Mixed Nuts

Men, by nature, seem to have a very logical and systematic approach to the world. There is a reason, I suppose, why they were the traditional hunters and gatherers in life while us she-beings were left home to make the cave pretty (and talk with other she-beings about which herb is best to eat while in labor). I imagine there is a biological reason why the boys were out fixing the flinstonemobile and milking the wild-prehistoric-milk-bearing-creature-thingy while the girls stayed home sniffling over monthly hormone imbalances, the rude comments that Oonga-Noonga made about our crappy basket-weaving skills and how the river water made our hair frizz in a very unattractive way (thus convincing us that our man-providers would leave us for that non-frizzed Oonga-Noonga she-bitch).

Men, in my experience, also tend to be quite literal realists. It is why they can explain to you why you no longer fit in a size 2 (because honey, you have had children and never gotten your body back), why you can't get away without wearing a bra (there is this thing called gravity...), why you are crabby (it must be that time of month, hey?), how annoying you (really) were wnen you were pregnant (with all that being sick all the time business) and why a can of mixed nuts is nothing more than nuts.

Mixed nuts? Yep. Our literal, rational, penis-sporting side of the species see a can of mixed nuts as, well, mixed nuts. I, however, (being more prosaic, intuitive and non-penis sporting side), see a can of mixed nuts as a metaphor for emotional camouflage (if you are lost by this point, no worries, I will get to it!). Don't get me wrong, I am not seeing the virgin Mary in my tea leaves or the winning lottery numbers in my toothpaste spittle (if only!). I mean that I (and I do think this applies to woman in general) tend to be a feeler rather than logic based on science kind of being. And, unlike men, I can find life applications in many things, including a can of mixed nuts.


How the mixed nut metaphor came to be is a quite simple really. I have a healthy liking for nuts of a mixed variety. I love well salted pecans, almonds, macadamias and hazelnuts (hell, I like 'em all I guess), but, I extra-specially love Brazil nuts. There is some kind of bigger is better psychology that comes with finding a Brazil nut in an assorted can. Team Brazil, complete with great tans, are the B.M.O.C.'s of the Planter's plantations and rulers of the aluminum abodes (and, yes, I am aware that this whole discussion can have very, very different connotations, thanks). They taste great and, thanks to their power-packed antioxidant punch of selenium, they are responsible for keeping one looking young and vibrant (score another goal fooooor Team Brazil!) like Oonga-Noonga.

At any rate, upon completion of a 5.5 mile run recently, Vince and I were ravenous. We broke out the can of mixed nuts (as well as other healthy options like Cheetos and cold-meat-sodium-bomb slices of ham) and I noticed Vince gently shaking the can of unlidded nuts. When I asked him why he was doing that, he told me that he was getting the Brazil nuts to the top of the can. Upon noticing my facial expression which non-verbally exclaimed "I am not a scientist and I don't get the principals of physics what-so-ever", Vince further explained that through gently shaking the the can of nuts, the smaller nuts shifted to the bottom of the can and filled gaps which displaced the bigger nuts (because they don't fit) and forced them up to the top. Ah-haa!

To Vince this was just a matter of nuts and some fancy theory of displacement. To him it was clear and simple and literal and rational. I, on the other hand, skipped straight past Nutopoly "Go" and went directly to the Nutopoly jail for the socially sensitive. I transcended the literal (obvious) usage of mixed nuts. Insteand, I drew an immediate connection to my own precarious mental state and how I am able to meander through my days completely covered in the small issues like bills, schedules, work, and a friend drama here or there, but, when something shakes me up and really rattles my cage, the gigantic Brazil-nut-sized-problems, which had been present, but buried, come roaring to the surface resulting in cataclysmic breakdowns (and copious amounts of wine consumption).

The whole mixed nut theory makes good sense to me. It helps explain moments of emotional insanity where the world seems to spin. It also makes it clear why most of the time I can ignore Brazil by dealing with peanuts. Perhaps most handily it gave me new reasons (excuses) for my recent meltdown activities ranging from issues of immigration and infertility to my parent's health issues and my own fear of Huntington's Disease.

