It’s late August and that pit in my stomach is settling in again. The very first of the leaves have started to fall. It’s most noticeable in the backyard. Like a greying beard, I’ve spotted tiny patches of color change along our tree-lined streets. The sun, that sits so high in the sky throughout the summer, is dipping lower and lower. And the late sunset we boast about living this far north is no longer a topic of conversation. This is also the time of year when summer squash and hearty winter squash line the grocery shelves at the same time. And when the apple trees are heavy with fruit. It’s happening.
Kev feels the season change about a month before it actually happens. He’s not surprised when the leaves fall; he’s prepared for it. I feel the seasons change knee-deep and a month in. I’m known to miss the start of strawberry season while holding on to the hope of one more snowfall. And if Christmas weren’t a date on a calendar, with reminders every commercial beginning two months prior, I’d miss it too. There’s always some sort of pit in my stomach because I’m always late.
The older I get, the more I realize how much our personalities shape the way we navigate life. I get so lost in the moment, in the season, that I get completely lost. I miss the mile markers, the turns, and apologize often for being late. Kev navigates life so differently than me to the point that I wonder if I’m doing this whole thing wrong. Ironically, I’m in the process of teaching Hal that different doesn’t mean wrong. It just means different.
While on a hike last weekend, my friend Lindsay, who was leading the way down the trail, recommended that I take the Enneagram test, a personality test more nuanced than Myers-Briggs. The test, she said, does a really good job qualifying personalities, also talking about what healthy and unhealthy characteristics of the personality look like. I’m taking it before I forget. (Update: I’m a 9, The Peacemaker.)
Because I question whether I’ll ever navigate season change (and life) without getting a little lost, I made these a-seasonal crispy roasted chickpeas for snacking or happy hour. They ascribe to no season in particular and taste best with the fruity, vibrant flavors of Seven Daughters Rosé. These roasted chili lime chickpeas are a whole lot like the tall, skinny bag of Corn Nuts from my youth without the guilt. They’re generously coated in spices, crispy without being dry, and highly addictive. If you’ve ever wondered if it’s possible to eat a whole can of chickpeas, wonder no more. It’s possible to eat two. In true fashion, I got lost in a bowl of these too.
Fit for snacking or happy hour, these crispy spiced chili lime roasted chickpeas and are best served with a glass of Rosé. If you have any leftover (or self control), use as a salad topper.
2 (15 oz.) cans chickpeas
2 tbsp. neutral oil
2 tsp. chili powder
1 tsp. smoked paprika
1 tsp. kosher salt
2 tsp. lime zest (1–2 limes)
scant 1 tsp. pure cane sugar
1 tsp. lime juice
Prepare the chickpeas. Preheat oven to 400°F. Rinse and drain chickpeas, shaking off as much water as possible. Line the baking sheet with paper towels. Add chickpeas and gently rub until dry. Discard paper towels. Drizzle oil over dried chickpeas and toss to combine. Set aside.
Assemble the spice mixture. Stir together all the spice mixture ingredients in a small bowl and sprinkle over the prepared chickpeas. Toss to evenly coat. Bake for 15 minutes. Stir. Then bake for an additional 15-20 minutes. Chickpeas are ready when dry and crispy to the touch.
While the chickpeas bake, prepare the lime mixture. Stir together the zest and sugar in a small bowl. Set aside. Once the chickpeas are crispy and finished baking, drizzle with lime juice and toss to evenly coat. Sprinkle the zest and sugar mixture over top and stir to coat. Serve immediately with Seven Daughters Rosé.