well. My favorite local writer of suspense novels is Charlotte Armstrong.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eP.P.S. If you don't have Elizabeth David's Italian Food please let me know. I will copy the risotto recipe and send it to you.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFROM THE DESK OF MRS. IMOGEN FORTIER\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eJanuary 5, 1963\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eCamano Island, Wash.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDear Miss Bergstrom,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf you won't consider yourself an adventuress when it comes to travel, at least please admit that you're one in the kitchen. I'm glad my letter helped you weather the Cuban crisis. Up here in our soggy neck of the woods, I trembled in a state of shock, and Francis was struck with a violent migraine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMen are such obvious creatures. During the storm he could do practical things to safeguard us, such as nail plywood over windows, secure the boat, etc. etc. During the standoff he could only sit glued to the radio and wait for Kennedy and Khrushchev's despicable game of double-dog dare to run its course. Women are groomed to accept a certain degree of helplessness, but men, especially men like Francis who fought face-to-face in the trenches, are unsettled I believe by this new, impersonal style of warfare. Maybe that's why I didn't like the John Updike novel I wrote about to you. It's selfish to have one of these faddish existential crises when there are so many more genuine concerns, like the next Hiroshima.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrancis and I finally tried your recipe, and I must fess up. We've never had mussels before. We always thought of them as freeloaders clinging where they're not wanted, and you must agree, their beards are unappetizing. What a small-minded misjudgment on our part. I didn't have garlic or even shallots, so I had to chop an Italian red onion. Mea culpa! But you're right about the vermouth. What a divine flavor. I will never look at those ebony shellfish the same way again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI want to reciprocate. I don't have anything as exotic as saffron. I hope a jar of my blackberry jelly will do. As you know, I write often about picking wild native blackberries. It's a chore since they're not easy game like the big purple bubbles that grow all over the sides of the road around here. Whenever I set out to hunt for a hidden patch in an old clear-cut, Francis accuses me of looking like a hobo with my canvas sunhat, khaki trousers, and Folger's cans tied over my shoulders. I don't care. When I'm in the brambles, I'm happy as a clam at high tide. Just writing to you about it makes me wish for July mornings. There's always a perfect moment when the sun strikes the bushes and a deep, sweet, earthy smell rises into the air.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYour mention of Italian Food gave me an excuse to drive into Seattle for a visit to Shorey's booksellers. They didn't have a copy on hand but assured me they will chase one down and mail it to me. In the meantime, I found a novel by Charlotte Armstrong. Have you read The Seventeen Widows of Sans Souci yet? If you have, please don't give anything away. Once I finish, I'll let you know and we can share our thoughts on it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou also mentioned your neighbor's carpenter, Mr. Rodriguez. I believe there's a large Mexican population in Los Angeles. Despite my extensive culinary reading, my palate is embarrassingly sheltered. Can you recommend any Mexican recipes for me to try? Francis surprised me by how much he loved your broth for steamed mussels, not to mention how much he loved mussels, and your travels inspire me to become more international in the kitchen. After your saffron, the most exciting spice in my cabinet is paprika. What would a good American housewife's rotating dinner party repertoire be without Hungarian chicken? Mea culpa-again! We eat with scant creativity, grilling fish and roasting meat. Francis would live off cans of Dinty Moore beef stew if I weren't here to make pot roast. Like any couple married so long (forty years!), we're probably too set in our ways.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThank you for allowing me the pleasure of rambling once again. \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e With warm regards, \u003cbr\u003e Mrs. Imogen Fortier\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e P.S. Since you refuse the description adventuress, I propose cosmopolitan. After all, you’re a city girl, as well as family friends with a former Miss America. The closest I come to such distinction is a second cousin who was a runner-up for Ellensburg Rodeo queen.  \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e P.P.S. While our dormant rhododendrons took a beating in the storm, our cabin is intact, and Francis is the talk of our Maple Grove Beach. The morning after the storm, all the boats that had been tied to the buoys out front were found down on the rocks past the boat ramp. All except for Francis’s! His had moved down the shore a bit, but it was still attached to its buoy. My clever husband used two lines, so even though the lead line broke, the backup line held. Needless to say, he was pleased as punch about that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eJanuary 19, 1963\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e Los Angeles, Calif.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Dear Mrs. Fortier,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYour jelly puts Welch’s to shame. As I ate it on a fresh croissant from the French bakery at the Farmers Market down the street from my house, I savored the image you painted with your words. I would love to spend a summer morning in the Pacific Northwest sunshine picking wild blackberries. I also crave your back yard access to crisp apples, plums, and pears, although I am not sure I would trade them for the grapefruit and oranges I pluck from my own trees for breakfast whenever I like.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou are correct. There is a large Mexican community in Los Angeles. Scarcely a century ago, this part of America was another country entirely. It makes for exciting food discoveries. I take Spanish lessons with regular trips to Tijuana and down the Baja peninsula for extra practice in case the borders ever shift again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy favorite Mexican dish is the tamale, but it is not easy to make, and I suspect you would not be able to find all the ingredients you need up in your Nordic region, especially masa flour which is a special ground corn. I asked Mr. Rodriguez if his wife has any simple dinner recipes she could recommend. It turns out that he is a widower and did all the cooking for his two daughters when they were growing up. He claims to enjoy it. Imagine that. A man other than James Beard who loves to labor in the kitchen. He suggests carne asada. He is taking me to his local mercado on Saturday to stock a basic Mexican pantry. I will try the recipe first before sending it to you.","brand":"G.P. Putnam's Sons","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305445544165,"sku":"NP9780593419359","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593419359.jpg?v=1767731908","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/love-saffron-isbn-9780593419359","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}