Southern Breeze 2007 Summer Issue - (Page 47) Each boiled peanut vendor has his own style, even down to the signage. Some signs are handdrawn, some are stenciled. Some are painted on wood, some are painted on available materials. Some are abbreviated, some are spelled out. With every one, however, the message is clear! from various sources, one of which was the local dump. “I caught some folks about to throw out some perfectly acceptable cooking pots,” Bill said. “You know the saying, ‘one man’s trash is another man’s cooking pot’.” Bill said he preferred using raw peanuts—those that are dried—because his boiled peanut stand was a large business and he needed to be able to freeze the merchandise. Raw boiled peanuts are crunchy compared to its softer green counterpart. There were other boiled peanut stands I visited along my journey along the I-10 corridor. Some of the biggest and the best were along Highway 85, south of Crestview. While most of them sold pretty much the same product, each vendor had his or her own personality and style even down to the signage (Peenut? P-nut?). Most vendors sold their boiled peanuts swimming in the dark brown liquid in quart Zip-lock bags which they all said made for easy transport. Several people said the slosh of the dark liquid was part of the experience. Now that I had gathered my information, I realized I had several decisions to make. How did I prefer my boiled peanuts? Al dente or slurped? If I preferred them at all. If you are of the slurp persuasion, according to Dave, you could just “pop” the boiled peanuts, that is, eat them shell and all. Dave said he’s been eating his boiled peanuts that way his whole life. “Better than popcorn,” he said. “We used to eat ‘em that way while watching Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday night.” Dave was happy to demonstrate the proper way to eat them “shell and all.” Then there’s the raw peanut versus green peanut debate. Then there’s the salt debate. One vendor suggested that the brine is salty enough when you can take a gulp and it tastes like saltwater. But for sure, boiled peanuts are best eaten outside where the wet, soggy shells can be thrown on the ground. Personal preferences aside, everyone I found fellowshipping around each boiling pot were of one mind and soul, watching their wet shells mount up in the grass. There were people from all over the Eastern seaboard, even a couple of folks from Connecticut. Accents didn’t matter. Cultural background didn’t matter. Politics was left in the dust. Who knew a tiny, slimy legume could create such a kinship among people? A commonality created if only for 10 minutes. A scene much like that “back in the day” where townspeople would gather around big iron wash pots filled with boiled peanuts, celebrating the harvest. So I had a decision to make. Did I want to be part of this fellowship? This culinary meeting of the minds? Were my taste buds up for it? Indeed. I’ll take a quart bag of green. And throw in a water pill, will ya? June enjoyed her boiled peanut journey and her chance to meet wonderfully interesting people, each with a story to tell. Summer 2007 47
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