Toasty warm nuts

it's almost time to say goodbye to them for another year

Winter is nearly over, and with it will go sightings of these mobile roasted-peanut-and-corn-vendors, the cries of “Badam badam!” on a foggy morning.

These carts are traveling roasters: a rounded iron bowl, wok shaped but with lower sides and no handles, holds a half-burned log, glowing orange in places, freshly shucked corn slowly roasting alongside it. Another, higher sided vessel filled with coals nestles in a sea of peanuts. Cups in various sizes are the unit of measurement used to scoop a heap of warm, toasty peanuts into a newspaper cone or plastic bag.

Coming across it early in the morning feels special. Of course I enjoy eating them myself, but what I love most is spontaneously picked up a scoop to share.

I remember back when I was editor at the magazine; “Help yourself,” I said to anyone who dropped by, nodding at the newsprint cone spilling over with peanuts on my desk.

“We’re not supposed to have these in the office,” said while they reached for handful after handful. Apparently it was because of the mess, shells and endless papery skins. I never brought them in again, but that day everyone was only too delighted to benefit from my rule breaking.

Last winter I was rushing to art class when halfway down the alley I heard the tell-tale whistle that signals the imminent arrival of the garbage collectors. They hadn’t been coming that consistently then, I remember, so I couldn’t afford to ignore it till another day. I ran home and up the four flights of stairs and down again, hauling my bags. Placing them on the communal heap to await the truck, I was again on my way to art class when, at almost the same spot in the alley where I’d heard the whistle, I passed a cart. If you run into a peanut vendor, how can you not buy a warm, fragrant scoop? I was late anyway, after all.

As it turns out, there are few better ways to dispel irritation at one’s not being on time than to come bearing toasty, tasty peanuts.