Nuts

I have a toxic relationship with pistachios. They are probably my favorite nut, and I find their taste to be most exquisite. I could eat those little purplish/green jewels for hours. But I also have some major problems with pistachios. First of all, they are very expensive. There are no dreary off-brand tins of pistachios like there are of other nuts. One must pay a relatively high price for this food product. Apparently Iran is the world’s largest producer of pistachios, and I think they are gouging the market. This infuriates me much more than their nuclear enrichment program. I don’t eat uranium. Maybe 'Bamer, (my term of endearment for the President, pronounced “bomber.”) should make me the ambassador to Iran. Perhaps I could find common ground with Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Mahmy, (my term of endearment for Ahmadinejad, pronounced “mommy”) can deny the Holocaust, but he can’t deny that pistachios are tasty treats.

There is also another major problem with these nuts; they are very hard to eat. One must expend a great amount of effort to free the nut from the shell. Sometimes I will pry with all my might, and be unsuccessful in opening one. Other times I hurt my fingernails trying to dig in there and get them out. After a time, the effort involved seems to outweigh the benefit of the tiny nugget of food I get in return. Primitive Brian would have hampered the evolution of early hominids. They thrived on getting the maximum energy output from the minimal effort in regards to food. While the other proto-humans were eating bananas at their leisure, I would be sweating and straining for one pistachio. I never give up on a piece. If I have to smash it with a hammer, by God, I will have my nut! Sometimes there are shells with no meat inside. I will not talk about that circumstance, for it adversely affects my blood pressure.

Another problem with eating pistachios is having to find a receptacle for the empty shell pieces. Sometimes I just grab a handful and take them somewhere else to eat them. I sit down to relax and eat, only to find that I’ve brought nothing to put the empties in. After a long hard day all I want to do is enjoy a snack and perhaps a snifter of alcohol. To suddenly find that I’ve nowhere to put the unusable portions of my food is a nightmare. Sometimes I will simply place them on a table or counter, with the intention of throwing them away later. Inevitably I forget to do this. The next morning I will find the empty husks littered across the table like bones on a forgotten battlefield. My first response is to curse, and my second response is to have a craving for more pistachios. And then the tedious cycle repeats itself. These are some of the reasons why I both love, and hate, pistachios.

I mentioned bananas earlier. I don’t wish to convey the message that I don’t like bananas, far from it. I also have a toxic relationship with them. I like the taste of bananas, but prefer them to be slightly pre-ripe. I like the firm texture as opposed to the mushy texture of ripe ones. But I have a problem. Bananas are perhaps the most phallic of all foods. Eating a banana invariably seems like culinary fellatio. It is impossible, at least in my mind, to avoid the connection. Now, be it known that I am no Freudian. I am also in no way homophobic. In fact, I have been accused by many of being too comfortable with my latent homosexuality. But when I eat a banana first thing in the morning, this is the last thing I want to think about. I can usually make it through ¾ of a banana before I gag and have to throw the rest away. Such a disability stems more from a terrible gag reflex than anything else. This can only be avoided by cutting up the banana into small pieces like a child. Potassium is good for you. Bananas are good. I frequently enjoy them with peanut butter. I also have a toxic relationship with peanut butter.

I love peanut butter. I much prefer eating it to regular butter. I don’t like peanuts, but I like their butter. There is only one problem I have with peanut butter; I don’t like to eat it by itself. I can only eat it on, or with something. I feel really bad about this. I love peanut butter and jelly, peanut butter and honey, peanut butter on pancakes and waffles, peanut butter and apples, and peanut butter and bananas. But I can’t eat it raw. I see other P.B. aficionados like my Mother, Sister, and Wife, eating it raw and I feel bad. It makes me feel like less of a “real” peanut butter fan. If I were a “true believer” I could eat it by itself. It gives me shame in the face of others who go all the way. Not eating peanut butter seems like an affront to George Washington Carver. I don’t want to spit in the face of one of the great African-American innovators. Its overkill, I know. Also, raw peanut butter scares me because I feel like it constricts my throat, and if I don’t drink milk immediately, I might die. It still makes me sad though.

Its like Woody Allen said, “I can’t listen to too much Wagner. I start getting the urge to conquer Poland.”