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Here in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada we are teetering on the edge of early spring. We’re almost, alllllmmmost making the much easier descent down the other side of the perilous mountain that challenges us every prairie winter. For me, a crocus poking its brave head out of the snow is THE sign that winter is officially a memory. So in this vein (though a different varietal), I’m going to talk saffron.
For me, this spice has a purple-blue mist swirling around it. Romantic. I’ve always been low key obsessed with the notion of flavour derived from flowers. The top producers are Iran, Spain, India and Greece. But it wasn’t until I learned more about the saffron harvest in Afghanistan recently (thank you TSP!) that I gained a whole new appreciation and respect for the meticulous, diligent and brave work required to harvest the thousands upon thousands of amber-hued stamens from these croci. The most delicate work achieved in a punishing atmosphere. Incredible.