Lunchtime...

Ah, the simple joy of a peanut butter sandwich…

There are few things I know of that have held their favor and gracefully passed from childhood into adulthood like the good ole’ PB&J. As is now self-evident, I’m a jelly man myself… grape to be specific, but even if you prefer preserves or favor fluff, it’s all the same. Creamy or smooth, crust on or crust off, a peanut butter sandwich is a small slice of pure perfection.

You doubt me?

Well, what other sandwich do YOU know of that actually holds itself together… a sandwich that blindly serves it’s purpose, clinging for dear life against the bread that exists as nothing more than a modest frame for it’s nutty goodness?

Think your beloved turkey or ham’s gonna do that?

Not a shot…

More than likely, when you bite into your turkey sandwich, its gonna slide and shift, trying to escape and evade your intended mandible action, until you finally windup with a mouthful of mayonnaise and little else. And ham? Well ham’s just as selfish… but it’s slow, so the best it can do is rebuff your attempts to tear it off when you bite into it, opting instead to turn into a stringy flap of flesh and refusing to acknowledge it’s own mortality (which, if you’ve built your sandwich correctly, has already passed by the time it reaches your plate)… c’mon, is that really something you want in your mouth? I didn’t think so…

Peanut butter is different. Peanut butter has pride, allowing YOU to determine the best path of distribution, before selflessly segmenting and dividing itself whenever and wherever you want.

That my friends, is commitment to purpose.

It's also WAY overthinking your food choices... and ok, so I ponder a little too much about the inner-workings of my luncheon meat (or in this case, lack of meat)… but still, one can’t help but admire something that’s able to transcend the boundaries of one’s youth. I don’t know about you, but other fare hasn’t fared as well with me. Cotton candy? Not unless I want a dangerously serious sugar coma. Hawaiian Punch? Sadly, I just can’t drink it anymore (and I used to guzzle the stuff). Even my former obsession - hot dogs - don’t hold the same place in my heart they used to (unless I’m at some type of BBQ or sporting event).

Granted, not everything has been forgotten… fruity pebbles are still worthwhile on occasion, and I don’t think I’ll ever give up my love for little chocolate discs wrapped up in gold foil and passed off as Christmas currency… but few things in my life have made a truly successful transition from child favorite to adult favorite as well as my wonderfully nutty buddy...

That... is why I cherish the simple joy of the perfect peanut butter sandwich.