On: Peanut Butter

October 3, 2008 by Teddy  Send to a Friend

I could go on for pages about the finer points of peanut butter – how to achieve the perfect texture in a PB&J sandwich, which fruits and breads are the best compliments, and of course the classic creamy v. crunchy dilemma. (My solution: both. At the same time. That’s right; I have enjoyed many a peanut butter and peanut butter sandwich in my time.)

But peanut butter fascinates me for reasons beyond deliciousness. For one, it is a distinctly American socio-culinary phenomenon. I spent the majority of the past two years abroad, and being a full-fledged PB junky in a foreign country is difficult: in other countries, people simply don’t eat the stuff. It is one of the few remaining exclusively and authentically American food products.

Peanut butter is also intriguing in its particular demographic appeal – namely, its popularity among children. Everything about PB is oriented towards kids: the friendly, colorful plastic jars, eminently twistable; the jingles; the corporate iconography (Peter Pan!); the songs (“pea-nut, pea-nut butter, and JELLY!”); the fact that you can smear it on just about anything and produce an edible meal.

Simply put, peanut butter is the culinary symbol of a blissfully sheltered, middle-class American childhood.

But there comes a point when PB starts to lose its allure. All of the sudden we’d rather go to McDonald’s and cop an extra value meal; Doritos and Gatorade become cool as we enter that detestable, pre-teen convenience store phase.

Our tastes naturally diversify as we mature and gain a greater appreciation for the surrounding world. Perhaps we are seduced by the exotic nomenclature of Mexican cuisine, lusting after so many burritos, fajitas and enchiladas. Many discover life beyond spaghetti and meatballs and are drawn to Italian dining. Learning to appreciate, crave and even fetishize a juicy steak off the grill is all but a rite of passage for the adolescent male.

Peanut butter is pushed aside. But not for long. In my experience at least, as young adults are forced to confront real life and its attendant unpleasantness, we reflexively gravitate to the little reminders of childhood lost.

The home front is a natural place to start. There, away from the whims of an overbearing boss, the infinite minor frustrations of public transportation and the baffling bureaucracy of bank statements, rent payments and health insurance, we control our environment.

A jar of PB in the kitchen cabinet reminds one of simpler times, and provides assurance that they will return.

Because peanut butter itself is simple: 90% peanuts, sugar, and salt. It does not go bad, ever. It will never let you down. There is no such thing as an off jar of Skippy. It is the ultimate culinary security blanket, a beacon of creamy (or chunky) stability in a cruel, arbitrary world.

I don’t know what else to say. I love peanut butter and want to share it with the whole city, especially with those ex-pats who were deprived a proper, peanut-buttery American up-bringing.

With that goal in mind, I’ll be sharing a weekly peanut butter tip – reviewing PB-based menu items, sampling newcomers to the increasingly crowded nut butter section of your supermarket, sharing do-it-yourself snack ideas, composing a peanut butter-themed essay or haiku – in short, giving you yet another reason to love peanut butter.

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