Yes, you heard me right. There is such a thing as Goober Peas and they are very beloved by the exact contingent of people you’d imagine, people who generally go ga-ga for crazy-named delicacies which a rational person (read Yankee) would never consider ingesting. I mean, of course, Southerners. I can say that because I’m married to one.
When we were at the Brooklyn Flea last weekend,
“Peanuts . . . cool,” I muttered while checking out vintage threads.
“No, not regular peanuts,” he corrected, “Goober peas. Boiled peanuts. They are a Southern delicacy.”
“Right, peanuts, that’s nice,” I replied.
I’m not a big peanut person. I frequently go months and months without the taste of peanut – no PB and J, no cocktail nuts, no peanut oil. I mean, I’m not averse to them. They just don’t strike me as a treat. While we’re on the subject of nuts, I am immune to the lure of pecan. David finds this unbelievable. He will swoon at the mention of pecan pie. I think it’s a Southern thing.
Today David sent me this link, all about the Goober Pea craze, and about the history of the people - Chris Dial and Kate Burke - who sell them at the Flea. They are Yalies by the way, which my mother would love to hear since one of her favorite subjects of conversation is how she spent all this money on a Yale education so I could waste it by pursuing a frivolous art. “Yes,” I can now say, “but at least I’m not a boiled-peanut-seller.”
So if you ever find yourself on the wrong side of the
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