My
husband and I have had our fair share of cultural differences over the
years. He’s a Japanese farm boy
and I’m a California suburban girl.
(Though technically, at 50, he’s no longer a boy and at 53, I’m no
longer a girl.) Somehow, we manage
to muddle through.
Building
a house together can test any relationship. Ours was no different.
One day I noticed huge cutouts around the front and side of the house. My husband, Tadaaki, called them “windows,”
I called them “doors.” I won that
argument and they put in windows.
But now we live in Tadaaki’s family farmhouse and almost all the windows
are doors.
Then
there was the whole tree issue.
Our lot was a chestnut orchard owned by Tadaaki’s father. Tadaaki hates chestnut trees because they
attract caterpillars, so he happily cut down a slew of them to open up the
backyard. I grew up with a
grandfather oak tree dominating our back yard and my father rigged a rope swing
on one of its main branches.
Gathering up courage to scooch onto that wooden swing and sail out over
the lawn below became the rite of passage for many a neighborhood kid. I wanted to recreate that in our
backyard.
And
so it started: “I want to have
some big trees.” (Me) “We can
plant some small trees and they will grow big.” (T) I don’t want to wait 15 years to have big trees…I want them
now. I’ll pay for them.” (Me) My conciliatory Japanese husband gave
in and agreed that I could buy three trees for the backyard. But he continued planting small fruit
trees in the front. Because he was
patient.
Truthfully,
the keyaki grew vertically, so it
never was a climbing tree. Nor was
it a great swinging tree. I can’t
even remember what the name of the 2nd tree was…yamaboshi? I
mistakenly thought it had berries.
Well, maybe it did, but they weren’t edible. I do love the Japanese maple though, with its branches
sweeping gracefully across the brick patio.
But
what I really treasure are all the trees that Tadaaki planted in the front
yard: yuzu, daidai (Seville orange), Meyer lemon, bay, loquat, date…a
mysterious berry tree. And now
they all produce lovely things that I can use for cooking or preserving. I should have been more patient.
A
couple months ago, my husband dropped a ratty plastic bag bulging with
something brown in the middle of my writing projects stacked all over the
dining table. “A present,” he said
laconically, while lifting an eyebrow, telegraphing that I should be duly
grateful for this mysterious manna.
I dragged myself off the chair where I was writing. Peering into the bag, my memory flooded
back to a similar gift last year:
one small precious bag of pecans.
Pecans? Yes, simple, incredible…perfect pecans.
These
are home grown pecans--like nothing you have ever tasted. Mmm, my mouth is remembering that first
bite last year. The surprise…the
tingling feeling of “oh my god this is one of the best things I have ever
tasted.”
I
dig my hand into the bag of dusky nuts and feel their naturally powdered
shells. I take a few out and
admire them on my malachite counter.
The pecans have teensy brown speckles on their buff shells with
irregular dark brown streaks tapering down to the point.
They’re
almost too perfect to crack, but I do it anyway. I crack open four.
I’m not very good at this, so the nutmeat gets a little smashed. Remembering my French walnut knife, I
rummage around in a drawer to find it.
I dig out all the meat, collecting my spoils on a small plate normally
meant for soy sauce. I pour myself
a glass of Cliff Lede Sauvignon Blanc and sit for a quiet moment. I pop a small piece of pecan into my
mouth and slowly bite down, savoring the slightly oily flesh. As I chew, the “pecan-ness” floods into
my mouth. It’s nothing like the
organic pecans I buy. The pecan
reaches deep inside of me so I can taste the heart of the tree.
And
my husband grew the trees from nut.
Can any of us imagine this?
I never understood when Tadaaki told me it would take 20 or 30 years to
grow a tree. Why would you do
that? Why not just buy something
big enough to produce in say, 5 years.
That’s pretty long to wait as it is. But now I get it.
These pecans were worth the wait.
Twenty-six
years ago, Tadaaki bought a bag of pecans in Nagasaki on his way home from a
trip he took on the Peace Boat to North Korea, China and Russia. He knew that in the Stone Age people
ate a lot of varieties of nuts, so he was interested in trying pecans (he’s an
odd guy). The nuts tasted so good,
he decided to plant some of them and luckily a few began to germinate. The trees grew for 10 years and never
produced one nut. Then about 5
years ago, the nuts started to appear.
