We started our West coast tour in a regal way: as guests on Seattle’s King 5 Morning News. Although the set was big, the mood was surprisingly intimate. Click here to take a look.

Nancy and Andrea on Seattle’s King 5 Morning News

All Signings Point to Senility (But in a Good Way…)

Here’s the thing about book tours and book signings: the second someone hands over the book to be signed (usually accompanied by a happy, expectant look, as though something good will come of this), the signer’s brain just goes blank. Like milk on snow blank…just blankety-blank.

Over and over we compensated for this phenomenon by brightly asking, “So who are we making this out to? And how do you spell that? We just want to be sure we get the spelling right.” This is fine when you have never met the person before. It’s a bit more embarrassing when they look at you funny and say, “M-O-M.”

But here’s the other thing about book tours: they give you great insight into who your out-of-town friends are, who your friends’ friends are, and who your absolutely-unknown-to-you readers are likely to be. This is especially true when you’re doing a reading-slash-signing. Then you get to look out into the audience as you read from your book, and see real people responding…crying real tears and laughing at the funny parts. It’s definitely worth the discomfort of forgetting someone’s name halfway through signing their book!

Even the sign says we're going to sign

Yay, Elliott Bay!

Our warm, attentive, and interested audience made us feel very welcome!

At the venerable Elliott Bay Books, we read to a large and lovely audience and sold out every last copy of The Recipe Club!

Of course, the moment of truth was when we left the store, walked into the dark and wet, wet Seattle night….only to find we were the only people for miles around who were hiding under umbrellas.

Talk about separating the hardy locals from us East coast rubes! They chatted casually in the street as if impervious to raindrops, and we acted like we’re made of sugar. Now that we’re home we’re showering a lot (without umbrellas) to toughen up for our next visit to Soggytown.

Ellen’s Recipe Club

Every Recipe Club is different…and every one is special in its own way. Ellen’s Recipe Club took place in a suburb just outside Seattle, in a warm and welcoming home surrounded by skyscraper-high evergreens.

One look up and out the window and you knew you were in the Pacific Northwest, in all its glory.

The only thing that could compete with the natural surroundings were the touching, funny, emotional stories shared that afternoon. Here are just three: Ellen’s, Nell’s, and Diane’s.

Ellen’s touching tale proves that sometimes the best Recipe Club story can capture the absolute essence of what food can be about–without actually sharing a real recipe. And Nell’s story and recipe are both simply hilarious, and will be enjoyed by anybody with an extended family and an urge to play with food.

Ellen’s Story: Secrets of the Soup Pot

“My grandparents were Jewish immigrants from Russia who settled in New York City around 1912. My grandfather, Solomon, was a master fur designer; my grandmother, Ella, whom we called Bubsy, was a meticulous homemaker. During the hard times of the Great Depression–when even the wealthy cut back on their purchases of fur coats–Grandpa Solomon was frequently unemployed. Five days a week he would go out, dressed in a perfectly pressed three-piece suit, to seek employment…and most days he would return home having found none.

Ellen's 'Bubsy' proves a positive attitude can feed the soul.

“Although there was little money to feed the family, Bubsy made do. She turned potatoes into crisp, delicious, lacy latkes. She transformed vegetable greens into tasty soups. But sometimes there was just…nothing. Nothing in the pantry, and nothing in her purse.

“But Bubsy was a proud woman. And she knew that every Friday afternoon the building yentas would make their nosy rounds into other people’s apartments, checking out what they were serving for Shabbos dinner. So my grandmother would greet the Sabbath by putting a starched apron over a clean dress, filling her soup pot with water, tossing in a handful of fragrant, dried herbs, and dressing it all up with a smile. The neighbors never knew the recipe for her secret soup…until now.”

Nell’s Story: When the Centerpiece Requires Happy Pills

“I have two sisters: one seven years older, and one seven years younger. Our mom died about ten years ago. She was a waitress in her youth and presentation was always very important to her–from setting the table to the centerpiece. She was a good cook, but her big message was: ‘get your table ready.’

“When we were growing up in Minnesota, high school graduations were really big deals; you basically invite the whole town to your graduation party. So when my older sister’s kids started graduating and having parties, my younger sister and I started this tradition of making spectacular fruit kebab centerpieces. And it has turned into sort of the ‘auntie’ thing because my mom’s gone and this is our contribution to the family in her memory.

