On a bus in Palo Alto I once watched the driver toss a handful of in-the-shell sunflower seeds into his mouth and after a period of time and not very much in the way of jaw movement spit a mouthful of shells discreetly into a paper bag he took up and then put back onto the floor. I have done the same with both sunflower and pumpkin seeds in the past but never achieved such finesse so I was intrigued and would have asked him for details on technique and whether or not the expertise was affected by the shells being salted or not and commiserated over the little sharp bit that comes away from the shell no matter how much attention and care is taken. But I did not get a chance to inquire because he was working his way through another mouthful when my stop came up and I had to exit the bus.
Today my ingestion of sunflower seeds is of the shelled variety. Unsalted. On top of salads. Almost a daily occurrence in the summer.
Sunflower seeds are truly beautiful, shiny and of a satisfying shape. They pour in a companionable fashion from spoon to salad and if I listen carefully enough I can hear the sound of cascading. Once the proper amount for the salad is topping the salad, the spoon must dip into the bag of seeds yet again and lift out a small amount which are eaten on their own, a preliminary appertif, if you will, full flavour on their own.
And for some reason I store them in the freezer so they are cold and the tongue releases their tastiness.
I do wonder, as I am engaged with these seeds, just exactly how they got shelled. That is why that bus driver comes to mind.