Besides the allure of the white sand beaches and lovely blue Gulf of Mexico, what I like about north Florida is the fact that if you know where to drive you can find a roadside stand that offers fresh boiled p-nuts. The sign is usually a square piece of plywood with just enough room for the word "boiled" but not quite enough room for "peanut". I've never figured that one out, but the best tasting boiled peanuts come from those who cannot spell.
Two years ago, Phill and I took advantage of my parents ability to care for our two daughters so that we could traipse across Florida for a week. Just near the entrance to St. Mark's Wildlife Reserve, we bought some bags of boiled peanuts. I was so happy for the rest of the week.
This week, I found my bag of tasty, brine-soaked nuts in the exhibit hall of the Santa Rosa County Fair. Yum. If I weren't so ill from a spring cold, I'd be a lot happier. But, hey, the salty stuff makes my throat feel better.