Barring their unfortunate resemblance to legless cockroaches, plump, meaty Medjool dates are pretty much perfect.
This flattery doesn't come from a (very high) horse touting natural sugars over refined ones (eat two or three dates and you've still had your recommended sugar fill for the entire day), but rather from their portability and instant fuel injectability.
Two invaluable qualities for anyone in league with someone who gets the mean reds.
Different from Holly Golighty's (and Cat's) affliction of the same name, ours are less about being afraid and not knowing why, and more about becoming suddenly very hungry and wanting to eviscerate anyone in our path because of it.
Easily stuffed with almond butter or tahini or a few shelled pistachios or a chunk of parmigiano, then stowed in purses or messenger bags or pockets, dates might well be the answer to world peace.
At home, when these dried fruits from the date palm tree are off duty from providing triage services, I chop and strew them into oatmeal and salads and quick breads; take them for a whirl in the blender with some kefir and green bananas; or swaddle them tightly in speck (smoked prosciutto) and crisp them in an oil-slicked skillet until the fleshy fruit turns almost burnt caramel custard-like.
Out in the trenches though, these wrinkly power grenades are saving lives--one hangry, hypoglycemic meltdown at a time.