{"product_id":"stealing-buddhas-dinner-isbn-9780143113034","title":"Stealing Buddha's Dinner","description":"\u003cb\u003eWinner of the PEN\/Jerard Award\u003cbr\u003eChicago Tribune Best Book of the Year\u003cbr\u003eKiriyama Notable Book\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"[A] perfectly pitched and prodigiously detailed memoir.\" - Boston Globe\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs a Vietnamese girl coming of age in Grand Rapids, Michigan, Nguyen is filled with a rapacious hunger for American identity, and in the pre-PC-era Midwest (where the Jennifers and Tiffanys reign supreme), the desire to belong transmutes into a passion for American food. More exotic- seeming than her Buddhist grandmother's traditional specialties, the campy, preservative-filled \"delicacies\" of mainstream America capture her imagination. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In \u003ci\u003eStealing Buddha's Dinner\u003c\/i\u003e, the glossy branded allure of Pringles, Kit Kats, and Toll House Cookies becomes an ingenious metaphor for Nguyen's struggle to become a \"real\" American, a distinction that brings with it the dream of the perfect school lunch, burgers and Jell- O for dinner, and a visit from the Kool-Aid man. Vivid and viscerally powerful, this remarkable memoir about growing up in the 1980s introduces an original new literary voice and an entirely new spin on the classic assimilation story.\"[A] perfectly pitched and prodigiously detailed memoir.\" -- \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eBoston Globe\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\"Relevant not only to anyone who's ever lusted after the perfect snack . . . but anyone who's ever felt like an outsider.\" - \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eSan Francisco Chronicle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"A charming memoir . . . Her prose is engaging, precise, compact.\" -\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Her typical and not-so-typical childhood experiences give her story a universal flavor.\" -\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"[D]eftly crafted . . . Far from being a memoir of what could be described as fitting into the kitschy ethnic-lit genre, her story is at once personal and broad, about one Vietnamese refugee navigating U.S. culture as well as an exploration of identity. . . . [S]he pays equal attention to the rhythm and poignancy of language to build her story as she does the circumstances into which she was born.\" -- Michael Standaert, \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"The author's prose is lovely and her imagery fresh. And in her recreation of a world populated by Family Ties [and] Ritz crackers . . . she has captured the 1980s with perfection. . . . This debut suggests she's a writer to watch.\" \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e-- Kirkus Reviews\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Nguyen brings back moments and sensations with such vivid clarity that readers will find themselves similarly jolted back in time. She's a sensuous writer--colors and textures weave together in her work to create a living fabric. This book should be bought and read anytime your soul hungers for bright language and close observation.\" - Emily Carter Roiphe, \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eMinneapolis Star Tribune\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eBich Minh Nguyen\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of three books: the memoir \u003ci\u003eStealing Buddha's Dinner \u003c\/i\u003eand the novels \u003ci\u003eShort Girls \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003ePioneer Girl\u003c\/i\u003e. Her awards and honors include an American Book Award, a PEN\/Jerard Award from the PEN American Center, a Bread Loaf fellowship, and best book of the year honors from the Chicago Tribune and Library Journal. Nguyen's work has also appeared in numerous anthologies and publications including \u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker,\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eThe Paris Review\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times, \u003c\/i\u003eand\u003ci\u003e Literary Hub.\u003c\/i\u003e  Nguyen received an MFA in creative writing from the University of Michigan, where she won Hopwood Awards in fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. She has taught at Purdue University and the University of San Francisco and is currently a professor in the MFA program in creative writing at the University of Wisconsin, Madison.\u003cp\u003eTable of Contents\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAbout the Author\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTitle Page\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCopyright Page\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDedication\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e1 - Pringles\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e2 - Forbidden Fruit\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e3 - Dairy Cone\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e4 - Fast Food Asian\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e5 - Toll House Cookies\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e6 - School Lunch\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e7 - American Meat\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e8 - Green Sticky Rice Cakes\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e9 - Down with Grapes\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e10 - Bread and Honey\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e11 - Salt Pork\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e12 - Holiday Tamales\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e13 - Stealing Buddha’s Dinner\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e14 - Ponderosa\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e15 - Mooncakes\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e16 - Cha Gio\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAuthor’s Note\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAcknowledgements\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePENGUIN BOOKS STEALING BUDDHA’S DINNER\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBich Minh Nguyen (first name pronounced Bit) teaches literature and creative writing at Purdue University. She lives with her husband, the novelist Porter Shreve, in Chicago and West Lafayette, Indiana.