SQUISHY AND WEIRD
This picture makes me happy. I took it last Thanksgiving when I was in the Blue Ridge Mountains taking pictures of everything. Why? Because my novel takes place in the Blue Ridge on Thanksgiving–my novel that’s coming out any minute now. GOING TO SOLACE. That’s the name. It features boiled peanuts and lo and behold there they were, a whole shelf-full at the local grocery store which is called Ingles (pronounced, in the region, “Ing-gulls” after the family that founded it, though my father always gave it a Spanish pronunciation, “Eeng-glace,” as if referring to the language I’m using here…) But back to the peanuts. Folks really do eat them in that neck of the woods. In fact, they love them. Lord knows, my mama did. Because her mama did. Trust me, they’re squishy and weird. If you grew up with them on your plate, you’re fine. If not, order yourself some hush puppies and call it good.
© i.e. ideas expressed 2011
Amanda McTigue 
a.k.a “goobers”, hence the slur applied to the poor farmers who raised them. You can look it up!
Memory lane, right bro? I can put myself right back in the back of the station wagon with the dogs and the comic books and the chewing gum on that last leg we’d have to drive before US 40. 13 hours! And of course Stuckey’s. Great stuff.
Yes, my mom’s family is from the South. Once when we were visiting, we passed a boiled peanut stand on the side of the road (like they have cherries here in California), and my Aunt screeched to a stop and bought some for us. I’m not a fan >.<
Can’t say I am either. On the other hand, I remember roasting our own fresh peanuts in the oven. Now THAT was good.