Oh Nuts!
Grandpa
I watched his gnarled, scarred hands deftly manipulate the equally gnarled orb. He turned it around in his fingers a few times without looking at it until he found the sweet spot. He placed it carefully - seams nestled between the ridged inside of the simple carved nutcracker - and squeezed. Years as a glazer in Union City, NJ might have taken a toll on my Grandpa David’s hands (they weren’t pretty) but they also made him strong.
I sat on a stool at his knees and observed the ritual; a petulant teen who wanted to be anywhere besides this one bedroom garden apartment in Lakewood, NJ. He extracted the sweet meat from the walnut as effortlessly as he had chosen and cracked it, popped it into his mouth with a practiced motion, and reached again into the antique cut-glass bowl. Those same hands explored the mountain of options. The brain-shaped walnuts, teardrop almonds, heart-shaped hazelnuts, lemon wedge Brazil nuts, ovate pecans - in an array of beige-to-dark chocolate brown hues and multifaceted textures that made them look like a decorator had staged them.
I don’t recall him either speaking to me or sharing with me. David was a dour, deeply religious man of few words and fewer smiles. Yet somehow sharing this ritual with him bonded us, however tangentially.
Nutrition
After having taken Omega-3 supplements for years, I recently read about certain contraindications that concerned me. My training in nutrition taught me that food surpasses supplements as a source for nutrients. I do sprinkle ground flax seeds on, well, everything, and I’ve never met an anchovy or sardine I don’t eat, but I needed more of a more holistic supply of Omega-3 fatty acids, and I knew walnuts were jam-packed. I ordered a five-pound bag from Nuts.com, in the shell to preserve their freshness and nutritional integrity.
Cracking Up
“Do you have those nutcrackers from Grandma and Grandpa?” I asked my sister. “You know, those ones with the engraved designs on the handles.”
“I know exactly the ones you mean. No.”
Ugh, I thought. How could we not have saved those? I have the samovar my great grandmother brought from Russia, the wooden hat block Grandma Sally used for making hats, several cut crystal candy dishes in pink, blue, and green, and their wedding photo (she looked hopeful and happy, he looked somber and purposeful). Where then, had their nutcrackers gone? In the deep recesses of my messy, overpopulated secondary utensil drawer of course. How wise it would have been to look for them first (as surely I’d have admonished my children to do).
I snapped a photo and sent it to my sister.
“Great!” she replied.
I opened the big bag and reverentially removed a few walnuts, and prepared the table as for a rite. I held the tool in my right hand as I had seen him do, and placed the nut seam to ridged teeth. The vulnerable point in the protective shell gave way as soon as I strengthened my grip, with nary a struggle. I’d made the potential standoff much more of a challenge in my mind; the acquiescence was swift and complete, and the meat lay bare for the taking. It was sweet and chewy and I felt like ingesting it honored both my own health and his memory.
Protection
The USDA explains that “nuts are actually fruits; dry single-seeded fruits that have high oil content, with a leathery or solid outer layer.” Soft fruits lack this defensive exoskeleton. I could relate to their armor; perhaps my grandfather could too. That “leathery or solid outer layer” is something we shared. He was inscrutable. Stern silence comprised his shell, but every now and then his grandchildren or religious family celebrations would pull back the curtain woven of years of backbreaking manual labor and religious devotion, and we’d see a smile on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes.
Grandma Sally was more of a peach: round and exuberant, clutching us to her ample bosom in long, deep embraces and singing songs from her childhood as she beheaded and butchered chickens in the tiny patch of land behind their dark railroad apartment. Like a peach, she had a solid strength inside.
I, too, tend more toward pecan than plum. Friendly, for sure, but I make someone work to earn enough trust and respect to reveal my private self.
I suppose we are all a little nuts. And a little fruity. That melange provides balance. Reconnecting with my heritage and my nutty side nourished me in many ways.