\u003ci\u003e Stealing Buddha’s Dinner\u003c\/i\u003e, her first book, was the recipient of the PEN\/Jerard Fund Award. She is currently at work on a novel,\u003ci\u003e Short Girls\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePraise for\u003ci\u003e Stealing Buddha’s Dinner\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“A charming memoir . . . Her prose is engaging, precise, compact.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“[D]eftly crafted . . . Far from being a memoir or what could be described as fitting into the kitschy ethnic-lit genre, her story is at once personal and broad, about one Vietnamese refugee navigating U.S. culture as well as an exploration of identity. . . . [S]he pays equal attention to the rhythm and poignancy of language to build her story as she does the circumstances into which she was born.” —\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Nguyen . . . succeeds as an author on many levels. She is a brave writer who is willing to share intimate family memories many of us would choose to keep secret. Her prose effortlessly pulls readers into her worlds. Her typical and not-so-typical childhood experiences give her story a universal flavor.” —\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hilarious and poignant, her words will go straight to your heart.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—\u003ci\u003eDaily Candy\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Nguyen brings back moments and sensations with such vivid clarity that readers will find themselves similarly jolted back in time. She’s a sensuous writer—colors and textures weave together in her work to create a living fabric. This book should be bought and read anytime your soul hungers for bright language and close observation.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—\u003ci\u003eStar Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e (Minneapolis)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s the premise that makes the book relevant not only to anyone who’s ever lusted after the perfect snack, but anyone who’s ever felt different. Clever turns of phrase make Nguyen’s book read quickly, and children of the ’80s will be able to reminisce about pop culture along with her. The story resonates with anyone who’s ever felt like an outsider.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSan Francisco Chronicle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“\u003ci\u003eStealing Buddha’s Dinner\u003c\/i\u003e is beautifully written. Nguyen . . . surely knows how to craft and shape sentences. She understands the evocative possibilities of language, is fearless in asserting the specificities of memories culled from early childhood and is, herself, an appealing character on the page. I believe Nguyen is a writer to watch, a tremendous talent with a gift for gorgeous sentences.” —\u003ci\u003eChicago Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"The story of how one young girl could absorb all these cultural influences and assimilate drives\u003ci\u003e Stealing Buddha’s Dinner\u003c\/i\u003e and Nguyen makes the journey both fiercely individual and universal.” —\u003ci\u003eDetroit Free Press\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Nguyen is a gifted storyteller who doles out humor and hurt in equal portions.\u003ci\u003e Stealing Buddha’s Dinner\u003c\/i\u003e [is] a tasty read. This memoir, which is also a tribute to ‘all the bad [American] food, fashion, music, and hair of the deep 1980s,’ feels vivid, true, and even nostalgic.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Christian Science Monitor\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“[A] pungent, precisely captured memoir.” —\u003ci\u003eElle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“[Nguyen] makes the inability to fit in the springboard for a gracefully told remembrance that mixes the amusing and the touching to wonderful effect. She writes with Zen-like wisdom.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Hartford Courant\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The author’s prose is lovely and her imagery fresh. And in her re-creation of a world populated by\u003ci\u003e Family Ties\u003c\/i\u003e [and] Ritz crackers . . . she has captured the 1980s with perfection. . . . This debut suggests she’s a writer to watch.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"’I came of age before ethnic was cool,’ the author writes in her carefully crafted memoir of growing up in western Michigan as a Vietnamese refugee in the early 1980s....What seems most to have caught her eye and fired her imagination, then as now, was food, which not only provides the title for each chapter of the memoir but also serves as a convenient shorthand for the cultural (and metaphorical) differences between Toll House cookies and green sticky rice cakes, between Pringles and\u003ci\u003e chao gio\u003c\/i\u003e, between American and Vietnamese. It’s a clever device and—like the book itself—leaves the reader hungry for more.” —\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Only a truly gifted writer could make me long for the Kool-Aid, Rice-a-Roni, and Kit Kats celebrated in\u003ci\u003e Stealing Buddha’s Dinner\u003c\/i\u003e. In this charming, funny, original memoir about growing up as an outsider in America, Bich Nguyen takes you on a journey you won’t forget. I can hardly wait for what comes next.” —Judy Blume\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"At once sad and funny, full of brass, energy, and startling insights,  \u003ci\u003eStealing Buddha’s Dinner\u003c\/i\u003e is a charmer of a memoir. Bich Nguyen’s story ranges from the pleasures of popular culture to the richness of personal history, from American fast foods to traditional Vietnamese fare. It is an irresistible tale.