Joe Pisani, a new pen pal, and I recently swapped emails about the succulent joys and variabilities of that great American sweet and salty sandwich, the PB&J.
A retired newspaper editor, Joe recently wrote a column bemoaning his wife's arguments against consuming this notable American fare, determining, in her infinite wisdom, that he was too old for it.
I wondered why anyone would suggest a sandwich, especially one as innocent as peanut butter and jelly, had an age limit for consumption. When does that kick in? 40? 50? 60? I'm not sure. Maybe we need to issue fake IDs – which states we’re younger than we are – so we can continue to eat these things well into our dotage.
After reading his column, I emailed him, saying that if her opposition continues, he should inform her that he's heading out for a Big Mac and fries.
"That'll make your PB&J look like health food," I wrote.
And then, I added what I figured could be the coup de grace: "Tell her the PB&J is plant-based."
There are studies – from the University of Michigan no less – suggesting the PB&J could lengthen your life by more than 30 minutes. Compare that to the hotdog. It might shorten your life by the same amount of time.
Since these two delectables go hand-in-hand with American culture and identity, perhaps we need a follow-up study to determine if consuming both simultaneously negates the nocent effects of the hotdog.
From what I can tell, health authorities aren't advocating for a moratorium on consuming PB&Js – at any age. They suggest, instead, using jelly without added sugar and whole-grain bread. There don't appear to be any guidelines on peanut butter, but those same authorities note it's low in saturated fat, making it a better choice than a hotdog, a hamburger, or that roast beef sandwich you may crave.
I always found the PB&J a joy, both in my youth, when I brought one to school daily, and, at times, during my professional career. It offers sanctuary from adult issues and pressing management problems – deadlines, revenue, profits, and occasional personnel problems.
My favorite way to make one is to smother one slice of whole-wheat bread with grape jam and another with creamy peanut butter. To add extra spark, I lay down a thick carpeting of butter before swiping the creamy peanut butter over it on the same slice of bread.
Of course, my doctor threw a hissy upon learning about this, so, at his urging, I changed my ways. Now, the sandwich consists only of organic jam and peanut butter made with less salt and sugar – and, of course, organic, whole-grain bread.
This latest version is a far cry from those dicey days when I gambled with fate. But there are times when we’re called to protect ourselves against ourselves.
What brings about the sandwich’s popularity?
The military, of course.
The U.S. Army says the PB&J gained a foothold on the American palate starting with the Doughboys fighting in France during World War I; the National Peanut Board says the sandwich became part of the rations for U.S. military personnel during the next world war. And The Saturday Evening Post reports there are estimates suggesting “the average American” will consume about 3,000 PB&Js during their lifetime.
Like many American sandwiches, and Americans themselves, the PB&J is malleable. Over the years, I've learned some enjoy pickles on theirs while others adorn their PB&Js with freshly sliced fruit. The combinations are likely endless for this great American sandwich.
So, make it any way you want. And remember – short of slathering it with butter, ham or some other animal protein, it's plant-based – and might even extend your life by 30 minutes!
Good luck, Joe!
