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Posts Tagged ‘peanut butter and jelly’

It was a dark and stormy n—well, actually, it was pretty nice out. And it was Friday, I’d had a great day, but then, as it happens, the night suddenly took a turn.

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The culprit.

I’ll spare you any more details than this: I scratched my esophagus on my first bite of dinner*. A few years back I had an esophageal ulcer, and I’m guessing that spot in my food pipe is a touch sensitive. It felt as though there was a musket ball jammed in there. In the morning, after a scary and utterly unpleasant night, my ultra-kind, checks-her-voicemail-on-weekends doctor prescribed an anti-inflammatory and told me what I could eat (mush) and what I couldn’t eat (anything with texture, spiciness, or Things That Are Hot and Cold; namely, everything else).

I froze the dinner I hadn’t finished along with everything in my refrigerator that wasn’t a condiment. Then I went out to eat. I stuck to mush for more than a week, and here’s what I learned. Come on along.

  1. Ripe avocados sliced and tossed with chunks of fresh mozzarella and a little salt does not look at all pretty, but it is wonderful.
  2. Ditto for Green & Black white chocolate. (Wait, this is pretty.) And especially appreciated by those of us who are Day 4 dark-chocolate fiends, and want treats on Days 1, 2, and 3.
  3. Store-made macaroni and cheese, even at fancy places, tastes like warm, delicately flavored glue.
  4. My local health-food store makes a very filling and oddly appealing peanut butter and jelly smoothie. It’s like slurping a sandwich.
  5. Most of the canned soups in the organic aisle that I tried don’t have much flavor.
  6. Yogurt is truly a comrade-in-arms.
  7. I goofed around with my favorite custard recipe and some of the quinces I picked, and made this for breakfast for a few days.
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Maple-bourbon custards topped with quinces poached in cinnamon. I felt better. Go figure.

*Which was such insult to injury. Here I was starving, and I couldn’t do a thing about it.

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I ate a slice of apple pie at a restaurant on Friday night. It sat on a plate that was predictably be-squiggled in caramel. It had such sharp edges you could have used it to slice diamonds. It looked perfect—but it was in fact a triangle of sugar.* Heavens to Mergatroid, was it sweet. That was all I took away. Call me a zealot, but apple pie is supposed to taste like apples. Right?

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For hire.

This pie? Pump Gully Washer Slurpee intravenously into Mary Ann from Gilligan’s Island while tossing yellow Skittles** into her mouth at nine-second intervals, and it will be a few degrees shy of how sweet this was.

And there was no butter in it. Twist the knife.

Sondheim’s Into The Woods hammers home a crucial point in the song ‘I Know Things Now’, Little Red’s post-mortem of her famous scuffle with the wolf. He’s a real smoothie. ‘Even flowers have their dangers….Nice is different than good,’ she tells the audience. There’s a difference, and it’s important to be able to discern one from the other.

You know what I mean, right? Go to any bakery and you’ll see offerings all pretty pretty inside glass cabinets. Many are over-the-top fancy, squares on a platter with Pollack-like splatters or anti-gravity curlicues hovering above. Not until you try them do you find out if they’re quality or schmutz.

Over-the-top is fine. It is. Go nuts, really. But make sure the quality is there.

The chicken noodle soup below, from Ben’s Best in Queens, NY, is a good example of this. Everything in it is from scratch and is homey, honest and real. It just happens to be served in the dinner dish of a full-grown Rottweiler.

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Woof.

Then there are places that have the decency to offer quality but insist on gilding the crap out of the lily. (Exceptions in the dessert realm are rare, in my experience. Here’s one. And I typically order desserts without toppings, which unnerves the wait staff, which I quite enjoy, and which I describe here.)

But while it’s usually desserts that chefs overdoll, it’s not just desserts. The below pizza was made with homemade crust, fresh homemade ricotta and prosciutto, and it all went into a wood-fired oven flown in from Italy. It was gorgeous, just as it was. So why did they need to pelt it silly with arugula? I ended up dragging the greens off with every bite, looking like a sheep with an iron deficiency. My friend’s little daughter didn’t even know it was a pizza. When it arrived she took one look and asked, ‘Can I have some salad?’

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Demands a lawyer.

How screwed up is the food business? Last point of exasperation: inventing stuff that looks cute but makes no conceivable sense in your mouth, like peanut-butter-and-jelly sliders. These are on the menu at a place near me. Adorable little hamburgers—charmers!—topped with…yeah.

Audible sigh.

The American public (and others as well, for all I know) is smitten with nice instead of good. What gives, and what prompted this?

*Corn syrup, more likely, actually.

**Slurpees and Skittles are corn syrup tenants as well.

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Last week I asked you all what foods define you, what foods speak to you at your core. A reader asked me about food while traveling, and whether I have any favorite go-tos. As a matter of fact, I do. Don’t laugh—it’s peanut butter and jelly.*

No, I don’t live on it; any of you who have read my past posts on Scotland or Tahiti or the Caribbean know I make a point to stuff my pie hole with whatever foods are celebrated wherever I go. Dinners I eat out. But for the occasional breakfast, when I don’t want to spring for an $11 hotel waffle? Lunches, when I’m so far from the nearest village that the only food option is to climb a muddy hill and tackle a Highland cow?

Highland cows

Faster than I look, punk.

No, it’s PBJ, and here’s why.

1) It’s accessible pretty much anywhere.

2) It’s cheap as old chips.

3) It assembles in seconds.**

4) It lives happily in the backpack for a few hours without refrigeration.

5) The protein gets me down the long, empty roads. Or moors. Or jungles.

6) In the sandwich I make a point to use jam or fruits particular to the locale—currant jam in Scotland, guava jelly*** in the Caribbean, papaya jelly in the Tahitian islands, fresh bananas in Hawaii.

Eating PBJ in general defines me as someone who has no interest in pretension. Eating it as a traveler, it shows how much I love local flavors and trying something new. It also says a lot for efficiency: Packing a sandwich before leaving the hotel for the day means I’m not restricted to how far I can go in a morning. I’ve been to many locales that are remote, to say the least. Who wants to fret over whether I’ll be near an eatery come lunchtime? Packing a pbj opens up the world a bit more, lets me travel by the force of my curiosity rather than by the (admittedly formidable) force of my stomach. No worries; come dinnertime, the stomach takes over again. This is me we’re talking about.

And when I’m home? It still makes a good breakfast, it still gets me through the morning, and I still use local jam or fruits whenever I can, which rocks. Yesterday, though, when I was in mourning for the loss of strawberries that WOULD be in season had there not been a double deluge this past week, I used a whole wheat wrap from Trader’s Joe’s, all-natural chunky Crazy Richard’s peanut butter, and local honey.

Sweet.

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Just shy of two weeks to submit your recipes to me for my project—your regional, homespun recipes, me cooking and gobbling and writing about them. I’m excited—keep them coming!

*You are SO laughing.

**You don’t even really need a knife to spread the goo. Once I used the handle of my toothbrush as a knife when I didn’t have one. Worked fine.

***And I tried to take the rest of the jelly and peanut butter home with me in my carry-on (I don’t check bags), only to find out the TSA considers them both liquids. I had to chuck them. Jelly I can sort of see. But peanut butter is a liquid?

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