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—Diana Abu-Jaber, author of\u003ci\u003e Origin\u003c\/i\u003e and\u003ci\u003e The Language of Baklava\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Bich Nguyen’s\u003ci\u003e Stealing Buddha’s Dinner\u003c\/i\u003e is an irresistible memoir of assimilation, compassion, family, and food. Who would have thought that SpaghettiOs, Nestlé Quik, and Pringles could seem as wonderfully exotic to a Vietnamese refugee as shrimp curry and spring rolls seem to the average Midwesterner, but that’s part of the tasty surprise of this wonderful debut.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—Dinty W. Moore, author of\u003ci\u003e The Accidental Buddhist: Mindfulness, Enlightenment, and Sitting Still\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Frank, tender, unsettling,\u003ci\u003e Stealing Buddha’s Dinner\u003c\/i\u003e by Bich Minh Nguyen moves the reader with each event and image. Bich’s grandparents ‘gathered up the family and fled Vietnam to start over on the other side of the world’ in 1975. Her own and her family’s subtle and brutal collisions in Grand Rapids, Michigan, are rendered true and palpable by the writer’s candid imagination. In fiction and nonfiction, the reality of a character’s life lies in how it is experienced. Nguyen’s immigrant childhood resonates, as she captures the experience of two cultures’ clashing smells, religions, hairstyles, clothes, habits, and, especially, foods. As she writes it, her grandmother’s gathering toadstools in their backyard garden sets them apart from their neighbors absolutely but also ineffably. America’s foundational story is the immigrant’s tale, and, with its new citizens, the country continuously remakes itself. Similarly, Nguyen’s unique writerly vision, her innovative and pungent voice, reinvents and renews this venerable theme.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—Lynne Tillman, judge for the PEN\/Jerard Fund Award\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePENGUIN BOOKS\u003cbr\u003ePublished by the Penguin Group\u003cbr\u003ePenguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.\u003cbr\u003ePenguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,\u003cbr\u003eOntario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)\u003cbr\u003ePenguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England\u003cbr\u003ePenguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)\u003cbr\u003ePenguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell,\u003cbr\u003eVictoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)\u003cbr\u003ePenguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre,\u003cbr\u003ePanchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India\u003cbr\u003ePenguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632,\u003cbr\u003eNew Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)\u003cbr\u003ePenguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue,\u003cbr\u003eRosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFirst published in the United States of America by Viking Penguin, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 2007 Published in Penguin Books 2008\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCopyright © Bich Minh Nguyen, 2007\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll rights reserved\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePortions of this book were published as the selections “A World Without Measurements” in\u003ci\u003e Gourmet;\u003c\/i\u003e  “Toadstools” in\u003ci\u003e Dream Me Home Safely: Writers on Growing Up in America,\u003c\/i\u003e edited by Susan Richards Shreve (Houghton Mifflin, 2003); and “The Good Immigrant Student” in\u003ci\u003e Tales Out of School: Contemporary Writers on Their Student Years,\u003c\/i\u003e edited by Susan Richards Shreve and Porter Shreve (Beacon Press, 2001).\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeISBN : 978-0-143-11303-4\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003efor my family\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003e1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003ePringles\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eWE ARRIVED IN GRAND RAPIDS WITH FIVE DOLLARS\u003c\/b\u003e  and a knapsack of clothes. Mr. Heidenga, our sponsor, set us up with a rental house, some groceries—boxed rice, egg noodles, cans of green beans—and gave us dresses his daughters had outgrown. He hired my father to work a filling machine at North American Feather. Mr. Heidenga wore wide sport coats and had yellow hair. My sister and I were taught to say his name in a hushed tone to show respect. But if he stopped by to check on us my grandmother would tell us to be silent because that was part of being good.\u003ci\u003e Hello, girls,\u003c\/i\u003e he would say, stooping to pat us on the head.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was July 1975, but we were cold. Always cold, after Vietnam, and my uncle Chu Cuong rashly spent two family dollars on a jacket from the Salvation Army, earning my grandmother’s scorn. For there were seven of us to feed in that gray house on Baldwin Street: my father, Grandmother Noi, Uncles Chu Cuong, Chu Anh, and Chu Dai (who wasn’t really an uncle but Cuong’s best friend), and my sister and me. Upstairs belonged to the uncles, and downstairs my sister and I shared a room with Noi. My father did not know how to sleep through the night. He paced around the house, double-checking the lock on the front door; he glanced sideways out the taped-up windows, in case someone was watching from the street. When at last he settled down on the living room sofa, a tweedy green relic from Mr. Heidenga’s basement, he kept one hand on the sword he had bought from a pawnshop with his second paycheck. My father had showed my sister and me the spiral carvings on the handle. He turned the sword slowly, its dull metal almost gleaming, and let us feel the weight of the blade.