Today’s lunch: peanut butter sandwiches. But unlike my father’s careful fashioning, I take a different approach. This morning before work I threw a jar of peanut butter and a few pieces of bread into my bag. Classy, I know.
Noon rolled around and I found myself spreading creamy Skippy onto a whole-wheat slice of bread with a plastic spoon and then ate it like toast. Make, eat, repeat.
There’s just something about peanut butter that is so satisfying. Is it the satiation of a high protein snack that tastes good? Is it the way that only milk can free your mouth from its sticky grip? Is it the way it hardens when it is heated and poured on top of ice cream as the savory compliment to the sweet dessert? Is it the childhood nostalgia of eating PB&J with Doritios stuffed in between the sandwich (Or is that just me?)?
It’s all of the above and more. It’s a versatile ingredient that brings back memories no matter how it’s prepared. And it’s just so tasty.
A coworker, via g-chat, discovered that I was eating peanut butter. Four minutes later she had ventured across the office, armed with a plastic spoon, and helped herself to a glob. She lauded the virtues of Skippy and departed with a smile. I was glad to have furnished the sunshine in her life for the day.
Peanut butter just has that effect.