“But be warned: these centerpieces are really a labor of love. They take more or less two full days, more than a little patience, and some artistic flair. They’re really about coming together with the people you choose to do this with. So choose carefully…and don’t try doing it with just anybody. You’re probably better off with a sister than a sister-in-law, for example. Or a great friend rather than a good friend. And definitely don’t go off your antidepressants before you start this project–you might kill somebody before it’s done.”

Diane’s Story: Never Fail Cupcakes…Never Fail Love

“I brought this recipe card for “Never-Fail Cupcakes” because it’s hand–written by my grandmother. Her name was Ida May. She was from Pittsburgh. This recipe is from the 1930’s–she taught it to my father and my father made it as a child. The recipe is designed for children who are just learning how to cook. You can’t mess it up–except the one time my grandmother forgot to put the salt in!

“There’s a lot of emotional stuff around Grandma because she lived close by, and when my parents would go out on a Saturday we would go to Grandma’s house or she would come to our house to babysit. So there was a lot of life around Grandma. She died in 1999 at age 95.

“When my son Ian was about four or five years old (he’ll be 19 soon), Grandma sent this recipe to him with a little note that said, ‘Ian, your grandfather made these cupcakes too, many years ago. They are very good and tasty. Hope you like them. He iced them too, with white icing. Mix with love, from Great-Grandma Jones.’”

“It’s funny, because my mother was a much better cook than my grandmother. My grandmother didn’t really want to contribute in that way, although she was responsible for Easter and Thanksgiving, just those two meals during the year, when we always went to her house.

“But apart from food, Grandma made a lot of contributions. She spoke the truth and had a lot of wisdom. Whenever I wondered what to do I would ask my grandmother. I would call her. And to be honest, I miss her more than I miss my mother. Not that didn’t love my mother. But it was just a different bond.”

Scary Foods

Philippa told the story of traveling in Cambodia, where she was greeted–as an honored guest–by having live scorpions placed on her by two local girls. Quickly realizing that people around her were actually eating the critters (the scorpions, not the girls, and fried in hot oil, thank you) she somehow managed to not completely freak out. In a way, she knew, it was nothing more than an extreme case of “meet your food”–like picking the lobster out of the tank at an American seafood restaurant. Although Philippa confessed she resisted the generous offer of these…ummm…savory snacks, we were still all very impressed at how she kept her cool!

This led to a lively conversation about the “revulsion impulse” of encountering strange or exotic foods…from hot, buttered yak tea in Bhutan to a first-time childhood encounter with a (really scary) artichoke. Talking about our personal food boundaries (ie, for some people eating cow is okay, but eating Thumper or Bambi can be unsettling) further led to a story about:

Too-Whole Foods

Picture a men’s group drumming circle getting in touch with their true masculine natures. Now picture the guys tossing out drums in favor of a whole pig, a spit, and a fire. That’s what happened one summer day when Glen showed up in a friend’s backyard (in the middle of Brooklyn, no less!), where a group of men had gathered to roast and butcher a whole pig. For Glen the experience was challenging on many levels. Although he remains a pork lover, he ultimately concluded that he was far happier being served anonymous ribs with a nice side of vegetarian cole slaw. For him (and for many people, apparently), ignorance of culinary provenance remains bliss.

Of course, one man’s bliss is another man’s misery. This became clear when several people reminisced about their childhood birthdays, when they were allowed to choose their special birthday meals:

Birthday Trick-or-Treats

Jane remembered the story of her brother-in-law, who regularly chose to be served liver and onions as his special birthday dinner. It wasn’t that he actually liked liver and onions–in fact, he most definitely did not. But he knew his siblings hated it. Their abject misery was his birthday gift to himself!

Food-as-gift also struck a chord for Laura, who reminisced about:

Cooking with Love, Eating with Friendship

It was 1949 and it was time for Laura to (cluelessly) cook her first meal for her new husband. Out came the pot…out came the pasta. She enthusiastically cooked an entire pound of pasta for two…and then wondered why she could barely carry the groaning platter to the table! It took a while for Laura to get her head around the portion control thing–and she admits that even now, though her beloved husband passed away six years ago and her three children have lives of their own, she still cooks enough food for two (or five) at every meal.

