Fix Your Shit: Blue Diamond almonds

It’s 9:30 p.m. Snack time. A sacred fourth meal, when I pull out my handwash-only kobachi and drop in a small handful of Blue Diamond Smokehouse almonds. I’ve been eating them for more years than I care to admit, appreciating the mix of natural (high protein and fiber) almonds with a splash of addictive processing (mmm, hickory smoke flavor and maltodextrin) to keep them feeling dangerous. 

It’s the perfect portion of the perfect snack in the perfect bowl. Almost.

The problem with Blue Diamond Smokehouse isn’t the product. It’s the packaging. Specifically, the Ziploc-esque “resealable” zipper stops working, like clockwork, when I’m about halfway through the bag. The plastic zip itself seems to hold too strongly, so that inevitably, there’s a point when I open the bag, and the heat-sealed weld gives out. The zip stays zipped, but now it’s attached to only one side of the bag. ONE SIDE!!! A bag that now gapes open, possibly in shock from my own ineptitude in opening and closing a snack. 

I know it’s not my fault. It’s the damn dysfunctional bag. But like dropping a cheap glass, I’m left with an unnecessary burden of guilt. Was it something I did, Blue Diamond?? I can change! I’ll do better next time! (I never do.) WHY DOES NOTHING EVER GO RIGHT IN MY LIFE????!?? WHY DO I DRIVE ALL SOURCES OF MONOUNSATURATED FATS AWAY??!??!

From there on out, I’m left with this domestic conundrum: Shove the almonds into another bag (feels wasteful, and the powder is gonna stick to everything)—or curse . . . curl the bag up the best I can . . . and wedge it between two canned goods to keep it from springing open. Inevitably, I choose the latter. But more air gets in over the coming weeks. The smoky almonds grow stale. 

This sounds dramatic. I am being dramatic! But also, c’mon: 3 gallons of water go into each nut. That means my 25-ounce pack represents 2,100 gallons of water. And Blue Diamond can’t even take the time to make sure that so much investment isn’t leaking all over my pantry.

Resealable packs suck

To be fair, Blue Diamond is far from the only culprit when it comes to poorly built zips. Since the late 1980s, resealable bags have taken over supermarket shelves for products including nuts, pre-shredded cheese, and frozen nuggets. Into the 1990s, these technologies were largely perfected to replace boxed goods with soft packaging in pyramidic forms, creating bags with a wide bottom and thin top that stood up and stood out on the shelf. 

Despite decades of manufacturing innovations, resealable packs can still be stupidly hard to cut open without hitting the zip. Bits of food can clog the seals. And, more and more, I’m noticing how one side of the zip can inevitably fail, as with Blue Diamond, leaving the pack less than airtight. 

But when they work, it’s the best UX that the American supermarket has to offer (don’t get me started on self-checkout!), inevitably helping to keep food fresh and reduce food waste. As much as 40% of America’s food is thrown away each year. And resealable packs help reduce this number—all without introducing more packaging (looking at you, Ziploc!) to solve the problem. 

So consider this an open call for Blue Diamond, and all those making suss resealable products, to rethink their packaging. We must have the technology to actually seal bags shut . . . again . . . and again.

View the full article