Ah, the flexible, stunning nut. When you think of nuts, where do your thoughts go? Well, I'll be proper and tuck the nut jokes under the rug for now. What I'll do is tell you a peanut story.
Peanuts. Well, they take me back to the Ground Round, a chain restaurant that you may be familiar with. To properly envision this restaurant, you should think about your standard chain restaurant (TGI Friday's, for example), shatteringly combined with both Stephen King's It and the explosion of a peanut factory. I am positive, first of all, that this particular franchise in my hometown didn't survive simply because it contained scary, scary clowns who wanted to befriend (read: torture) children like me. And by "children like me," I mean children who are unwaveringly, irrationally, and numbingly afraid of clowns. We all know that folks tend to fall into several camps:
A.) those who love clowns (and thus tend to collect them)
B.) those who don't care one way or the other about clowns and can't figure out what all the fuss is about
and
C.) those who are, well, worried about clowns.
I not only was a worrier about clowns, but I actually would start to shake when I thought about them. I'm a bit better as an adult, but oh, DAMN did they wreck me when I was a kid.
I was always excited but nervous about going to The Ground Round -- excited because of the overall coziness of the restaurant combined with the peanut frenzy (throw your peanut shells all over the place, just like you would if you lived in a barn!) and nervous, of course, because The Clown was there. An excessively colorful, strangely adorned, fashion-nightmare, creepy-make-upped, horrible, terrible clown. This clown wanted to socialize with me, of course, as most clowns do. It would make its way around to all the tables, making balloon animals for the kids, and I was anxiety-ridden as I saw the clown get closer and closer to my family's booth. I really could hardly focus on eating the delicious and constant peanuts, because I was so consumed with being the clown patrol.
When the clown was as close as, oh, say, fourteen tables away, I would dive down from the wooden booth to the floor, pinning myself between my mother's leg and the wall, crying hysterically, a flood of sweat and tears dripping down my body. I'd stay there for as long as it took, begging my parents to tell me if the clown was gone yet. I remember being crouched down on the dirty floor, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of peanut shells, praying for it to end. I was so, so hot down there, and so, so self-tortured. Even when I was so young (five, maybe?) I knew I was being completely unreasonable, but I just couldn't stop. I wanted to be one of those happy, clown-loving kids who waited anxiously for their turn with the table-clown, excitedly planning which animal they'd have the clown make from a balloon. Me, I didn't even want anything that clown had touched. That clown could have offered me my complete five-year-old dream (sheepdog, leather couch, unlimited tapioca pudding, a special machine that pumped out the Strawberry Shortcake doll smell) and I wouldn't have budged from my under-the-table post.
The clown would sometimes come to our table to make something for my brother (this was, I believe, yet another way I've shortchanged him in our lives) but sometimes I think my parents declined the clown so that my mother could have her leg back -- you know, the one that, when I finally surfaced, looked like she had spent a day with her leg trapped in the cage of a very angry and hungry lion. The funny thing is, I knew that the clown wouldn't actually do anything to me. It just seemed so unnatural to me, this creature. The thing is, I honestly think that any of my family members could dress up in a clown suit and I would be scared to death. I mean, have you seen the Modern Family episode where Cam dresses up as a clown for Luke's birthday and Phil can't even stand to be in the same room as him? Well, I can relate. Let's just say that.
I know, I know! All this clown talk makes you want some special nuts to eat! Well, I have the solution.
Look no further.
A.) those who love clowns (and thus tend to collect them)
B.) those who don't care one way or the other about clowns and can't figure out what all the fuss is about
and
C.) those who are, well, worried about clowns.
I not only was a worrier about clowns, but I actually would start to shake when I thought about them. I'm a bit better as an adult, but oh, DAMN did they wreck me when I was a kid.
I was always excited but nervous about going to The Ground Round -- excited because of the overall coziness of the restaurant combined with the peanut frenzy (throw your peanut shells all over the place, just like you would if you lived in a barn!) and nervous, of course, because The Clown was there. An excessively colorful, strangely adorned, fashion-nightmare, creepy-make-upped, horrible, terrible clown. This clown wanted to socialize with me, of course, as most clowns do. It would make its way around to all the tables, making balloon animals for the kids, and I was anxiety-ridden as I saw the clown get closer and closer to my family's booth. I really could hardly focus on eating the delicious and constant peanuts, because I was so consumed with being the clown patrol.
