What is this week’s column about? Peanut butter sandwiches and the various add-ons. Why? Because I have crippling emotions problems I don’t want to discuss.
Plain peanut butter: What is wrong with you? Show a little spark. A plain peanut butter sandwich is the Dane Cook of food. It’s fine but you won’t get anything out of it other than regret for not picking something else.
Fruit: Banana is fine. Everything else is a silly affectation meant to disturb, or otherwise elicit, a response from people wondering what you are eating. Put the apple-crasin-peanutbutter sandwich down. You don’t really like it. You’re stunned attempts at postmodernism are ugly and wrong.
Jelly: Look, it’s boring but it works. Now, I’ve never gone outside strawberry jelly as it is superior to all jellies. You can try raspberry or blueberry if you want to sin against all that is pure and good in the world. I mean, I wouldn’t but I’m a really good person so… yeah, you do you.
Honey: Here’s the thing with a honey pbj, you have to eat it immediately. Some sort of weird alchemy causes the honey to soak through bread and it ends up turning the sandwich a weird almost crunchy consistency. Thus, they don’t work in a packed lunch unless you include a separate dish for the honey. Personally, I’m okay without it.
The fool’s gold: It’s odd how we don’t have any stars like we had with Elvis Presley. Sure, we have Beyonce but I can’t imagine people in 30 years caring as much about Beyonce as much as people still care about Elvis, let alone his borderline apocryphal connection to peanut butter sandwiches.
Granted the whole landscape of celebrity has changed, as evidenced by the fact Trump is president, but here we are. Anyway, fool’s gold is not so much a topping as it is a brand of sandwich unto itself. It’s a hollowed out loaf of bread, a French loaf I believe, a jar each of peanut butter and grape jelly, and a pound of bacon.
I’m not sure why they wanted to sully what could have been an already terrible idea with grape jelly but hey why not go for the gusto when it comes to gastronomical self-parody. As an aside, it is believed Elvis’ favourite sandwich was a fried peanut butter and mashed banana unit. As another aside, I am all but positive Elvis’ blood type was pure cane syrup.
Mayo: Yes, this is indeed a thing. It originates from the American south, where subtlety goes to die. Ew. Just ew.
Salsa: Yeah, yeah, call it weird all you want but salsa belongs in the conversation. I’ll take spicy over sweet any day… although I suppose it depends on the salsa.
Marshmallow fluff: No. Just no. I’m sure there are New Englanders who are prepared to die rather than surrender their fluffernutters but come on. Just how quickly do you want to develop diabetes?
Nutella: I’ve never seen such a thing but some swear by the mixing of these sandwich spreads. Personally, I feel it is a sin against good taste but if you want that sort of evil hanging over you, by all means, give it a try.
Potato chips and pickles: Seriously, this is a thing. You put chips, your choice of flavour (although the one time I tried it I used nacho flavoured Doritos) and pickles on a regular peanut butter sandwich, and see what happens. I no longer engage in such tomfoolery, as I no longer drink but I think I enjoyed it. I mean, not enough to every try it again but still… it wasn’t a disaster.
I’m done now.