I lamented the late of proper snacks in my life in May.
In response, my kind caregiver Libertia dropped off a snack “care package.”
In the package was a bag of “vegetable fries” that, alas, tasted like greasy slivers of sharp cardboard (this is not Libertia’s fault: she was unable to find her tried and trusted brand of this particular snack and, in a pinch, was forced to subsitute).
There was also a bag of curiously wonderful nuts. I am ashamed to admit that I can’t properly name these nuts, though I know that I should, as an adult, be able to. They have a greenish hue. They are salted, and their shells are best described as “partially open” — sort of like the nutworld equivalent of cooked mussels. They are quite tasty and, most intriguing, each time I’ve sat down for a fill of them, there’s come a time when I’ve said to myself “this will be my last nut for today” and I’ve walked away sated and happy.
The snack drought isn’t over. But, thanks to Libertia, there’s enough water to get us through the summer.
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I am Peter Rukavina and this is my blog. I am a writer, letterpress printer, and a curious person.
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Comments
Are they Pistachios?KW
Are they Pistachios?
KW
Are they Little Green
Are they Little Green Foosballs?
LQ
I agree. I’d bet anything
I agree. I’d bet anything they’re pistachios. Mostly I’m going by the “this will be my last nut” effect, which is definitive, but also from the physical description.
Ken and Oliver win the prize.
Ken and Oliver win the prize. They are pistachios - but not just any nuts. They are from Norman’s (aka Brighton Clover Farm) and all my pistachio afficianado friends agree they are the best. Do not be fooled by imitations. All pistachios are not that wonderful.
I indulged in a bag of
I indulged in a bag of “Norman’s” pistachios this weekend also. The “last one” effect is universal to pistachio eaters, I think. I get into a very nice rhythm of cracking and eating. It’s hard to stop.
Norman now sells trays of excellent Baklava. These trays used to include pieces of Namoora that would to sit untouched in my house until everything else was eaten.
Pistachios are evil. They
Pistachios are evil. They ask you to pry-up your fingernails and then insinuate salt underneath — which wouldn’t matter if I could stop eating them, which I can’t. No matter how much you buy it’s the single-serving size, and a group of pistachio-eaters around a big bowl fall first into a common rythmn then an unspoken competition. Eventually each feels obliged to push back from them, raise his hands and “hmmph,” as though asserting self-control. Which then fails within three minutes.
Ever had shelled pistachios? They should be illegal.
LQ
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