One can sense, I think, the unearthing of a personal Brazil nut. Kind of like when a volcano is about to explode and all the animals start acting weird (at least that is the way it was in that Mt. St. Helens movie!), I think we all know we are operating on our last shreds of sanity from time to time. The clues tend to be the obvious mounting of stresses where peanuts become pecans and hazelnuts morph in to cashews. Suddenly the smaller concerns start to be swallowed by the bigger concerns and boom, a Brazil nut surfaces like a submarine torpedo and we find ourselves locked in a bathroom stall at work sobbing and wondering why the world so completely sucks.

Of course I have an immigration example for this.

Immigration is a lot of busy work. Busy work for me is peanuts; annoying but handle-able. In the last few weeks while my paperwork has been processing in someone's office in Washington DC, I have focused my attention on Airlie's paperwork. I filled out all the forms (peanuts), identified someone who would cross-their-heart and sign her paperwork as an official third party (pecan), and had her passport photos taken for issuance of an Australian passport (peanut).

Well, those Aussies are really quite high-strung about their passport photos (cashew). And, they are really quite specific (cashew). They are nothing like US passport photos and therefore anyone who takes them in the US does not quite know how to do it (almond). So, our photos were denied (pecan). So, we took them again (peanut) and again (hazelnut) and again for a total of seven attempts (almond, pecan, almond, cashew) before having photos that fit in the guidelines.

Now, as an aside, you try to get a two year old to take a photo with the appropriate head measurements while not smiling, having no shadows, looking directly at the camera, not moving, not getting red eye, not flopping her hair in her face, not squirming and squaring her shoulders directly center to the camera while at the same time not getting your parental hand or mommy-sized shadow in the photo. Good fucking luck.

Add to it that we were also informed that we had to drive to Chicago, during the week, to do an interview to prove that we really were her parents and that I really wanted her, as an American, to have an Australian passport. And, where we were also informed that the photo was still wrong and that we owed more money (in addition to the passport processing fee, the migration agent fee, the gas to drive to Chicago, the vacation day required to go there and parking) for the interview that we were requested and required to do.

(BRAZIL).

As with all major Brazil moments, I was able to refocus and put the whole situation in to perspective after a little time, a little space and a few perspective-inducing martinis. But, it doesn't take away from the fact that Brazil nuts remain buried most of the time for a reason. Call it evolution, if you will. We have emerged from caves and similarly the bathroom stalls of our employers through ignoring big stuff most of the time.

Interestingly, Vince didn't understand my somewhat over-the-top response to the whole recent situation. It could be that he hadn't been handling the precursor peanuts. It could be that he is a man and significantly less emotional than I am. Personally, I think it is because he is a black-and-white, logic-oriented, mixed nut eater (non-nut-theorist) who does not have to worry about labor, basket-weaving, PMS, frizzy hair or that Oonga-Noonga bitch in addition to immigration-passport-photo-compliance for two year olds.

Posting Recipe
So, it goes without saying that this posting recipe should contain nuts (even though I just said it).
I love this recipe and it has always been adored by both man-providers and she-beings alike at summer parties we have had. Although there is a seemingly small amount of nuts in the recipe, they add a crucial taste component.

Fruit Salad with Cannoli Cream
1/3 c. whole milk ricotta cheese
2 tbsp. plus 1/3 c. whipping cream
3 tbsp. powdered sugar
Pinch ground cinnamon
12 oz. fresh strawberries, hulled, quartered (about 2 1/2 c.)
1/2 dry pint fresh raspberries (about 1 1/4 c.)
1 tbsp. sugar
1 tbsp. fresh lemon juice
2 kiwi peeled and cut into 1/2-inch pieces
3 tbsp. sliced almonds, toasted

Stir the ricotta and 2 tablespoons of cream in a medium bowl to blend. Using a mixer, beat the remaining 1/3 cup of cream, powdered sugar and cinnamon in a large bowl until semi-firm peaks form. Fold the ricotta in to the whipped cream. Place in the refridgerator 30 minutes to stiffen and yeild a creamier filling (can be prepared 4 hours ahead. Cover and refridgerate).

Toss the strawberries, raspberries, sugar and lemon juice in a medium bowl to combine. Let stand until juices form, tossing occasionally, about 15 minutes. Add the kiwi.

Spoon the fruit into a bowl. Spread the ricotta mixture atop the fruit and sprinkle with almonds.

-- courtesy of Giada De Laurentiis