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn Baldwin Street all of the houses were porched and lop-sided, missing slats and posts like teeth knocked out of a sad face. Great heaps of rusted cars lined the curbs, along with beer bottles that sparkled in any hint of sunlight. I spent a lot of time staring at the street, waiting for something to happen or someone to appear. Chu Anh got a job working second shift at a tool and die plant, and sometimes he and my father would meet each other on the street, coming and going from the bus stop.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy sister was also named Anh, but with an accent no one pronounces anymore. A year older than I, she was the ruler of all our toys. We amassed a closet full of them, thanks to the bins at our sponsor’s church. We had so much, we became reckless. We threw Slinkies until they tangled and drowned paper dolls. Someone gave us tricycles and we traveled the house relentlessly, forgetting our uncles sleeping upstairs. We didn’t know that they had to get up in the middle of the night, or that our father competed for pillows and comforters from the reject pile at work. We didn’t know that we were among the lucky.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI remember bare feet on old wood floors; shivering after a bath. Noi knitted heavy sweaters from marled-colored rayon my father bought at Kmart. Puffs of steam rose from the kitchen stove where she cooked our daily rice. One blizzard morning, Noi let my sister and me run outside in our pajamas and fuzzy slippers. The snow fell on my face and for a moment I laughed and waved. Then a gust of wind sent me tumbling into a snow-bank and I screamed so much, Noi thought the weather had turned into an attack. She snatched us up and ran inside.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe had been living on Baldwin Street for almost a year when Mr. Heidenga invited us to dinner at his family’s massive, pillared house in East Grand Rapids. The Heidengas had a cook, like Alice on\u003ci\u003e The Brady Bunch,\u003c\/i\u003e and she must have fed us—me, my sister Anh, and the Heidenga daughters, all sequestered together in the kitchen. But I don’t remember eating anything. I only remember staring, and silence, and Heather Heidenga— who might have been Marcia, with that oval face—opening a canister of Pringles. Anh and I were transfixed by the bright red cylinder and the mustache grin on Mr. Pringles’s broad, pale face. The Heidenga girl pried off the top and crammed a handful of chips into her mouth. We watched the crumbs fall from her fingers to the floor.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMrs. Heidenga swished into the kitchen to see how we were doing. Later, my father would swear that she served them raw hamburgers for dinner. Mrs. Heidenga was tall and blond, glamorous in a pastel pantsuit and clicking heels. When she touched her daughters’ hair her bracelets clattered richly. Nicole Heidenga, who was younger than her sister but older than mine, waited for her mother to go back to the dining room. She shoved her hand into the can of Pringles and said, “Where’s your mom?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnh and I made no answer. We had none to give.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe had left Vietnam in the spring of 1975, when my sister was two and I was eight months old. By then, everyone in Saigon knew the war was lost, and to stay meant being sent to reeducation camps, or worse. The neighbors spoke of executions and what the Communists would do to their children; they talked of people vanished and tortured—a haunting reminder of what my grandfather had endured in the North. My father heard that some Americans were going to airlift children out of the country, and he wondered if he could get Anh and me on one of those planes. Operation Babylift it was called, and over the course of April would carry away two thousand children. But on April 4 the first flight crashed at the Tan Son Nhut air base, killing most on board. My father decided he had to find another way, though time was running out for Saigon. Americans were fleeing. Wealthy Vietnamese worked bribes to get any route out. Masses of would-be refugees mobbed the airport.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn the morning of April 29 the last helicopters rose from the roofs of the American Embassy. The North Vietnamese were closing in, firing rockets at the downtown neighborhoods, where looters were still smashing in windows. Tanks would be rolling into the presidential palace by the next day. Chu Cuong, who was based at the naval headquarters, called Chu Anh at the army communications center. Two dozen ships had been waiting at the Saigon River for the past month, preparing for the end. Now it was time.\u003ci\u003e I’m getting on a ship,\u003c\/i\u003e Chu Cuong said.\u003ci\u003e You get the family on any one you can. Go now.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe had been to the United States for training missions— there’s a photograph of him confident and grinning in hip-slung bell-bottoms, his hair windblown while the Statue of Liberty rises up behind him—and he was certain that we would all be able to meet up there.\u003ci\u003e We’ll find each other,\u003c\/i\u003e he said casually, as if America were a small town.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Penguin Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301380608229,"sku":"NP9780143113034","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780143113034.jpg?v=1767737291","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/stealing-buddhas-dinner-isbn-9780143113034","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}