When the clown was as close as, oh, say, fourteen tables away, I would dive down from the wooden booth to the floor, pinning myself between my mother's leg and the wall, crying hysterically, a flood of sweat and tears dripping down my body. I'd stay there for as long as it took, begging my parents to tell me if the clown was gone yet. I remember being crouched down on the dirty floor, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of peanut shells, praying for it to end. I was so, so hot down there, and so, so self-tortured. Even when I was so young (five, maybe?) I knew I was being completely unreasonable, but I just couldn't stop. I wanted to be one of those happy, clown-loving kids who waited anxiously for their turn with the table-clown, excitedly planning which animal they'd have the clown make from a balloon. Me, I didn't even want anything that clown had touched. That clown could have offered me my complete five-year-old dream (sheepdog, leather couch, unlimited tapioca pudding, a special machine that pumped out the Strawberry Shortcake doll smell) and I wouldn't have budged from my under-the-table post.
The clown would sometimes come to our table to make something for my brother (this was, I believe, yet another way I've shortchanged him in our lives) but sometimes I think my parents declined the clown so that my mother could have her leg back -- you know, the one that, when I finally surfaced, looked like she had spent a day with her leg trapped in the cage of a very angry and hungry lion. The funny thing is, I knew that the clown wouldn't actually do anything to me. It just seemed so unnatural to me, this creature. The thing is, I honestly think that any of my family members could dress up in a clown suit and I would be scared to death. I mean, have you seen the Modern Family episode where Cam dresses up as a clown for Luke's birthday and Phil can't even stand to be in the same room as him? Well, I can relate. Let's just say that.
I know, I know! All this clown talk makes you want some special nuts to eat! Well, I have the solution.
Look no further.
(For Laura. She loves these. And also for The Clown. I forgive you.)
1/3 cup brown sugar
2/3 cup white granulated sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
2/3 cup white granulated sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon black pepper
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon sweet (or hot!) paprika
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 pound nuts*
1 egg white, room temperature
1 tablespoon water
pinch of ground ginger, optional
pinch of ground cloves, optional
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg, optional
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 pound nuts*
1 egg white, room temperature
1 tablespoon water
pinch of ground ginger, optional
pinch of ground cloves, optional
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg, optional
Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Mix sugars, salt, pepper, cayenne, paprika, and cinnamon (as well as any of those other optional spices); set aside. Beat egg white and water until frothy but not stiff. Add egg white mixture to nuts and stir to coat evenly. Add sugar mixture and toss until coated. Spread sugared nuts in a single layer on a cookie sheet fitted with parchment paper. Bake for 30 minutes, stirring and shaking the pan occasionally. Remove from oven, and separate nuts as they cool. Store in an airtight container. I LOVE these nuts cold, so I keep them in the refrigerator, although they usually don't last long enough to get 'em in there.
Extra Nut Information:
*NUTS! You can use any kind of nuts that you want! Clowns would probably recommend peanuts, but I love almonds and pecans, too. I think, though, that any nut would be honored to dress up in this sweet and spicy costume. Just make sure you buy raw or roasted nuts -- the most important thing is that they be unsalted and unadorned when you buy them. If you want to really get down to business, you can buy them at Costco or Sam's Club from the baking ingredients section, where they are really cheap.
Also, you can double- or triple- or quadruple- or even octuple- this recipe and it will still work well. I made a huge batch over the holidays and used, I think, 8 pounds of nuts. Just make sure you have a bowl large enough to house this many nuts, or you'll end having to mix them in the bathtub, and we all know how that takes the magic straight out of magical nuts.
In terms of spices and sugars, use your own discretion. Feel free to use less sugar, or more salt, or to power-punch them with more cayenne. I have also experimented around with nutmeg, ginger, and even rosemary. I would advise making a small batch to start with -- then taste them and see what you think you want to add or leave out of your next batch. I tried tasting them before baking, and discovered that you just can't get the full idea of the flavor until they are baked. All this said, it's hard to mess them up, and I am certain that your first batch will be perfect and delicious, clowns or not.
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