The other day, Jack and I went to a corner of the Bass Garden far away from the windows of the library. We sat down beneath the olive trees and umbrella pines, and started to pick through the grass for pine nuts. They kept falling from the trees as we foraged. There were so many, but they were tricky to find by sight alone, because their black striations make them blend in with the shadows of the grass blades. We found more by feel than by sight.
Jack decided to plant one, excited about the (far off) possibility of growing a tree.
We gathered a big bowlful, but they’re not easy to eat. The shell is so hard, and the nut so small and soft, that we often end up crushing the whole thing with out nut cracker. Oh well. The novelty of it is fun. And when we do get a whole nut, the taste is so nutty, with no bitterness. There’s a touch of astringency at the end, but mainly the taste is of a toasty oil. That’s not something you notice in a handful of frozen pine nuts thrown into a Cuisinart for pesto.
The Roving Locavore 
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