I vaguely remember hearing Tadaaki tell me this, though in my busy haze still
didn’t really know where the trees were.
But last year was the first year Tadaaki actually gathered the nuts and
brought them home.
Every
night, I have my 4 or 8 pecans. I
keep thinking I should make something with them. The first bag is dwindling down, but I still have one more
bag. Maybe pecan brittle would be
nice…I have some killer organic sugar.
Oh,
and these days, it’s my husband who buys trees. He gave me a weeping cherry blossom for my birthday. I wanted a goat, but was properly
thankful.
Pecans in Andrew's bowl on antique Japanese cloth
Pecans in their shells:
Serve in an earthy pottery bowl of a complimentary color to the nuts and
with no busy design (preferably Japanese). Pass your guests a couple nutcrackers. We use an iron nutcracker with a spring
action guaranteed to crack the rock hard black walnuts found in the
Dordogne. Tadaaki also recently
came home with an unusual flea market find: a 2-foot tall antique wooden Nutcracker Man made in Germany,
complete with a patch of real fur for his beard. Place the nutcrackers near your most industrious guests and
don’t forget an empty pottery bowl for the shells. Open a bottle of your tastiest Sauvignon Blanc or Rosé. Avoid Chardonnay.
Loved this story Nancy ! I once spent hours cracking dense black walnuts with a hammer from a tree planted in the late 1800s. My fingers were brown (here in the US, Native Americans use the outer skins are used to dye yarn), but what a reward. Baked into cookies I actually remember.
Tell us more about "no busy design" pottery with food.
Posted by: Karen in Oregon | July 27, 2009 at 06:54 PM
Hi Nancy,
There were pecan trees in the front yard of my Grandparent's house in North Carolina. Your essay brings back pleasant memories of Xmas vacations spent at their house. Our stockings were always stuffed with nuts and fruit from their farm.
I like this phrase: " The pecan reaches deep inside of me so I can taste the heart of the tree"
I have decided that what you are doing is creating food poetry. I enjoy the images you create.
Joanne
Posted by: joanne godley | July 27, 2009 at 09:47 PM
What stories you have inside you, Nancy. I will take the lesson on patience to heart. Fruit appearing only after 10!!! years. Sort of like finding a lover when you least expect it. I have a kiwi that fruits every year but the fruit doesn't ripen. I'm certain that one day it will.
Posted by: sharon | July 27, 2009 at 11:54 PM
Nice Blog Nancy, I have linked you to mine...
all the best
Mike
Posted by: Mike Tommasi | July 28, 2009 at 12:33 AM
I love pecans! Great story!
Posted by: Peter McCook | July 28, 2009 at 05:44 AM
Nancy,
So glad to see this post! Love your "recipe" for pecans in their shells- you found a way around the imperative for a cookbook-style format!And the inclusion of wine suggestions is a terrific idea.
Can't wait for the first Georgia pecans...even though they won't hold a candle to yours...
jl
Posted by: Jo Lynn in Virginia | July 28, 2009 at 08:34 PM
Pecans! My absolutely favorite nut.
How about pecan ice cream? If YOU made the ice cream I
would look forward to eating it-- even though I try to avoid all sweets.
Posted by: Kathy | July 28, 2009 at 09:03 PM
Avoid Chardonnay in general, or just when consuming pecans? I don't know anything about wine and usually don't drink whites.
Really lovely post, Nancy. Isn't it wonderful how love and life can surprise us sometimes?
Posted by: laura | July 29, 2009 at 10:12 AM
What I love best about your writings, besides the vividness, is that I get to learn a lot about you and Tadaaki, the differences in perspective, whether it be because of cultural differences in your development, or just as people. The patience that Tadaaki has is in contrast to your immediacy. Your writings also make me think of things I haven't thought of in a long time. Nowadays, I think of nuts as something you get in a plastic bag or jar. But then I remember the nut stands in town when I was growing up, and how they aren't there anymore. At Christmastime, there would be fresh hot chestnuts that you would peel open and eat. Most kids today, at least here, don't even know what chestnuts are, except for that Christmas song. Thanks for taking me back in my memories.
Posted by: Rodney Fong | July 30, 2009 at 05:43 PM
The dialogue is unique. perfect
Posted by: Olga Singleton | August 03, 2009 at 04:33 PM