crema de cacahuete

My favorite food in the whole world is peanut butter. I like it on bread, on bananas, with bananas in bread, with apples, or even just a spoonful of it. I like peanut butter cups, peanut butter ice cream, peanut butter cookies. If there was a peanut butter flavored soda I'd probably like that too. Skippy superchunk is my brand and style of choice... in fact it's kind of the only kind I'll eat. Kind of like I can only drink Tropicana pure premium not from concentrate original orange juice, sans pulp of course. As a child I always thought the pulp was little bugs... I ended up being that freak who brought her own orange juice to sleepover parties. Sick, I know.

Anyway, this inability to survive without this delightful peanut product becomes somewhat of a problem in Spain. Spaniards don't "do" peanut butter. They're more into pig products. Those who have even heard of crema de cacahuete (peanut butter), that crazy American product, don't express any desire to try it. It can also be a little tricky to find. There are ways of acquiring peanut butter, but if I buy it here, I have to suck up my pride and buy Pedro Pan (Peter Pan) that they sell in El Corte Ingles. Side note: el Corte Ingles I swear to God is going to take over the world. It's the only place I know that has clothing, lawn supplies, the country's biggest supermarket, a travel agency, household appliances, fine jewelry, designer everything, cell phone store, shoes, electronics, books, vespas, etc etc within its 8 floors of magic... and it's making its way through Europe... conquering cities and countries one by one a la Napoleon Bonaparte.

Instead of downgrading, I of course make my poor parents send me peanut butter. And yes, I did pack a stash of my beloved Skippy superchunk in my suitcase. Instead of another sweater, another pair of shoes, or something that perhaps would be more practical in the long run.... I pack a Costco size TUB of peanut butter. And, I am sad to say, I have almost run out. I've had to keep myself from finishing off my Skippy because I know that Pedro Pan is what I will have to deal with.

I think I've done the most damage on my peanut butter supply on nights that I've gone out. Joanne and I got into a habit of when arriving home after a night out drankin' at like 5am or so, we are obviously hungry. Or maybe just the drunky munchies. We're in the taxi, and we're already talking about who's turn it is to make the pb sandwiches. We get home, one of us makes the sandwiches, and they we eat them. In bed. Yes, that's my idea of a good time in bed: slipping into something more comfortable, dimming the lights, putting on a little mood music, getting all cozy...and chowing down a peanut butter sandwich at 5am.

This week, I have a peanut butter "date" with Jose Manuel, my new friend of sorts. He's never tried peanut butter... and I immediately feel the need to bombard him with Skippy and convert him into a peanut butter over-consumer like myself. Think Christopher Columbus, the Spanish conquest of the Indies, and the imposition of Catholicism upon the natives. Peanut butter is to Catholicism as Betsey is to Christopher Columbus. Get ready to be conquered Jose...