The idea of sharing simple, nourishing meals that are prepared with love sparked a charming story from Sarah. While living in Italy, she befriended a neighbor (a “sparkly old signora”) who, Sarah learned, hid under her kitchen table during thunderstorms. So the next time it rained, Sarah went next door to join her. “Are you hungry?” the neighbor asked, as they giggled under the table. When Sarah nodded, the signora said “Don’t move!” She reached her arm to the tabletop and brought down some bread. Some garlic. A knife. And then, still seated beneath the table, she sawed some beautiful slices, smeared them with garlic and oil, and grilled the bruschetta in the fire beside the table, in one of those old-fashioned, long-armed grillers. They then ate the bruschetta under the table, too!

Wynne shared a story about the time her little sister made inedibly bad muffins. Knowing Little Sister had cooked with love and tried her best, the whole family praised the clunker muffins to the skies–while surreptitiously feeding as much as they could to the poor dog under the table. The best part was that Wynne’s father, who had previously lain down a hard-and-fast rule of never feeding the dog at dinnertime, was the first to slip Fido his (dubious) “treats.”

Finally, of course, we talked about our favorite foods. Philippa’s came from her great-grandmother; it’s her family’s signature Thanksgiving dish, but it’s simply her favorite thing to eat any time of year. She loves it so much that she makes it often, and recommends eating it cold, straight out of the fridge, for breakfast. She swears you can use any kind of sugar, any kind of spices, and any kind of alcohol, and whatever you use it will be delicious, without fail. We’re printing it here exactly as Philippa gave it to us–it’s funny and quirky, and exactly the kind of recipe we like best.

Laughter was a main ingredient during the GMA Recipe Club meeting with Taryn Brill.

We were honored when Diane Sawyer spoke enthusiastically about our book and the Recipe Clubs.

Diane Sawyer

But not every member of our Recipe Club had an opportunity to tell her story in that wonderful segment. So we’re delighted to share this one from Lauren, who discovered that a simple tale about food could encompass all the emotions of a life-long relationship:

Salt of the Earth Cousins

Lauren (left) and her cousin Leslie (right) today... cousins who survived a chocolate cake fiasco.

My cousin Leslie and I became fast friends when she came from Ohio to stay with us for a summer when I was 13 and she was 16. We wrote meaningful letters full of angst and dreams, had long phone conversations. We visited each other in the various places each of us have lived, and lived together for a period during college. We were each other’s bridesmaids, and are godmothers for each other’s children. I love her parents as second parents, and I know she feels the same about my single mother. We helped each other through her daughter’s premature birth (she’s almost 10 now) as well as her father’s death, and this year, my mother’s death. The two of us used to meet annually for a weekend in the Berkshires, between our homes in Boston and New York. We’d talk till all hours, till we couldn’t keep our eyes open, catching up on all the details of our lives, and all the people in them, replaying memories, laughing till our sides hurt.

Leslie being two and a half years older, at first took sort of a motherly attitude towards me, and helped to cultivate my free-thinking, feminist education. She passed along to me her copies of Siddhartha and the Golden Notebook. When I once complained that I was lonely, she said, “You’re going to be alone a lot in your life; learn to enjoy it.” Which gave me permission to enjoy being by myself, which I have ever since. Later, we got on more of an equal footing, which meant we argued more. But something that characterized our relationship from early on was our willingness to make the best of things. No money to go out? Fine. We’ll have a great time gabbing over a pot of tea. No pears for a pear tart? Fine. We’ll use apples.

We also challenged each other to be strong, think for ourselves, live authentically. And argue. Leslie loves to argue! If she doesn’t like you, she’ll let you know—which didn’t work out too well with a couple of my boyfriends. She’s also a gossip and a busybody and she can’t keep a secret to save her life. She’d probably say I need to lighten up and gossip a bit myself, that I’m too standoffish and mistrustful. In recent years, these tensions caused a deep rift between us. For a few years, we barely spoke except at family functions. But what amazes me is that I could be fuming mad at her, but if I hear her voice on the phone, or see her, I feel a natural affection and concern for her. It is a simple fact I love her. That doesn’t waver.

