Bolled P-Nuts

M likes to tinker. He experiences the world through wondering how and why things work. Wondering is not enough, though…no, he must DO.

Last week, we were driving home on the Natchez Trace Parkway, a lovely drive from Natchez, MS to Nashville, TN. If you like history, or just prefer driving on well-maintained, two lane country highways, this is the drive for you. This is one of the more scenic drives through the south, and since you are in the south, you will surely pass a stand selling boiled peanuts. Done right, they are delicious…done wrong, they taste like slimy peanut butter, at best. Which brings me back to the point of M and his tinkering.

Last week, after eating a bag of messy and delectable Cajun boiled peanuts along the side of the Natchez Trace Parkway, the idea was planted in his head. I promptly forgot about boiled peanuts, being distracted by an unhealthy obsession of my unemployed status. But M was thinking about them all the way back, and hatching a plan to bring them to our Yankee state.

When we arrived home several days later, I was unpacking and reorganizing, a type of busy-ness that more often then not results in very little actually getting cleaned up. M, however, was researching recipes, creating a special seasoning blend, and brewing up a batch of his own boiled peanuts in our crockpot. They smelled good, but M had forgotten something critical.

The recipe said to NOT use roasted peanuts.

We only had roasted peanuts.

And this is why I love my husband so much. Despite the visible sadness on his face when he realized his mistake (he REALLY wanted some boiled peanuts), M was a perfect example of a happy-go-lucky, live-and-learn attitude. He ate a few, dumped the rest and went on to build a wooden mold so that he can make his own tofu from scratch. Thanks, Uncle Joe, for inspiring that project.