My father used to describe himself as a pen and pencil salesman. This being the 1950s, it would have been easy for people to imagine him destitute on some sidewalk with a tin cup full of pencils, except for the fact that he wore a well-pressed business suit, lived in a nice house in the suburbs, and always drove a late-model Chevrolet or Buick. The formal description of his job was that of an advertising specialties salesman. In his case, advertising specialties meant pens and pencils with company names on them, as well as just about anything else that could have a name attached and be given away as a promotion. In 1980, the year before he retired, he sold more Papermate pens than any other individual in the world. Most were in a single order of 250,000 pens sold to Gillette.

Some of the items he sold were a bit off the wall for a pen and pencil salesmen. Peterbilt trucks had a unique oval nameplate that was about a foot across. The red color was from glass melted into the chrome relief of the nameplate similar to cloisonné. There were three of these on every truck that left the factory, and he got a $17 commission on each and everyone. Eventually White Freightliner, who had an even bigger nameplate, became a customer of his, too.

Another one of his customers was the large California almond growers cooperative out in the Central Valley. Today they are known as Blue Diamond Growers, but back then I think they were still formally called the California Almond Growers Exchange. When my father was scheduled to call on the co-op or one of his other clients in the Valley, he’d leave home on the San Francisco Peninsula at about five in the morning for the two- to three-hour drive. After calling on a few clients, he’d head back to his office in San Francisco for a few hours of work and then down the Peninsula for dinner with the family. He was a travelling salesman who always spent each night in his own bed. He only saw clients in the Valley once a week or so. Most of his time was spent with clients in the Bay Area.

I remember him bringing home samples from walnut growers, but I can’t recall him ever bringing any samples from the almond growers. As children, my brother and I had eaten a few still-warm almonds in the mixed nuts my Mother purchased occasionally from the drugstore. Her baking used a lot of walnuts, but the only almonds I remember were all in the form of almond extract.

I was well along into my life of cooking before almonds stopped being an exotic nut found only in little cans or cellophane bags with some ill-defined form of flavoring such as “hickory” or “honey-roasted.” The first time I attempted to blanch whole almonds rather than buy them already blanched, I checked a number of recipes for the proper instructions, and then averaged the blanching times. I felt so proud of myself for having done such a great job pinching the loose skins off. Looking back, this was probably all happening no earlier than the late 1990s!

After I peeled the skins from the almonds, I would generally grind them up for use in some French desert. I remember doing this a lot to make clafouti aux fruits mélange. By then I had already located a modern, plastic nut grinder to replace my Mother’s old European one. Both were hand-cranked, rotary grinders, but the new one had a suction base to attach easily to my countertop.

For years, when I needed almond flour, I’d blanch some whole almonds and grind them to a coarse flour. Then one day, the unthinkable happened. I had been buying whole, raw almonds from Trader Joe’s, but this day they were out of them. When I checked other stores, the price was twice as expensive as I was used to paying. I went back the next day and Trader Joe’s was still out of stock. Eventually, it turned out that they would be out-of-stock for about six weeks.

None of my French recipes called for whole almonds to be ground. They always called for poudre de amandes, meaning almond meal or flour. I began to wonder if I could buy almond flour instead of fabricating my own. After spending the morning searching around the country via the Internet, I determined that it was possible, but that blanched and ground almonds was not a popular item. I found only one company. Honeyville Food Products, Inc. sold 5-lb (2-1⁄4-kg) and larger bags of “Gluten-Free Certified Kosher Blanched Almond Flour.” Five pounds of almond flour sounded like a lot to me but since my original purchase, I’ve gone through a number of bags. (Trader Joe’s is now selling almond meal, but it is made from unpeeled almonds and therefore contains bits of skin which can add bitterness to a preparation.)

And then one morning I’m laying in my bed thinking about marzipan. What is marzipan but a mixture of almonds and sugar? (It’s also one of my favorite confections.) I’ve got this big bag of almond flour and a few jars of date puree, which tastes like it is mostly sugar. So do I rush into the kitchen and try out my idea? Nope, no time. I do make a note of the concept on my iPhone.

Sometime later when I’m in the kitchen preparing a meal, I remembered the note—I often make notes, but seldom remember to look at them. I placed a small spoonful of the date puree in a bowl and added the same of the almond flour. I mashed the two together with a rubber spatula, and continued to do so until the mixture was homogenous. The mixture was still pretty soft so I mixed in more flour. I continued to mix in flour until I thought it couldn’t absorb anymore. The resulting paste was now fairly stiff and tasted pretty good, but the sickly, grayish-brown color wasn’t too pleasing and the surface was slightly sticky.

I rolled the paste into small balls, but was afraid that if I stacked them together in a container that they would all stick together. I tried rolling them in some of the almond flour, but it didn’t stick the like wheat flour, and it didn’t improve the looks. I thought about using sanding sugar, but discarded that idea as not suitable. Then I remembered the bag of Trader Joe’s Turbinado Raw Cane Sugar my wife had purchased but not used. This sugar was even coarser than the sanding sugar I had. I threw some in a small bowl and rolled the faux-marzipan balls in it, gently pressing the sugar crystals into place. The balls were now encased in a single layer of the sugar crystals and stored beautifully in my refrigerator without sticking. The crunchy exterior also contrasted nicely with the softer interior.