I love peanut butter.
Last summer while back in New York for a bit, I was sitting on the subway riding downtown and I looked up and saw a message from Peanut Farmers of America:
Do we forget about peanut butter when we get old or do we get old when we forget about peanut butter?
I was so pleased. The causal link between aging and peanut butter is right up my alley. I would take it even further. Something about ontology. We are not without peanut butter.
Peanut butter is a funny thing chez nous. Every time someone comes to visit from the US, I ask for only one thing: peanut butter. It is not impossible to find in Paris, but not at all convenient. Every time the delivery is made, Xavier blows air out of his mouth in the I'm French and I'm annoyed fashion.
Howbeit, my devotion to peanut butter has been inextinguishable. I am not alone. In fact, 75% of American households habitually have peanut butter in stock. (And this is in comparison to 0% of French homes or mouths).
So, on behalf of the Peanut Farmers of America, I would like to implore: don't stop eating peanut butter. Ride out the tide of salmonella poisoning. Just because contamination at a Georgia facility has caused an outbreak making lots of people sick and the death of six...well, you know the rest.
March is national peanut month. I intend to celebrate from here.
2 comments:
We like peanut butter too. It's good. John loves to put it on saltine crackers and then sprinkle raisins on top.
Here's to peanut butter, a staple at our house. In fact, one of Jeffey's only sources of protien.
In elementary school we learned a song that went like this..."What's more American than Cornflakes, Rock-n-Roll, peanut butter, toast and jam? What more American than ice cream? I am, I am, I am!!"
I always appreciated that peanut butter was part of that list.
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