“How are your pistachios?”

I just realized. I know I’ve been posting lots recently about dining and drinking here in Spain. I hope you don’t mind, but I suppose this falls under the category of another one on that general topic.

Until his retirement a few years’ back, a cousin of my (now late) mother’s owned two of these franchise eateries in New Jersey. Wait’ll he sees this. What one finds here in Tenerife:

A Subway, next to an Argentinian place. Tenerife, Canary Islands, Spain. [Photo by me, 2016.]
A Subway, next to an Argentinian place. Tenerife, Canary Islands, Spain. [Photo by me, 2016.]

A Subway. They’re everywhere now, of course. Still, I had to grab a photo for my personal Facebook, where he’ll see it. But you saw it here first. πŸ™‚

Another thing caught our attention in a supermarket the other day. My wife spotted pistachios on a shelf. I love pistachios, so we bought a pack.

Having opened it and offered me some pre-dinner yesterday, as she brought the bowl my way she gamely questioned me: “Did you happen to notice your pistachios’ country of origin?”

As she asked that in her, uh, lightly teasing “effortlessly sophisticated” European woman’s voice, I felt a tad uneasy. That tone from her usually indicates something unsettling – and quite probably my fault – is being brought playfully to my attention. So I answered cautiously: “Uh, no, I haven’t….”

Pistachios wrapper. Note the country of origin. [Photo by me, 2016.]
Pistachios wrapper. Note the country of origin. [Photo by me, 2016.]

She put the bowl of them down on the small table next to me, then put my drink next to it, and declared: “Iran.”

[Photo by me, 2016.]
[Photo by me, 2016.]

She quickly added, “But in view of the new Entente Cordiale, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Regardless, you won’t see those in the U.S. At least not yet. (And in recent days, the new “cordiale” has been seeming perhaps rather not so – but thankfully that falls well-outside the scope of this modest author’s writing and travel blog.)

However, I must say they were tasty. Alongside them, as you might have guessed, I had that most “American” of all things. Yes, that’s a Coca-cola.

Emerging from the shower a short while later, she double-checked with me, “How’s your Vodka and Coke? How are your pistachios? Your Iranian pistachios?”

“Fine,” I answered, having just finished de-shelling another one.

“Such a cosmopolitan trip,” she chuckled as she walked off to blow dry her hair.

That’s right: you read that correctly. To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t just a Coke. It had a bit of vodka in it.

Please don’t tell anyone. πŸ˜‰

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