Since ancient times, peanuts have been the quintessential accompaniment to alcohol; moreover, they are known to nourish the blood and help raise blood pressure. Consequently, at our family table, peanuts appear in an astonishing variety of forms.

Among them—the five-spice and the plain varieties—the ones Grandpa fried and Grandma boiled were favorites with everyone.

My father had a particular fondness for peanuts. He used to say that he and peanuts were inseparable. No matter where he was, he simply had to have them. Even if there were no other dishes to be had, he could always manage to polish off several glasses of liquor with nothing but peanuts as an accompaniment. Back then, he was still working, and the daily grind left him utterly exhausted. Compounding this fatigue were his “two lows”—conditions that ran counter to the norm: low blood sugar and low blood pressure. Consequently, whenever he squatted down and then stood back up, his vision would swim with dancing stars, everything would go blurry, and his head would feel utterly groggy.

Fortunately, he crossed paths with his mother—a pharmacist by profession—and he truly couldn’t have found a better person to turn to. Her simple advice to “eat more peanuts” was enough to convince this impatient man to move the humble peanut from its obscure, forgotten corner straight into the absolute spotlight—a story that has since spread among all their relatives.

At first, I did not fully realize just how profound an impact peanuts had on him. My father harbored certain stubborn eccentricities when it came to food: he disliked egg yolks—once achieving the “feat” of eating twenty tea eggs in a row, consuming only the whites while discarding the yolks—and, out of his aversion to peanuts, he once went so far as to toss an entire sack of a bountiful harvest straight into the river.

Yet nowadays, peanuts have become a cherished treasure he simply cannot do without. They appear on the dinner table, in the snack bowl, and even—while watching TV—there is always a small saucer of them sitting right at his fingertips. He has developed a ritual all his own for eating them: first, he carefully rubs away the thin red skins, separating the shells from the kernels; then, he grabs a handful of the kernels, pops them into his mouth, and chews them with evident relish. My dad absolutely loves eating them. You should eat plenty of them, too.

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