March 27, 2018 Ode to Pistachios

What I really appreciate about pistachios, aside from their charm, good looks and impeccable taste, is that you really have to work for all that goodness.  By the time you’ve amassed a handful, there’s a certain amount of moral high ground you’ve reached in earning the luxury of eating them.  Contrast this to what happens every year on Christmas Day when we go to my sister’s house for the extended family celebration.  My sister and her husband are fabulous hosts, and one of the little extras they provide on that day are bowls full of pistachios without their protective armor.  That’s right: bowls full.  Every year on our way there, I tell myself firmly (very firmly) that I will not lose control with the pistachios, but each year the same, sad story plays out.  It wouldn’t be so bad if I were able to forsake the Christmas cookies to make room for the pistachio gorging, but no.  I hear a little voice in my head saying “YOLO” and off I go.  Well, it’s only once a year…and YOLO.

When I buy them for our home, they come with protective gear and the seemingly impenetrable ones get left for last.  By the time one of those bad boys gets cracked open, the last shreds of potential guilt have melted away and it’s smooth sailing right down the gullet.  Amen.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.