But this is supposed to be about food, so when Leslie was 18, and I was turning 16, she was living with my family and waitressing at a fancy French restaurant in downtown Washington. She managed to talk the chef into giving her the secret recipe for his amazing chocolate torte, and though it cost a chunk of her wages in eggs and chocolate, she attempted to make this cake for my birthday. She whipped and melted and beat and baked. Finally, she removed two flat brown pans from the oven. “What happened?” she cried. “They didn’t rise!” “Let them cool,” I suggested. “I’m sure they’ll taste fine.” But when they cooled and we both took a taste, we spit in disgust. Awful! She’d used salt instead of sugar. Leslie started to cry. “What’ll I do? What a waste!” I don’t know what possessed me but I said, “C’est la vie!” and picked up one of the cakes and threw it at her. She was so surprised, she screamed. Then she picked up the other cake and threw it at me. We picked up the pieces and flung them at each other. In minutes, we had chocolate smeared on our faces and clothes, chunks of it in our hair. The kitchen was a disaster. And we were laughing hysterically, having the time of our lives. It didn’t even phase us when my mom came home and yelled at us. We’d made do as always, finding the sweet in a salty situation.

That’s what happened at our Piedmont Recipe Club, when eleven women gathered with a “we are the world” collective background: Arabic, Eastern-European, Scottish, Japanese, Southern American, Latina, Indian.

Candles flickered...memories burned bright.

Our host’s intention was to see if the eclectic backgrounds of her Recipe Club guests would flavor their recipes and stories. But, interestingly, it turned out that the stories we heard had less to do with heritage and more to do with parental relationships and emotions—common ground no matter where your family hails from, or how connected you are to those roots.

Sometimes we got so busy listening we forgot to eat...

Here is some of what we overheard:

Amy’s Stolen Frozen Brownies

“My mom is a planner, very organized. When she was having company she would set the table several days ahead, and always knew what menu was going to be. And if she was baking stuff she would make it way ahead of time and she would freeze it. (We had an extra freezer.)

“Well, whenever my mother made brownies, she would store them in these cardboard boxes in the freezer. My sister and would sneak them out of the freezer and eat them frozen. We did this many times, until one day my mother was getting ready to serve the brownies at a dinner party, only to find we had eaten three-quarters of the box! So as we grew older, she put a lock on the freezer.

“Because my mom was thrifty, she would count the pieces in each box–but she but never learned to count the boxes! So we got that one down: we learned to eat an entire box instead of just a few brownies. Luckily we had an incinerator so we could burn the evidence.

“To this day, we still eat them frozen. They’re awesome straight from the freezer!”

Mary Margaret’s “Ever-day” Biscuits

Mary Margaret, who has had a career developing recipes for major food brands, shared a story about her grandmother’s biscuits. She grew up in the suburbs of Chicago, but her family farm in Tennessee has always been an important part of her life. Mary Margaret brought with her a beautiful bowl and biscuit cutter made from the majestic old pecan trees still standing on her family’s farm.

The pecan wood bowl and biscuit cutter--true family treasures.

“My grandmother, Miss Betty Smallwood, was born in 1900. Her calm nature and tirelessness stemmed from a life of hard work, few conveniences, and a knack for caretaking. She was a talented quilter and a favored midwife who would travel miles across fields in the night to help, often getting sick for days from the ether she administered.

“And she made biscuits every day on her farm in Paris, Tennessee. In the sweltering humidity and heat of the summer, and in the winter, too, after building a fire in the wood-burning stove for heat. During the Depression biscuits were the foundation for her meals, extending the sustenance of any other meal components. She used a small tin baking powder can as her biscuit cutter. When my grandfather passed away, she moved up north to the Chicago suburbs and took care of me and my sister while my mother worked. She often made biscuits, never with a recipe but by feel. I loved standing on a chair at the counter beside her, watching her squeeze and knead the dough. She’d always pinch some off for me to shape into my own special treat. Thus began my passion for cooking and set the foundation for my career. Now I enjoy making biscuits for my family on weekend mornings using an old-fashioned biscuit mold and a wooden biscuit cutter, hand-carved from a felled pecan tree that my grandfather planted. For me, biscuits are the ultimate comfort food.”

Amal’s “My Mother is Always with Me” Cakes

“My mother died on the day before Easter, and they found her on Easter Sunday. She had an Easter tradition to go be with her best friend and her family for Easter. And she always made a lemon cake.

“So she had made the lemon cake on Saturday and then…proceeded to die. The following week I flew back to her home in Georgia. There was a service for her. And we served her last cake. I have this very clear memory of sitting in my mother’s rocking chair on this screened-in porch, looking out over the lake, and eating the last cake my mother had ever made.

