MICKI BARE Advertisement

An e-mail that is making its way around the Internet lists the countries in which items many Americans purchase originate. The message to those who actually read the e-mail before deleting it is that the only real way to boost our economy is to shop at garage sales and flea markets. You can save money, while at the same time assuring that the money you do spend ends up in the pockets of hard-working Americans.

Based on the difficulty level of finding a parking space within walking distance of the flea market last weekend, I'm guessing people not only read the e-mail, but also went on to forward it to 372 of their closest friends.

Wall-to-wall vendors greeted wall-to-wall crowds of bargain-seeking flea-goers. Had my parents not needed to purchase flowers and shrubbery for their landscaping at unbeatable prices, Hubby and I would not have been in a position to tag along. But they did and we did.

We visited the plant and tree vendors first. This took some time, as there were lots of folks selling vegetable, herb and landscaping plants and trees. As we walked, my mind wandered and I experienced a flashback dated 1992.

It was a cool spring morning, and I was expecting my first son. I was wearing a cute maternity summer outfit, because it might as well have been 1,000 degrees outside. I lost the ability to feel mild, cool and cold temperatures at my child's conception.

Cravings were strong back then, one of the biggest being for boiled peanuts. Clearly, moving to the South as a teenager was meant to be, because one would be hard-pressed to find boiled peanuts in New Jersey.

I'll never forget that first steaming, salty, wet Styrofoam cup of boiled peanuts. We were browsing a flea market, much like the one my parents frequent, looking for baby bargains. I, of course, needed a snack. There was a distinctive smell that aroused something in the primitive food-craving cells of my brain.

My nose led me to a booth that housed a simmering pot of something heavenly. Taped to the counter of the booth was a cardboard sign with bold black lettering that read, "BOILED P-NUTS $1." I had no idea that one could boil peanuts, but I was willing to try them if only to satisfy the incessant craving and calm my rumbly tummy.

After that first taste of boiled peanuts, I would have been happy to eat nothing else. I didn't even need chocolate if I scored my fix of the soggy legume. Pregnancy will do that.

Boiled peanuts have been a favorite snack ever since. All three of my boys love them. I even cook up a homemade pot every now and again. But not before finding out the hard way that one cannot simply throw raw peanuts into a pot with some water and salt and turn up the heat.

After boiling raw peanuts for hours and failing to produce the soft, salty delight that I experienced at the flea market, I turned to a friend and shared my frustration. My friend, who was born and raised in South Carolina, listened intently and giggled. She then shared her recipe for boiled peanuts: green peanuts and salt brought to a boil in a big pot and simmered slowly all afternoon.

"Green peanuts? I didn't know they came in different colors." My friend giggled again. She went on to explain that green peanuts are simply peanuts that are not completely ripe. They are harvested a bit early and then boiled right after being plucked from the roots of the plant.

Unless one actually grows their own peanuts, or has a friend who is a peanut farmer, green peanuts aren't all that easy to come by. Therefore, when I spot a roadside stand or flea market vendor who sells the delicacy, I pull out my wallet and purchase a cup or two.

That's why when my parents had found and purchased their plants and then asked, "Is there anything you need while we're here?" we began our quest to find a boiled peanut vendor.

The crowds were thick and the booths many, but we stayed the course until the tantalizing smell of green peanuts simmering in salty water teased our nostrils. Or, as my parents and Hubby, who prefer Cajun roasted peanuts describe it, until we smelled that gross aroma of peanuts being ruined.

Mom was the first to arrive at the booth that was the size of my living room. The vat in which the peanuts were gently simmering was enormous. The bins displaying varieties of roasted peanuts were also roomy. The peanut snack industry was alive and well.

But what really jumped out at me was the sign: BOILED P-NUTS $1.50. Still affordable, still delectable and still a great snack while shopping for bargains and strengthening our economy at the flea market.

Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, "Relative Expressions." She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@inspiredscribe.com.