Why we roast our almonds in small batches

There is a moment, about nine minutes into a roast, when an almond stops tasting raw and starts tasting like itself. Sweet, a little buttery, with that snap you feel more than hear. Miss it by ninety seconds and you get bitterness that no amount of honey will hide.

The case for going slow

A continuous industrial roaster is a wonderful machine. It is also relentless — nuts pour in one end and out the other on a fixed clock, whatever the weather did to the harvest that month. Almonds are a crop, not a widget. Moisture shifts season to season, and a batch that came in a little wetter needs a little longer.

So we roast in small batches and we taste as we go. It is slower and it costs more. It is also the only way we know to make the two-hundredth bag taste like the first.

What we are listening for

• Colour — a warm gold through the middle, not just the skin.
• Sound — a clean snap when one is split, never a bend.
• Smell — sweet and milky. The second it turns toasty-sharp, it has gone too far.

Roasting is not a setting. It is a decision you make about forty times a day.

Then the flavour goes on

Only after the nuts come off and cool does anything else happen — the cinnamon, the honey, the Himalayan salt. Flavour on a badly roasted almond is a costume. Flavour on a well roasted one is a duet.

It is a lot of fuss over a snack. But it is the fuss that earns the addictively in Addictively Healthy.