When I interviewed J. Ryan Stradal about Saturday Night at the Lakeside Supper Club, I asked him, if this book was a meal what meal would it be? He answered that it would have to be the prime rib platter at a supper club: less a meal, more like a friendly opponent. A good value for the price. 

I love that answer, but also I have a very different one. The meal that mirrors this book would need a variety of flavors. It would be complex, but fit together really well. It would be difficult to prepare, but ultimately delicious. When eating it, this meal would conjure up memories, nostalgia, and deep emotions. If this book was a meal, it would be the specific plate of ratatouille served to the food critic in the 2007 film, Ratatouille. 

This is a book of family and trauma and love and loss and healing and legacy spanning multiple generations, woven around food. Throw in one of the most stubborn, passive aggressive characters I’ve ever met, and you’ve got yourself a dang good novel. Warning, this one made me ugly sob on more than one occasion. It is beautiful and tender and complex, and I loved it so, so dearly.