Smithsonian Magazine

American Icon:

The bizarre sanitarium staple that would become a spreadable obsession

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Peanut butter • Groundbrea­king agricultur­e

NORTH AMERICANS WEREN’T THE FIRST to grind peanuts—the Inca beat us to it by a few thousand years—but peanut butter reappeared in the modern world because of an American, the doctor, nutritioni­st and cereal pioneer John Harvey Kellogg, who filed a patent for a proto-peanut butter in 1895. Kellogg’s “food compound” involved boiling nuts and grinding them into an easily digestible paste for patients at the Battle Creek Sanitarium, a spa for all kinds of ailments. The original patent didn’t specify what type of nut to use, and Kellogg experiment­ed with almonds as well as peanuts, which had the virtue of being cheaper. While modern peanut butter enthusiast­s would likely find Kellogg’s compound bland, Kellogg called it “the most delicious nut butter you ever tasted in your life.”

A Seventh-Day Adventist, Kellogg endorsed a plant-based diet and promoted peanut butter as a healthy alternativ­e to meat, which he saw as a digestive irritant and, worse, a sinful sexual stimulant. His efforts and his elite clientele, which included Amelia Earhart, Sojourner Truth and Henry Ford, helped establish peanut butter as a delicacy. As early as 1896, Good Housekeepi­ng encouraged women to make their own with a meat grinder, and suggested pairing the spread with bread. “The active brains of American inventors have found new economic uses for the peanut,” the Chicago Tribune rhapsodize­d in July 1897.

Before the end of the century, Joseph Lambert, an employee at Kellogg’s sanitarium who may have been the first person to make the doctor’s peanut butter, had invented machinery to roast and grind peanuts on a larger scale. He launched the Lambert

Food Company, selling nut butter and the mills to make it, seeding countless other peanut butter businesses. As manufactur­ing scaled up, prices came down. A 1908 ad for the Delaware-based Loeber’s peanut butter—since discontinu­ed—claimed that just 10 cents’ worth of peanuts contained six times the energy of a porterhous­e steak. Technologi­cal innovation­s would continue to transform the product into a staple, something Yanks couldn’t do without and many a foreigner considered appalling.

By World War I, U.S. consumers—whether convinced by Kellogg’s nutty nutrition advice or not— turned to peanuts as a result of meat rationing. Government pamphlets promoted “meatless Mondays,” with peanuts high on the menu. Americans “soon may be eating peanut bread, spread with peanut butter, and using peanut oil for our salad,” the Daily Missourian reported in 1917, citing “the exigencies of war.”

The nation’s food scientists are nothing if not ingenious, and peanut butter posed a slippery problem that cried out for a solution. Manufactur­ers sold tubs of peanut butter to local grocers, and advised them to stir frequently with a wooden paddle, according to Andrew Smith, a food historian. Without regular effort, the oil would separate out and spoil. Then, in 1921, a California­n named Joseph Rosefield filed a patent for applying a chemical process called partial hydrogenat­ion to peanut butter, a method by

THE ACTIVE BRAINS OF AMERICA’S INVENTORS

HAVE FOUND NEW ECONOMIC USES FOR

THE PEANUT.

which the main naturally occurring oil in peanut butter, which is liquid at room temperatur­e, is converted into an oil that’s solid or semisolid at room temperatur­e and thus remains blended; the practice had been used to make substitute­s for butter and lard, like Crisco, but Rosefield was the first to apply it to peanut butter. This more stable spread could be shipped across the country, stocked in warehouses and left on shelves, clearing the way for the national brands we all know today. The only invention that did more than hydrogenat­ion to cement peanut butter in the hearts (and mouths) of America’s youth was sliced bread—introduced by a St. Louis baker in the late 1920s—which made it easy for kids to construct their own PB&Js. (In this century, the average American kid eats some 1,500 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before graduating from high school.)

Rosefield went on to found Skippy, which debuted crunchy peanut butter and wide-mouth jars in the 1930s. In World War II, tins of (hydrogenat­ed) Skippy were shipped with service members overseas, while the return of meat rationing at home again led civilians to peanut butter. Even today, when American expats are looking for a peanut butter fix, they often seek out military bases: They’re guaranteed to stock it.

But while peanut butter’s popularity abroad is growing—in 2020, peanut butter sales in the United Kingdom overtook sales of the Brits’ beloved jam—enjoying the spread is still largely an American quirk. “People say to me all the time, ‘When did you know that you had fully become an American?’ ” Ana Navarro, a Nicaraguan-born political commentato­r, told NPR in 2017. “And I say, ‘The day I realized I loved peanut butter.’ ”

Though the United States lags behind China and India in peanut harvest, Americans still eat far more of the spread than the people in any other country: It’s a gooey taste of nostalgia, for childhood and for American history. “What’s more sacred than peanut butter?” Iowa Senator Tom Harkin asked in 2009, after a salmonella outbreak was traced back to tainted jars. By 2020, when Skippy and Jif released their latest peanut butter innovation—squeezable tubes—nearly 90 percent of American households reported consuming peanut butter.

The ubiquity of this aromatic spread has even figured in the nation’s response to Covid-19. As evidence emerged last spring that many Covid patients were losing their sense of smell and taste, Yale University’s Dana Small, a psychologi­st and neuroscien­tist, devised a smell test to identify asymptomat­ic carriers. In a small, three-month study of health care workers in New Haven, everyone who reported a severe loss of smell using the peanut butter test later tested positive. “What food do most people in the U.S. have in their cupboards that provides a strong, familiar odor?” Small asks. “That’s what led us to peanut butter.”

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Veteran food critic Florence Fabricant has called peanut butter “the pâté of childhood.”
Photograph by
By Veteran food critic Florence Fabricant has called peanut butter “the pâté of childhood.” Photograph by
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Depression that makes the PB&J the core of childhood food,” food historian Andrew F. Smith
has said.
“It’s the Great nd Depression that makes the PB&J the core of childhood food,” food historian Andrew F. Smith has said.
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