“My mother grew up poor and white in Atlanta and then Athens. She was born, was supposed to be a boy, so her first name was Jimmie. I learned to cook from her. And almost everything was a dollop of this and a taste or a pinch of that. So I don’t have a lot of actual recipes from my mother. But I do have one for her chocolate fudge cake, which I now make for my boy’s birthdays–it’s their request item–as well as for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Every time we make Grammy Jimmie’s Chocolate Fudge Cake it brings my mother into my house.

“I still feel my mother with me when I do Christmas dinner. I can feel her! She’s always telling me to put more salt in things, and literally I will say out loud, ‘It doesn’t need more salt! No, no more salt!’ So I feel my mother with me whenever I’m cooking.”

Lupe’s “I Do” Enchiladas

“I met my husband in 1982. We dated for such a long time on and off, and I thought we were going to get married. But something happened where I wanted children and he didn’t want children. So it was time to break up, and he took a sabbatical for a year and traveled all over the world.

“He would send me these letters about how much fun he was having with Muffy and Buffy in Fiji, New Zealand, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Thailand, and France.

“And I said to myself, he’s having a really great time and I’m here working really hard focusing on my career. So I’m to going to date five different men, and I’ll show him! I’m going to have a guy that’s presentable, then a guy that loves sports, a guy I can take to the opera that will actually sit and enjoy it with me, and a guy that’s just good in bed, and then a guy that’s just fun who will go to the art galleries with me or take me dancing. My plan was to have this stable of men. That way, while I was hearing about Muffy and Buffy he would be hearing about all these guys.

“We had this exchange of letters going back and forth. Then he comes back and he says ‘You know, I decided that children are okay.’ Why? Because he went to Thailand and saw how families could interact, and that it could just be a real joyous experience.

“And you know when you are waiting for them to finally ask you to marry them, and it happens…well, it was my birthday. We went to my favorite restaurant. I knew he was going to propose that night—he was ready, I knew he was just ready. I kept waiting for him to propose, but he didn’t! So we went home together…and finally he proposed just before we were going to bed. And I thought, I should be so happy! But then I thought, I’ve been waiting for eight years…is this what I really want?

“I went to see a therapist the next day, and she said, ‘Go and take a trip.’ So I went to this place called Rio Caliente, which is 45 minutes outside of Guadalajara. It’s a very spartan and inexpensive spa. They call it Rio Caliente because there are hot springs, and they divert the water into this big pool. At night you can sit in it and stare up at the stars.

“I spent ten days thinking, should I marry this man? I hiked 15 – 20 miles every day, went horseback riding, got massages, facials. Everything was organically grown at the spa, and I kept eating all this great food, nourishing my body, my spirit, my soul. Everybody there knew I needed to know, should I marry this man? And they said: the answer is not going to come from your head. You have to find the answer in your heart.

“It was at the last meal—they served spinach enchiladas—and it was then that I decided it was okay to marry my husband. So I came back and I made him this meal. And I said, I’ll accept your proposal. That was 1990. It’s almost 19 years later, and I still make these enchiladas. I now serve them to our children!”

So…when in Minneapolis, what’s a girl to do? Obviously, it’s to go to the Mall of America.

We heard rumor that Sarah Palin did her campaign wardrobe shopping at one of the big stores inside the Mall of America...but when we first laid eyes on the imposing 2.5 million square feet of retail shopping space, we had to wonder: were we mavericks enough to hunt down the perfect pair of jeans?

But within seconds we were both stricken with near-fatal Mall Malaise.

Thankfully, our survival instinct kicked in and we crawled into the cushy oblivion of Nordstrums. There we spent a miserable hour unsuccessfully trying to cram our aging asses into unkind denim.

But then the MOA gods smiled on us: we met Annie. Hip, cool, unflappable, a fashion angel with x-ray vision and a savant-like knowledge of Nordstrum’s jeans inventory.

One look at us, fully dressed, and she sized up the whole mess. “These might be freakishly perfect,” she said, handing over a pair that looked exactly like the 53 pairs we had just tried on. “Try them on, then come out and show me your booty, Girlfriend.”

We shamelessly followed her instructions. “Nice, Woman. Now try these, Sister.” By this point, SisterWomanGirlfriend owned us. Truth be told: she had us at “freakishly.”

The moral of the story: when in San Francisco, lose your heart. When in Minneapolis, save your booty. Girlfriend.

As native New Yorkers, the solution was obvious: call a cab. And like magic, one appeared, along with its driver, Sam.

