Ode to the best food of all
The freakin’ universe for that matter.
There is no other grub as convenient, as dependable, or most importantly, as tasty.
I’m being completely serious. I LOVE peanut butter sandwiches and have for as long as I can remember.
I can vividly recall being five or six years old and scarfing down a hunk of mom’s homemade bread smothered in smoothy.
Peanut butter is legendary in my life.
It was the stuff of my school lunches.
It was the fuel behind two university degrees, along with Kraft Dinner and beer.
It’s what I ate when jilted, celebrating or ah ... ah ... never mind.
And it’s now my go-to when everyone else in my family is out for dinner, when I need a snack, or when time is of the essence.
In fact, just had a peanut butter sandwich before I wrote this. It was deadly!
No offence to anyone who’s cooked me a meal, but I’d take peanut butter over your casserole, quiche or caviar.
I’m obsessed with the stuff, and never tire of eating it.
And, yes, there are times when I long for it.
How could you not? “Steve doesn’t have much important to write about,” some of you might be saying.
To them — to those who find a column about peanut butter jarring — I say “Give me a slice of bread and a jar of PB and I’ll show you the world! If, of course, I choose to share.”
The eye-rollers — who really don’t understand this column is about escaping the reality of covering serious news seven days a week — should also know there’s a very significant date on the calendar.
January 24 is National Peanut Butter Day. Yup, National Peanut Butter Day.
It’s not a national holiday, but I’m calling on my reader to help make it one.
Email me at the address below and, in the subject line, declare, “National Peanut Butter Day should be a holiday!”
I’ll forward the messages to my Member of Peanut Butter ... oops, Parliament ... and demand action.
What’s the worst that can happen? We might get a day off to eat peanut butter.