These are my thoughts on pistachios


Kiera Kemppainen

The bowl of pistachios I ate throughout writing this column.

I hate pistachios. 

They are, by far, one of the stupidest foods. Who would ever want to snack on a type of food that you have to work for? And don’t get me started on the pre-shelled ones. Despite the lack of work, it just doesn’t seem right—not that pistachios ever do. You’d have to be crazy to willingly choose those bland green nuts as a snack.

As I write this, I am halfway through a whole bowl of pistachios. At least they’re salt and pepper flavored.

The stupidity of this food has now caused me to start eating a shell as I type, not realizing that I am for a few moments. Why do I do this to myself? My counter is scattered with pistachio crumbs. I don’t know what compelled me to eat these. 

As I look into the bowl to my left, I see some pistachios that have fallen out of their shells. Oh, look, there’s the shell it must’ve fallen out of. If a type of food is going to be served shelled, it better stay inside.

Pistachios are dumb. They’re bland. They’re boring. They’re small. The fact they can be flavored is their only saving grace. I could never eat plain pistachios. I could never eat anything pistachio flavored.

I couldn’t tell you if this is a column of great symbolism for something in my life, and maybe it is.

My favorite Starbucks drink is the Iced Pistachio Latte. It’s my go-to. I can’t even describe the flavor, but it’s truly amazing. In a way, it reminds me of the Sugar Cookie Latte of the holiday drinks. I try to pretend that’s what I’m drinking. I can’t believe I like a pistachio-flavored drink.

I’ve never liked pistachio-flavored things. They’re green and sometimes nutty. But sometimes, they are sweet. They can’t seem to pick a lane. And that’s why I don’t like them. Never have, never will.

My nana makes a dessert that we always refer to as “fluff.” It’s a combination of pineapple chunks, Cool Whip, and pistachio pudding. It’s sweet. It’s light and airy and green. I would always beg my nana to make it for me. She always would, and I’d always get to take the leftovers home.

I think somehow I’ve always liked pistachios. I say I hate them, but I don’t really mean it. I couldn’t tell you if this is a column of great symbolism for something in my life, and maybe it is. In my mind, it’s simply my thoughts on pistachios.