Here’s what you need to know about our adventure:

• Never trust Mapquest.
• Never drive that far on a running meter.
• Never imagine that a taxi can fly like a crow.
• Never miss the opportunity to interview your driver. Ours was from Sudan. He was divorced, had a daughter, did not like Boston where people were “not nice,” liked Minneapolis where the people “were nice,” loved snow though he’d grown tired of it, and was non-judgmental about lesbian life. His favorite food was hummos.
• Never underestimate the nauseous feeling you get paying $140 in round-trip cab fare.
• Never miss the opportunity to visit the Bookcase. Really. It’s the oldest independently-owned community bookstore in the area, and it’s clearly survived because of its warmth, charm, individualism, and dedication to all people and things book-related. We signed books, hung out with Charlie, the store’s very nice owner (see? Sam was right), and admired a fabulous Lake Minnetonka sunset. All-in-all, a worthy journey.

Bookcase's window celebrated a long list of distinguished authors who have newly released books...including two familiar faces on the front door!

As we signed books inside the bookstore, the sun set on the lake across the road. We looked out the window and had one of those blissful communing-with-nature moments you rarely get on a tour.

We were informed that by entering this building, we were following in the footsteps of Thomas Friedman and Garrison Keillor, both of whom had presented lectures at The Woman's Club of Minneapolis.

But obviously it’s not all that hard to get used to palatial, 16th-century fireplace mantels and burnished mahogany bookcases.

Not a bad club house for The Recipe Club.

So after pumping each other up with assurances that we probably wouldn’t spill our drinks on the priceless rugs, we took our place at the podium, and let it rip.

Given that the mean age of our audience was probably 75 or so, you can’t blame the ladies for being a little sleepy after their big lunch. Which is why that one lady snoozing in the third row didn’t hurt our feelings at all. If anything, we envied and admired her.

As for the others in the audience—those kind women who valiantly fought off the post-prandial Sandman—they provided an eager ear and a warm reception. We were truly happy to spend the afternoon with them.

We are proud to have been invited to this new state-of-the-art performing arts center.

Produced by Joe Skelly of On-Site Authors, the event featured a reading of the play by two talented actors, Shelly Reed (Val) and Jennifer Steiskal Johnsen (Lilly), who literally gave voice to our characters–and brought them to life!

We had a brief rehearsal in the dressing room before heading out into the black box theater.

Joe immortalizes the authors who check to see if they have food in their teeth.

For us it was a thrill, and for the audience (we are told) it was a deeply satisfying theatrical/literary experience.

Jennifer Steiskal Johnsen (Lilly) and Shelly Reed (Val)

Following the reading we answered questions about the book and ran an impromptu Recipe Club meeting with audience members, who shared their own stories of food, family, and friendship.

A Recipe Club meeting followed the staged reading of the book.

So we wish you the most delicious, friendly, and joyous Thanksgiving ever! Here’s an idea to make your celebration special: when you’re sitting around the table with those you love (or like, or can barely tolerate) think about using the occasion to start an impromptu Recipe Club meeting.

Start by sharing your favorite food-related story, and then ask everyone around the table to share theirs. We promise: before long you’ll all be laughing, bonding, and relaxing…and deeply thankful to not be talking about politics or religion.

We truly give thanks to all of you who buy our book, visit our site, and share your Recipe Club stories with us! Love from us to you.

They look familiar…

We were surprised to be greeted at the Borders in the Time Warner Building at Columbus Circle by two women: ourselves.

Or rather, photos of us, front and center in the doorway of the mega bookstore.

When we entered, the book was beautifully displayed on the New Fiction table. We admired it, nostalgically remembering the days and months–and years–of dreaming this might happen.

The Recipe Club: A Tale of Food & Friendship

It was a blissful moment, until all of a sudden man’s voice boomed over a loudspeaker.

“Andrea Israel and Nancy Garfinkel,” he bellowed. We immediately looked at each other with guilty, horrified expressions…oh no, we’re BUSTED!

It was as if we’d been caught smoking in the junior high school bathroom and were being called to the principal’s office. We shared a complete moment of panic.

But what had we done wrong? The voice continued: “…will be reading from their book, The Recipe Club: A Tale of Food and Friendship. Please join the authors.”

So we picked ourselves off the floor, and proceeded to the events area, where we did precisely that. In fact, joining those authors is becoming sort of a hobby around here.