" And my arm, where Tessina had touched me... I raised it to my mouth, kissed the cloth of my sleeve. And there, jumping from the weave to my lips, a taste.
Saffron- of course: what else would she be? A flavor that takes the lives of ten thousand lovely flowers. As it had done all those years ago, the taste rose again on my tongue as a ravishing, barbarian palace of domes and spires. Tessina. There she was, all of her: salt, the crystals that grow on oyster shells that have dried out in the sun; violets; lemon leaves; nutmeg; myrrh. "

― Philip Kazan , Appetite