Delusions of foodblogging: glazed pumpkin seeds

My recent diet has not consisted solely of the bowls of pale, savory goo described here. I am making the most of the sudden plenty at the farmers’ market. I often overhear customers grumbling because the tomatoes have not yet arrived. But, people, you may want to holler, real tomatoes do not come until full, lusty, oppressive summer! And you would be right. (I love that about you!) By yearning for foods out of season, we fail to see the beauty of foods as they are.
For example, lettuces. I find that in the height of tomato season, my favorite dark greens are in in sad supply. The heat and bright sun that nurture tomatoes wither and wilt lettuces, and who cares, because my god the tomatoes are glorious we are the poorer for it. But now the lettuces are abundant, in dizzying variety, and I am falling upon my salads like a dog slavering in the back yard as it tears up patches of grass. Or perhaps some other, more appetizing image.
I am not a fan of the traditional green salad. I like a big wooden bowl of dark greens loaded down with roasted beets and potatoes or salted and drained cucumbers or, most particulary, nuts. Some time ago, I gave a recipe for glazed walnuts. When the store was out of walnuts, I wondered if the same technique would work with pumpkin seeds. And it does, if you can keep from eating them all out of the pan while they are still so hot that they blister your tongue, your mouth filled with a sound like many tiny explosions. This sound comes, logically enough, from the many tiny explosions that occur as the heat of the seeds transfers rapidly to your mouth and the sugared shells of the pumpkin seeds shatter in your mouth. It is most unsettling; I recommend it highly.
To recap the glazing directions: make a simple syrup by boiling equal parts sugar and water for five minutes. Cool syrup a bit, then douse seeds in it. Transfer to baking sheet, sprinkling with coarse salt and, if desired, cayenne or chili powder, and bake at 350F (or thereabouts) until they crisp and darken around the edges, maybe fifteen minutes. If the seeds start to pop in the oven, they’re done.
If you happen to have a bottle of Slovenian pumpkin seed oil that your brother brought you for Christmas and which you have been safeguarding, still sealed and kept cold, this is an excellent occasion to open it. The deep green oil is rich and flavorful, a dizzying echo of the pumpkin seeds, and will make you even more appreciative that your brother went to the trouble first of finding it, then of packing an actual bottle of oil fercryinoutloud in his luggage.

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