The peanut butter caper

food, nuts, peanutsOur habits are little quirks that are part of our identity in relation to our environment. We don’t give it much importance until the day we miss them. It is then, we realize how much they are a part of who and where we are.
Imagine if you move 5000 kilometers (5924 to be exact, but who’s counting) from home and your only comfort from back home is a laptop and a few clothes. And no, I didn’t have the budget to carry my stuff over. So it all stayed at my brother’s basement back in Montreal. And that’s how I made it here, bare bones. The only comfort I had was my Facebook friends and my tender half. It’s ok, I was here in a foreign country/ culture and I made a vow to adapt to my new living conditions with gusto, a commitment and duty to sample the environment. As much as my adventurous fervor carried me, combined with the eagerness to explore in the first few months . There was an innate need to refill some of that home grown lovin’ to carry me through. I needed a little more at home references to stabilise the wobble that had me not so steady on my feet. After all, this is Europe and my American tootsies were not used to the soil yet. It would take some time to feel my way through. I needed to fill up from the inside out, I needed to replenish, I needed, I needed….. FAT AND CARBS!. Believe me, there’s plenty of that here. For crying out loud, they have defibrillator stations all over town, they’re like little phone booths and I’m not kidding.
But they didn’t have the right kind of fat and carbs I was used to. Sure, they have American fast food joints all over, KFC, Burger King, McDonald’s but I needed mama’s cooking. As simple as a peanut butter sandwich. But lo and behold, no peanut butter found anywhere, not a trace, NADA! How can people live without peanut butter, I tell you, they’re insane. I later searched the internet and for Spaniards it’s not in their culture to eat that. Peanut butter is an English invention, you can get it in the UK and you guessed it, America. So the hunt was on. I asked, I probed, I searched long and hard (we both did). I even considered at one point of buying the friggin’ raw peanuts and crushing them with my bare hands if I had to. I had all but given up on my search, but one day I had stayed home working and got a text from my tender half with a picture attached. I looked at it long and hard and started crying. She had stopped at the supermarket before coming home and out of luck searching for some other item, she stumbled upon the elusive butter of the gods, What was it, how come we didn’t see it before?. Well, we soon found out that they were out of stock, but they sell so little that they don’t refill so often. I texted her back thanking her and that I loved her for eternity….and to bring a loaf of crusty bread if she wanted to be safe coming home. When she arrived, there was no greeting, no kisses, no warm embrace and I got right to the grocery bag and out with the jar. I opened it and put my finger, feeling the smoothness of the texture, no bread, just pure gold. Drew the buried finger directly from the jar  to my eager mouth (she told me I was a pig). My first bite was that great orgasmic, body wrenching surge of electricity that took over my entire body, and in a flash of yogic lucidity, I was home again.


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