Chickpeas

 

You would think that of all the inane, innocuous things to watch on television, a cooking show would be the last thing in the world to make you cry, wouldn’t you? I mean, maybe if you’re in your own kitchen, sautéing onions right along with the TV host, then I guess you could find yourself in tears. But if the camera zooms in on a pretty blue bowl filled with fresh chickpeas, the only thing sentimental about that might be the bowl itself, right? Especially if it belonged to your grandmother and she always made sure it was full of chocolate kisses when you came over because she knew you had a weakness for them. Then you’d cry. Watching a cooking show. On television.

I can’t watch TV much anymore. Everything reminds me of Rob. Game shows where we worked as a team to answer the questions before the contestants did. “Ooh, I knew Botswana was in Africa! Why are those people so dumb?” Movies he fell asleep through every time we watched because he got up at six every day and couldn’t keep his eyes open at nine at night. “Honey, you missed the good part again. That little hobbit almost kept the ring this time.” I can’t watch romances because . . . that one is obvious. Comedies are out because those were our go to’s. I can’t watch House Hunters or Fixer Upper or Home Town because they’re filled with dreams that come true and families who still have each other.

I turn on Roku now. And Hulu. Because they let me watch a preview and read the synopsis, and then, if the story line makes me tear up, I either melt down and deal with it or change the channel to reruns of Psych because Rob never stayed awake through those and they crack me up. I’m just worried. I’m nearly through bingeing on Sean Spencer's antics for the second time. What am I going to watch when Season Eight ends again?

So, you’re wondering about the chickpeas, aren’t you? I don’t even like chickpeas. Or garbanzo beans either. But I do like hummus and Rob loved my hummus and I spent years learning everything I could about how to make healthy food so we’d both stop having colds and cancers and surgeries and could enjoy being together for at least another twenty years. We relied on the benefits of fermented foods in particular, and I discovered that if you sprout dried chickpeas before you blend them into hummus, that yummy little dip skyrockets with good stuff that will protect you from bad stuff—like novel viruses. In theory.

Gordon Ramsey didn’t sprout his chickpeas. He shoved them inside a chicken and roasted them in the oven. They eat weird food in England. Or Scotland. Wherever he’s from. He made a sandwich filled with French fries, too, and called it a Chip Butty. Like I said. Not only is the food weird, the names are, too.

So, I was watching Gordon Ramsey teach his teenage daughter how to stuff a chicken with chickpeas when, unexpectedly, I started crying. I didn’t even see it coming. That’s what happens when your best friend of forty-six years disappears and you turn on a cooking show from a foreign country because there’s nothing else to do anymore and it seemed like a safe idea because what on earth could possibly make you cry if all you’re doing is watching someone fry up fish—or roast a chicken?

Chickpeas, that’s what.

What kind of world are we living in where you can’t even trust a chickpea to be as boring as its name? Now I have to find out if you can make hummus out of garbanzo beans. I’m never eating chickpeas again.

With thanks to Jason for doing the hard work of sprouting chickpeas himself and taking a photo of them. You can view his original picture by following this link: Sprouting garbanzos | Jason | Flickr