My only nut was peanut ...

... and sometimes not even that. No pulpy orange juice, no chunky tomato sauce, no crunchy peanut butter. All that has changed. Somehow, a move to New York stimulated a move toward a less creamy existence. I'm sure it's symbolic of facing obstacles, pulverizing the competition and experiencing new things. Unless it just means I'm widening my palate. Either way, I'm broadening my horizons in more ways than one.

I spent a quarter of a century resisting cashews, pecans, walnuts and (I shudder to think) almonds. Peanuts, however, were delicious in many forms. Salted, honey roasted, in the shell, whipped into a paste and spread on a sandwich, or stuffed into a chocolate candy. Peanut butter had such a special place in my heart, for most of those years I wouldn't even tarnish its good name by associating it with any jelly or jam. I remember being sent to school with peanut-butter sandwiches so thick I couldn't even eat the centers. I'd top apple slices with the brown stuff, and it even helped me enjoy a stick or two of celery. But crunchy peanut butter? Unspeakable. In my mind, peanuts and peanut butter were separate entities, not to be entwined.

The first of the outsider nuts I consumed was the macadamia. When I worked at Subway, cookies frequently called to me. At some point I was convinced the white chocolate macadamia nut cookie was an acceptable thing to eat. Granted, I would never have eaten such a nut by itself, without the sugary context, but it was step one in a process that would take nearly a decade to complete. Step two came much later, even after years of picking walnuts out of brownies and snubbing pecan pies. When I started eating The Salad, my mother one day suggested throwing in some garlic-flavored sliced almonds. Texture excitement is one reason I enjoy that salad so much, so I figured I'd give it a go. Of course, a little extra crunch was exactly what The Salad needed to reach perfection.

Piles of baked-on sugar were again the catalyst I needed for trying some other new nuts. I experienced the salad phenomenon again at a Red Robin restaurant, where I enjoyed a salad that featured candied walnuts. Throwing my old prejudices out the window, I fell in love. Then this winter, my roommate's grandmother sent over a bagful of her "famous" candied nuts. I still don't know exactly how you candy a nut, and it certainly isn't a lovely-looking result, but what a flavor. I opened the bag and my mind, and meticulously tasted one at a time each of a candied pecan, walnut and almond. It was amazingly difficult to not finish off that bag all at once.

So I was standing in the peanut-butter aisle at my local PathMark one day last month, examining my options. Creamy, natural, crunchy, honey-roasted ... It hit me. I wouldn't fear the crunch. I'd go for it. All the way. Extra chunky. I knew I loved it before I even had it paid for. How could I have been so blind? Nutty equals crunchy, and crunchy equals delicious! Suddenly I'm welcoming handfuls of knobby little brown things from every can and bag within reach. And I even give some jelly to that lonely peanut-butter in the bread.

Stay tuned for how I tackled tomatoes, but don't expect to hear me raving about pulp anytime soon. Also, take notice of how I'll be incorporating my blogs with my Twitter account soon!