While driving around the south east, as a hurricane was eating up my home and I along with most of the state of Florida was running scared, I noticed everywhere were ‘boiled’ peanut stands. I kept meaning to stop, after all I have often lived exclusively on peanuts. But this business of boiling them was new to me.
At last, somewhere in Georgia I saw a booth with a painted board reading Boiled Peanuts. There was no one around but the vendor, a man with brimmed hat and beard.
First thing I did was ask exactly what is a boiled peanut.
The vendor crossed his arms and planted his feet wide and began a tedious explanation in a deep drawly accent about this being spiced and that being salted and I was getting a bit lost so I said, ‘Sir, if I could just try your basic regular boiled peanut, we could start from there.’
Frowning with disbelief he took a spoon and dipped it into some brackish stew and he produced one single blob, like a small but fat worm, curled and blanched, in the spoon.
He transferred this tragic looking object to me. I picked it up with my fingers and nibbled delicately at the edge of the soggy peanut.
He stared at me with chilly eyes and I saw a fleck of something in his beard and gradually the pronounced fiery taste of salt had invaded the entirety of my mouth.
I stared back at the vendor. A standoff at the peanut stand. He waited as I chewed and he eyed me. I already knew what I thought and I considered what I should say. To be polite or not, was the question.
‘This is,’ I said, as I swallowed the fragment with the vendor expectantly watching, and I hesitated because there was still time to divert and say something else, anything else. But no, on I went, ‘It’s disgusting.’
To be fair, he took it well.
You are so right and I’ve yet to learn my lesson. Thank you. Peace
Diplomacy, thy name is Christina. Haha! Well you were lucky he took it well. Disparaging a man’s soggy nuts to his face is generally a recipe for disaster.