I inherited a low-key compulsion from my father. It’s not the world’s worst, but every now and then it can lead to a bellyache. You see, once I start eating pistachios…I can’t stop. Until they’re all gone, of course. I get into a rhythm, cracking them open and popping them into my mouth. They’re just so very tasty. Once I made the mistake of throwing this rhythm off entirely, by buying a large jar of shelled pistachios. Eating the fruits of someone else’s labor seemed somehow wrong. But it didn’t stop me from wolfing them all down and making myself quite ill.